FEEL MY PAIN

"The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved." - Mother Teresa

My name is Olaitan. This name might sound unfamiliar to you. I hail from a place somewhere on this vast continent. I won't delve into too many details about myself just yet. Allow me to share a glimpse into my world, into the pain that has been a constant companion.

During my younger years, I often found myself pondering the meaning behind my name. I was curious, and one day, I decided to ask my mother. I can still vividly recall her response; her eyes sparkled with a mixture of love and significance. She told me that my name carried weight, that it meant more than words could express. To her, my name symbolized "this wealthy has no limit." In her eyes, I was her wellspring of abundance, a treasure that transcended material riches.

It's a blessing to have a loving mother, and mine is the anchor of my existence. She possesses an unwavering protectiveness that's mirrored by my father. Their intentions are noble, yet they remain oblivious to the pain they inadvertently cause me.

Our cultural heritage as women is rich and profound. We are revered, our virtue celebrated. It's an honor for a woman from our tribe to enter marriage as a virgin, a tradition that extends respect to the bride's parents. This respect is manifested through a shower of gifts, an acknowledgment of the parents' dedicated upbringing.

These traditions, deeply ingrained, were taught to me by my mother. I remember the day my secret was almost exposed. I was caught talking to a man, a seemingly innocent interaction that sent shockwaves through my being. The very thought of this news reaching my parents was suffocating; it was something I couldn't fathom. I pleaded with my brother, beseeching him not to reveal my secret. The stakes were high; my world seemed on the brink of shattering.

But, as fate would have it, my mother eventually got wind of the situation...

Her reaction was a tumultuous mix of disappointment and concern. I could feel her heartache as she confronted me. The conversation was laden with emotions that neither of us fully understood. She was torn between her love for me and the weight of tradition. Her eyes held a mixture of pain and understanding. It was in that moment that I realized the complexity of love—a love that both binds and liberates.

I felt like a prisoner, ensnared by cultural norms that stifled my aspirations. The weight of expectation pressed down on me, and I grappled with the desire to be true to myself while also honoring my heritage. This internal struggle became my silent battleground, one that left me feeling isolated and unseen, even within the embrace of my family.

As I reflect on my journey, I recognize the paradox that defines my existence. I am both a product of tradition and an individual seeking my own path. My name, Olaitan, carries a significance that encompasses a world of expectations and dreams. And while I navigate this intricate tapestry of identity and legacy, I hold on to the hope that one day, the traditions that have confined me will also be the ones that set me free.

Sincerely,

Olaitan