Masked

1

SOLITUDE

Life is not always an unending symphony echoing in a dream. It can test and stretch us to our limits, pushing us into a crowded rat race where survival is the only goal. In that crowd, many are lost like spectres from a nightmare. Uncertainty dominates, fear seeps into hearts, and the future feels bitter. But this shouldn’t be the ideal picture of life.

My childhood was wrapped in that same uncertainty. I struggled to fit in with the popular crowd, working hard to speak their language, act like them, and gain their approval. I wanted a seat among the popular kids on the block, but the approval I craved eluded me. I stood out awkwardly, like a crow among swans. Frustration became my companion. Exhausted and unfulfilled, I saw life in shades of unfairness, unable to meet the world’s standards.

But childhood was not only about seeking approval. There were times when I sought my own company, craving the approval of the tiny, timid girl inside me who found joy in solitude. In those moments, I swam through clouds of imagination, alone in my personal interview room, drilling my mind with a million questions that led to one: Why am I so different?

I was different, not in the way that made me an ogre, but in how I perceived the world. I lost my childhood in the maze of unfulfilled fantasies, cherishing the sweetness I found in solitude. My parents, however, carved a path for me that I dreaded, steering me away from what I loved. They dismissed the life of quiet exploration that gave me pleasure. I hated being scolded and singled out for my difference. Bearing the discomfort of a forced destiny bruised me. I endured the pain of a life that wasn’t mine.

It was exhausting, but in it, I remained strangely cozy.

2

A TASTE OF LIBERTY

It became clear that I had no choice but to wear a mask each day, solely to appease the expectations of those around me. I perfected my lines and actions at the cost of my reality. The melodies once produced by solitude no longer satisfied me.

As the days unfolded, my inner light dwindled. Something felt off. I found myself trapped in the persona I had crafted for others, and the weight of that pretense was crushing. I struggled but didn’t know how to rise above the waves that engulfed me. I sank deeper.

Finally, I felt a surge of liberty. I broke free the day I entered Our Lady of Apostles for my secondary school education, a home away from home where people from different walks of life gathered under one roof. I had escaped the watchful eyes at home, and it felt liberating to claim my own space. Yet even here, something held me back from fully spreading my wings. I was a little caterpillar, too scared to break out of my cocoon and transform into a butterfly.

Over time, I realized the caterpillar metaphor was a confession: fear had claimed too much of my life. Fear of the unknown, fear of change. And I saw it in others too. At some point, we all need encouragement to shed fear and embrace possibility.

Boarding school made me feel smaller. Constant reminders told me I wasn’t good enough, that I had to do more to be seen. Other students stood out effortlessly, whether through talent or presence. And there I was, tiny, timid, doubting my skills.

My mother, however, saw something I couldn’t. She worried about how I hid inside my shell and believed in me even when I didn’t. During holidays, she’d complain about my lack of participation, insisting I could achieve more, even better than others. At first, I grew weary of hearing it.

—-

Time flies. By SS1, I tried participating, mostly to avoid my mother’s reminders. I auditioned, and to my surprise, I got picked for some activities. I still ran from certain opportunities, doubting my worth, but seeing my mother proud made me happy. For a moment, I felt I was doing something right.

But as the years passed, a void lingered. Something was missing inside me, a constant reminder that I was merely playing a role. The urge to remove my mask grew stronger, but I hesitated, unsure how the world would respond to the real me.

3

WHAT NEXT?

Throughout my life, I had been raised to believe I existed without emotions. The more you hear something, the more likely you are to accept it as truth.

So it caught me off guard when a wave of emotion surged within me during our valedictory service. Tears, like fiery droplets, filled my eyes as I said goodbye to dear friends. The journey hadn’t been smooth, reinforcing my need to cling tightly to my mask. But amidst the challenges, I had forged bonds I still treasure.

Saying farewell to that chapter and those connections brought tears that flowed freely, releasing the weight of anxiety and pain that had long been trapped in my chest. I missed my friends deeply. I wasn’t ready to leave the safe, comfortable space I had finally found, but let it go I must, in the blink of an eye.

—-

After secondary school, I felt lost, like wandering in a maze without a map. In just two months, it was time for the POST-UTME examination at the University of Benin. I had spent most days congratulating others instead of preparing myself. Honestly, I didn’t grasp the process. The maze of steps seemed endless and overwhelming, and the pressure to secure admission weighed heavily on me.

4

WAITING

Waiting is one of life’s toughest tests. Time slows, and every second stretches endlessly.

When I learned I hadn’t gained admission, I didn’t need anyone to tell me I had fallen short. It was crystal clear, a slap in the face. That moment became a turning point. I realized I had to do this for myself. Preparing for my second JAMB was no walk in the park. Anxiety burned like fire in my chest, consuming any hope I had of succeeding.

