Thread by @diaryofa9jagirl

It was the 90s, everything good happened on Sunday-night-Tv, especially for kids and families. However, Sunday nights without power were the worst days for us, especially because not one flat in the compound had a generator.

No generator meant the parents had to entertain us which wasn’t a bad idea in itself, except that on this day, I was itching to share special news with Ngozi, the first child of our neighbour, mama Ngozi.

As we all sat in the living room listening to Mama share her childhood story with us, my mind left the present, all I could see was Ngozi telling me I was too young to wear a bra, she said all the boys would think I was too old and they wouldn’t toast me. I ran upstairs,

removed the bra because I needed the boys to like me. Some days later, we fought in the compound and Ngozi insulted me again that my breasts had grown so big they pulled my chest down. I heard her laughter, her face finally came into focus: her back was bent,

mimicking a hunch, her face turned towards me, she wanted me to see her smirk, she wanted to be sure I heard her loud and clear.

Ngozi was right, my breasts were growing at an alarming rate. I was convinced everyone could see them and I didn’t like that they jiggled in motion.

Because of this, I arched my shoulders, hoping to hide my fast-growing bosom from the world. Unbeknownst to me, I had disfigured myself.

Before Ngozi called me a hunchback, I felt deep discontent about not wearing a bra so much so I would weep silently under my pillow.

I had been told my Ngozi and some of my street friends that at 13, I was too young to wear a bra. Truth be told, not many in my set wore one, the ones that did, tried to hide away from the public eye.

The day Ngozi called me a hunch back, I cried to mama and she asked me,

“But I already made a bra for you now, go and wear it.”

“But no one in my set is wearing a bra yet!” I was alarmed at Mama’s suggestion.

“And so what? What’s your business with everyone? See how unhappy you are...

My friend go and wear a bra and be the first one among your set to wear it with pride.” Mama insisted and dismissed me. I went to my room and grudgingly wore my only bra. Mama also made sure I wore it every day from then and she would remind me to stand and walk straight,

that it was okay. I began to remind myself as well to stand straight, I practised (secretly) every day for a week until I didn’t need to remind myself anymore.

As Mama told her story, I came back to the present and knew what I gave to do.

I lied to my mama as I moved towards the kitchen to pick a lantern, “It looks like it will rain, let me go and pack the clothes on the line.” I wasn’t asking for permission, I was already on my way out.

As I descended the stairs, I made a sharp right turn towards Ngozi’s flat,

I needed my big announcement to be heard by all. The kitchen door was shut but not locked, we rarely locked our doors in the compound, except we were sure all occupants would be away. I pushed the door open, found mama Ngozi and her daughters at the dining eating Abacha,

I zeroed in on Ngozi and said to her, “Ngozi, look at sometin”

I raised the lantern above my head, pulled the neckline of my oversized t-shirt down my shoulder and said, “See, I am wearing a bra now because I have breasts to put the bra inside.”

I strutted as though I was on the runway, just as I had practised for a week: shoulders square, back straight, no shame. I caught mama Ngozi’s smile, Onyinye was amused, the others, I have no recollection of their expressions. I was still strutting, eyes glued on Ngozi,

“can you see? Oya call me hunch back again let me hear you.” I hissed loudly, then made a dramatic exit, feeling like I could die happy.

My drama at Mama Ngozi’s house was the icing on the cake of a lesson I learnt early: When you feel discontent,

uncomfortable or unhappy about something, it is not up to the world to permit you to do anything, pretend as though you’re alone in the world, that no one is coming to save or help you, that no one will go first. Then, find your peace.

Ngozi had a perky breast, mine was 3 times bigger than hers but a week later, I saw her bra strap when she knelt to pray during Saturday catechism.

I know I was only 13 then and I have had to relearn this lesson time and time again but it never left me: Refuse to wallow in whatever is causing you discontent; instead, get up and do something about it, regardless of the noise.

#DANG