If you ever want to feel like the least successful person in Nigeria, join my old secondary school WhatsApp group.
It's either someone bought a car or someone is bragging to the other about spending millions in a club or posting pictures of themselves in exotic places. Even when they have problems, it's usually the rich man type of problem.
I, on the other hand, got so used to typing congratulations. In fact, I was usually the first to congratulate them with a big smiley face. Like my father always says " being happy when others are winning hastens your own success.” So I've never lived my life being jealous of anyone.
I only admire but I don't get jealous.
Until my congratulations and hyping to each achievement in the group started feeling more like I was clapping for myself to work harder. I started doubting myself, asking different questions about when I would ever be congratulated like others. At some point, I stopped chatting. I just stayed in the group, silent, reading their chats and hating myself.
While others announced big wins, throwing around bragging rights even during small fights
“Lol. Bros behave. Na people like you dey wash my car. (People like you wash my car)” they'll say.
I was struggling to fix my ceiling fan. Somehow, it felt like everybody was rich and doing well. Except me.
One day, they started planning a reunion party, which I never for one day took seriously. Reunions, as I understood, were parties where people gather to rate each other and know who's leading the best life. So I never had plans to attend.
Everyone was required to contribute the sum of twenty thousand naira so we could get a hall and other things required for a party. That was where I began to smell the fish in the bag.
The same people who had the highest bragging rights in our group chat were the first to complain,
“It’s too much!” One said, “Family commitments here and there, I can only do half that amount."
Another one dropped, “Let’s do it simple, abeg. The economy is in recession.”
Well, I didn't read any meaning into it. For all I know, the rich are always the first to complain about being broke when it comes to issues like that. I only made my contribution, it's the least I could do to feel among. It was better than going there and feeling like a failure among people who claimed to be handling global businesses with multiple streams of income. That was what they made me believe online.
On the D day, I stayed in bed trying to catch some sleep when my kid brother walked into my room.
"Marriott," he called out to me.
I raised my head and looked at him.
"Aren't you going to the reunion?" He asked.
I lay back down. "I'm not."
"But you paid?"
"Yes."
"So, why are you saying you won't go?" He kept pressing. He wasn't going to leave anytime soon.
"Guy, you know what reunions are about na. Why ask all these questions?" I look at him again. My eyes clearly told him that he was disturbing me.
He laughed. “Guy, go jor. Not like it's a competition, but I'm sure there are people you're better than. Besides, who cares what they think?” he turned to leave. "Go and get me some drinks while coming back." Then he left the room, shutting the door behind him
I laughed. His love for drinks was unmatched.
His words stayed in my head. I got up, and I ironed my best shirt. My best perfume I smeared and waited till I was a little late. Then I set off. My plan was simple: sit at the back, don't go about greeting everyone, and come home quickly.
I got to the venue, a popular event hall in town. I walked into the hall with my heart beating fast. The place was decorated but it wasn’t anything I had expected. There were rows of white plastic chairs beautifully wrapped in clothes. And then, three big coolers of jollof rice hanging in the corner with crates of drinks I couldn't count.
The party was already in full swing. Different colours and styles of dresses filled the place. Still, I couldn't find that touch of elegance mixed with wealth I was expecting to see, especially from the ones always shouting in the group. We were all humans in our natural form.
Gradually, my inferiority complex began to dissipate. I went from one table to the other. Greeting friends and catching up on old times. Laughing about how our Maths teacher used to mispronounce “isosceles” as “ice cream.” For the first time in a long while, I felt like I belonged again.
In the process, I began to see them without the filters. During a conversation with each other, I realized that just like me, each had his or her struggle. Life has touched everyone in one way or another. But as we all know, it glitters online.
At the end, as we took a group photo, I looked around and smiled. Some faces had changed, some bellies had grown, but we were still the same people.
That night, I walked home with my shirt untucked after a fun-filled night. Half a pack of drinks for my brother in my hands. Don't judge me, I wasn't the only one who went home with drinks.
Well, there was no shame in my heart after all. And for once, I stopped comparing. I just prefer to just live.