That period taught me empathy. Whenever self-pity threatened, I redirected that energy into praying for others waiting for life’s blessings. It was my first taste of “waiting on God,” and it instilled patience and compassion in me.

—-

Even when I couldn’t recognize my own gifts, others did. While preparing for my second JAMB, I attended lectures and found people genuinely liked me, even though I felt I had nothing to offer. Looking back, if I hadn’t been so caught up in feeling worthless, I would have appreciated the effort my friends made to connect with me.

During that time, I consciously avoided anything resembling love, even platonic friendships. I doubted my ability to be a good friend. I still vividly remember the day my JAMB classmates showed up at my house. I panicked at the knock on the gate, ran back inside, and pretended I wasn’t home. Their feet peeked beneath the gate, excited voices calling my name. It was comforting and familiar, but my brain went into full panic mode.

5

A NEW DAWN

The first half of 2018 was dedicated to one goal: getting into university. My focus was sharp, my vision clear. Unlike the previous year, I knew what I wanted: Theatre Arts at the University of Benin. Every day, I thanked God for the determination to pursue my goals.

My mother suggested backup plans, but I was steadfast. UNIBEN felt right. God blessed my efforts, and I was among the first admitted that session. My mother’s joy contrasted with my relief. I was grateful but cautious, more like I had narrowly escaped a dangerous bridge than leaped with excitement. Over time, I learned why my emotions lagged: processing experiences takes me time, but eventually, I shared in the joy fully.

—-

The first year brought independence, a thrilling, empowering experience. Not freedom, independence. I handled tasks that used to terrify me, like navigating the intense welcome feast. Thousands of new students, the scorching Benin sun, early morning queues, and the frantic race to complete registrations: it was overwhelming, but I survived. Conquering it gave me confidence for the challenges ahead.

This newfound confidence created a mask of poise that others admired. Friends were surprised when they discovered the layers beneath: fear, timidity, low self-esteem. They confessed, “I used to think you were a snob,” or “I thought you were proud and rude.” It was hilarious how my mask had shaped their assumptions.

Compliments came, but I often brushed them off, blinded by past traumas. I couldn’t yet see how God was using those affirmations to guide me toward amazing places.

6

BUTTERFLIES

People really feed off whatever version of ourselves we present. Unfortunately, the world can be filled with selfish and unkind individuals, always on the lookout for a chance to take advantage of our innocence. They lurk patiently, waiting for us to lower our guard and let down the walls we’ve built for protection. It’s as if they want to devour us, leaving us empty and drained.

Not everyone you encounter is cruel. Some people are rare gems, genuinely kind, sweet, and sincere, like diamonds scattered among pebbles. But before engaging fully with the world, you owe it to yourself to be self-aware and love yourself completely. Embrace your flaws, work on yourself, and always remember your worth. These are your strongest weapons and shields against negativity and toxicity.

In my first year at school, I met someone, and it was beautiful. Thinking back, I can still feel the nervousness that fluttered in my stomach, the butterflies that danced joyfully every time we were together. Our palms would brush stylishly against each other until, finally, we found the courage to embrace, strong, soft, and reassuring. Moments like these make life feel magical.

It was a new feeling, one that snuck into my chest and settled quickly. Sometimes it was overwhelming, tightening my chest with emotions that seemed ready to burst. I didn’t fully understand it, but it broke through my walls faster than I could handle. I tried to resist, but it consumed me entirely.

For the first time, I didn’t feel the need for a mask. I felt peace and safety in being my true self, embracing my timid and naive nature. I no longer felt alone, unseen, or unworthy.

Love, oh, love, entered my world unannounced, catching me off guard. Doubt tried to creep in, but love swiftly dismissed it, refusing to let anything tarnish its beauty. Effortless and swift in arrival, love was understanding, patient, kind, and yet quietly strong. I wondered, Why me? Do I deserve something so exquisite, fragile, yet so serene and powerful?

During this enchanting phase, I often felt unworthy. I anxiously anticipated the fairy-tale ending, fearing it might vanish. Weeks passed, then months, then a year. The story endured, ensnaring me and compelling me to invest my heart and soul to preserve it.

The thought of this fairy tale ending sent shivers down my spine. I imagined the emptiness, the shattered pieces of my heart, the unbearable misery without this sanctuary I had embraced. Doubts whispered relentlessly: Who would desire a petite girl like me? What sets me apart? Where could I find another soul to connect with? Yet, I persevered, my love unwavering.

I gave him time, hoping his actions would resonate louder than words, patiently nurturing our connection. But fate delivered a rude awakening: the love I clung to was unreciprocated. With a heavy heart, I made the difficult choice to release my grasp and let go.

7

PAIN

The pain I believed I had known was but a glimpse of the anguish that awaited, considering how my heart had shattered into a million fragments, each one a testament to the countless disappointments endured while waiting for the fairy-tale ending to resume.

The heartbreak, though painful, paled in comparison to the profound wound still lodged deep in my heart. Life struck in a place so tender, so raw, that the pain lingered like a haunting melody. Each day, scenes replayed like a relentless film reel, etching anguish onto my soul. The memories, vivid and relentless, painted a portrait of suffering, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

Dressed in a neon-green shirt and flowing black palazzo pants, I sat trembling across from my aunt. My breaths came shallow, yet a suffocating weight enveloped me. Though the air was chilly, my palms perspired. My heart throbbed beneath my left breast, echoing loudly in my ears. I focused intently on my aunt’s words, even as they danced from her lips, casting a shadow over my vision and transforming my world into a swirling circus. The exact words evade me, but I know they carried themes of death and my mother, tinged with profound sorrow and finality.

With a trembling laugh, I cried out, “Oh, my dear mother!” My voice carried tears too afraid to fall. Hands reached to lift me, but I resisted, determined to stand on my own. Strength urged me forward, bidding farewell to a setting heavy with bittersweet emotion.

Grasping my phone tightly and bracing against the biting wind, I stepped outside and spoke the words I dreaded: “My mother… she has passed away.” Each syllable hung in the air, pressing upon my heart, making reality feel surreal. The wind carried my words away, leaving behind a hushed silence.

The following days unfolded like a tragedy. At 3 a.m., I was wide awake, trapped in conflicting thoughts and unanswered questions. Part of me clung to hope, envisioning her radiant smile. Another part burned with relentless ache. I remained suspended between longing and anguish.

Outside, my grandmother’s piercing cries shattered the stillness, intertwining with my mother’s name. My heart fractured into delicate shards, unable to bear the weight. Words failed me; no language could capture the depth of my anguish. Tremors coursed through my body as I lay enveloped in sorrow.

I prayed desperately, begging God to ease the pain for my family: “If not for anything, for my grandmother’s sake, take this anguish away.” It was not taken away; the sorrow doubled as the sky brightened.

The routine became an unbearable yoke. Early mornings, preparing to receive visitors offering condolences, drained me entirely. Words like “It is well,” “You can’t question God,” “Be strong,” “I lost my mother too,” and “Don’t cry” pricked my raw emotions, suffocating me. Their constant presence reinforced the reality: my mother was gone, never to return.

8

FAITH

It’s remarkable how pain can shape our beliefs. Despite what others might assume, the immense hurt I experienced when God took away my source of joy, my parent, guide, protector, teacher, friend, and sister strangely deepened my connection with Him. It’s almost ironic that losing my mom strengthened my relationship with God. Through that pain, I found solace and comfort in my faith.

All my life, I had never felt so alone. I was isolated in my grief, my pain, my acute loneliness, and my struggle simply to stay alive and function. All I truly had was God.

For some reason, tears denied me their presence, yet the pain stayed, tightly bottled in my chest, slowly eating away at me. Days passed in a blur. The wind seemed to toss me in every direction, and I didn’t know how to live anymore. I was merely existing. Forgetfulness became my shadow. I remember a concerned acquaintance texting me that I always looked lost and pale. He worried that I was slowly fading away, even when I was physically present.

It was too hard to continue living. More times than I’d like to admit, I thought of ending it all. But my mother deserved better. What would happen to my grandmother if I selfishly took my life because I wasn’t courageous enough to carry my own cross?

I knew I had to do better. I owed it to my mother to tell her beautiful stories to the world. I owed it to her to continue from where she stopped. I owed it to her to grow and reveal the gifts she had generously passed on to me.

So I decided to start living again, even if it took everything in me to jump back onto this train called life before it left me behind. And the only way I knew to do that was to hold on to God. After all, He deemed me strong enough to carry a cross with its crushing weight.

I had no other option but to lay it all at His feet: the pain, the fear, the betrayal, the loneliness, the anxiety, the confusion, the lack of desire to continue living. I dropped it all at His feet.

And He responded. Slowly, gently, but clearly.

I began to understand that the pain I had endured could become something more than a wound I carried. God was leading me toward the purpose I had long been searching for. I might sound crazy, but I finally understood why He took my mother. Understanding doesn’t make it hurt less. It still hurts. But it makes living easier.

The fastest route to my healing was talking.

I spoke about my mom constantly, remembering her as she truly was: strong, bold, resilient, courageous, hard-working, stern, loving, endearing, kind, caring, supportive, intelligent, innovative, content, prayerful, generous, spirited, and rare in a world like ours.

I refused to dwell on her final state, stiff and unmoving as she lay six feet below the earth. I chose instead to remember her as alive, as she will forever remain in my heart. I talked about her until my throat clogged with thick tears and I choked on sobs.

I spoke as my spirit led me. Little did I know that openly carrying my pain would inspire others who were slowly or rapidly being consumed by grief and struggling to take bold steps through their own pain. I shared what I was learning about coping and healing, drawn entirely from experience.

And then something changed.

People began finding strength in my words.

Seeing that made living feel worthwhile. It made my grief bearable. The pain I had once believed would destroy me had become a way to reach people who were hurting too.

For the first time, I began to understand that perhaps my pain was not only something I had to survive. Perhaps it could become something I could use.

That gave me a profound sense of purpose.

When I believed God had already taught me so much, 2022 came crashing down with another overwhelming wave of pain. It felt as though God, in all His majesty, deemed me one of His strongest warriors for that year too.

Even amid hardship, He had a plan.

9

GROWTH

Isn’t it incredible how we endure trials and tribulations and, once we emerge, they become memories? Memories that leave us in awe, realizing that we survived, that we can now live fully and even find courage or humour in the experience. God is truly good.

I lost my mother on July 29, 2021, and spent the rest of that year simply trying to live. Just when I thought I could breathe, 2022 arrived with its own struggle, pain, and strife. In retrospect, it was necessary. It shaped me into who I am today.

“Pray harder, work harder, trust no one, speak only when necessary. Speak to the right person, say the right things at the right time.”

These and many other warnings were the storms of advice that poured in after my mother’s passing. At the time, I didn’t realize how much I would need such caution until life itself sat me down and schooled me.

I had been naive and overly trusting, blind to life’s harsh realities. Blind to cruelty. Blind to opportunists. Blind to the fact that a pure heart does not guarantee kindness from others. Blind to the reality that those we love most can hurt us in ways that cut deepest and sometimes intentionally perpetuate the false version of us they have imagined. Blind to the fact that enduring pain for the sake of peace can slowly destroy you.

2022 was hell.

I battled depression and nearly lost myself, yet God saved me. I gave everything I had to surviving, clinging to Him with every fibre of my being. And somewhere in that struggle, His message became clear: shut out the noise, focus on yourself. It was time to find myself and learn to love the person I was becoming.

That was the growth I carried forward.

10

OGEE TALKS

God delicately planted the seed for “Ogee Talks” in 2020 through one of my most cherished influences. It began as a whisper of an idea, filling a void and countering a growing sense of insignificance beyond being someone’s girlfriend. I yearned to cultivate something uniquely my own: a space to express myself and share my thoughts with the world.

I wanted something entirely mine, something over which I had full control. Something that made me feel like a person of substance, something people would recognize as my creation, my identity, my brand.

That was the genesis of my YouTube channel.

I have always loved to talk, and people enjoyed listening. What better way to lend my voice to thousands of people than through a platform that could accommodate my dreams?

I started YouTube. It wasn’t perfect, but it grew rapidly. People were excited to see and hear me speak. It was surreal, beautiful, and fulfilling.

Then life shifted, and I stopped focusing on YouTube as much. Initially, stepping away was painful. I had attached so much meaning to what I was building that pausing it felt like losing something I had only just found.

Then I realized that Ogee Talks was never confined to YouTube. A name, a purpose, a voice: none of these has to belong to a single platform. Our voices can transcend boundaries.

That realization changed how I saw the journey.

We weren’t created to remain stagnant. We grow, explore, change direction, and turn the pages of our lives. That is part of life’s beauty: revealing new layers of ourselves as we move forward.

Though Ogee Talks paused on YouTube, I stepped fearfully into Instagram and kept the flame alive. I have held tightly to God through storms and struggles, believing that every pain, lesson, and challenge is part of how He is preparing me to discover and fulfil my purpose.

I am still in a season of discovering myself and learning to love every part of me. God is preparing me because we cannot give what we do not have. Our vessels must be full before we can pour into others.

So even though it may seem that nothing is happening with Ogee Talks right now, I trust that He is filling me and preparing me for the journey ahead. Whatever blessings come will also come with responsibilities. I want to be able to give generously without being emptied, because He is continually filling me with the wisdom and strength I will need for the work ahead.

I haven’t yet achieved half of what I believe He created me for. There is still so much I want to become. So many people have yet to hear my voice. So many places I have yet to step into.

Ogee Talks is not over. It is still becoming.

Its mission is simple: to be a voice of hope, offering healing, assistance, and guidance through words and God’s grace. I want my life and my work to reflect His love, favour, and grace.

It is a remarkable calling, and I am profoundly grateful.

Collection: Literesque Prize 1, Creative Nonfiction List

Style: Personal Essay