PART ONE
People’s Eyes
“All I could see was me,
Through other people’s eyes
And it wasn’t much.”
1
I was born with these green eyes, sea green as I always like to call it. Wondering how, you’d probably be among those who would have looked upon me with ridicule. Oh! I’m just joking you have the right to feel anyway about this, just pay attention to my story.
To me they had been like a disfigurement, a defect, a deformity..you get the picture; here I was a very dark-skinned child with natural green eyes. These eyes also gave way to the mark I have on my face.
I always thought I looked like a mutant from one of those X-Men comic books. I actually used to wish the green eyes came with some special powers because from the very start of my life I had been hurt, insulted and abused. As a child I can still remember someone calling me a witch…it was a terrible feeling and believe me I didn’t hesitate to act like one.
I had no idea who I was. There were times when I felt like scratching my eyes out. I didn’t have anyone to really turn to; my family who were supposed to be my bedrock, tried to support me but just couldn’t grasp the torment I felt within.
Born on a cool morning in the month of April, my eyes as I was told startled the nurses assisting the doctor who brought me into this world. It even had them doing the sign of the cross; I myself would have been mortified. My mum had been in serious doubt, quite sure that her baby had been exchanged. But the doctor encouraged her, did some research and thought it was some form of genetic mutation. It was very unexplainable since we had no Caucasian in our family line. I really don’t want to go into all the genetical conclusions but he advised my parents to go abroad for more explanations and test, my dad's family were completely outraged, they levied some accusations on my mum, my dad's mum actually stayed awhile after I was born and ended up trying to make some marking on my face to disperse the evil spirits. Now I was left with green eyes and a mark on my right cheek. Splendid.
My parents being Christians were upset with my dad's mum and she didn’t waste time in going back to her house, but they took the doctors’ advice and flew me out of Nigeria. I lived in the UK for five years shuttling between my parent’s flat and various genetic clinics; they also tried one in Spain. The doctors mostly said the same thing ‘genetic mutation’ but a few said it was still too early to find out and that I should come back when I was much older. My parents were even scared all the tests would probably damage my eyes so they decided to bring me back to Nigeria resolving to let me live a normal life.
I had already turned Six when we got to Nigeria and my parents had to allow me go to school as soon as the summer break was over. I was going straight to primary school cos I had been home-schooled while in the UK and I would say this with as much humility as I can muster, I was a brilliant kid, I still am!
We lived in Ikoyi so I was enrolled in the nearest school to home, Greater Ikoyi Nursery and Primary school. My mum even worked nearby, at the French embassy. My parents had explained to the head mistress and class teacher who felt there was no need for my parents to be scared about my safety.
I can’t really recall what used to happen to me then but I was usually in tears whenever my mum came around to pick me up. My class teacher told my mum that I scared the other kids not just because of the way I looked but the way I usually screamed and flailed around but my mum wasn’t ready to take me out of the school and promised the teacher better behaviour from me. I can tell you I didn’t change much.
Like I said earlier, abuse came early. I remember this particular scene because the little girl involved also appeared in my secondary school and It was the end of my first day in primary school. I had been waiting for my mum in the classroom alone, but as parents began to make their way in, the kids who had been staring at me, began pointing fingers mercilessly even the White kids were not given as much attention. Then a little girl pointing tubby fingers at me said to her mother “mummy, see that girl she looks like a witch and she’s looking at me’. The mother gave me a side glance and pulled the child away. I was only six years old but something deep inside was ripped. My teacher had been fortunately kind and understanding, but the other kids gave me a hard time. With all these happening I was storing a lot of angst deep inside.
I began to formulate ideas of whom people around me actually were. I saw them as tormentors, beings that picked on frail and weak humans. I actually dreamt about it, being artistic by nature, I painted these things and wrote poems about them.
I remember times without number when I’d scream at my parents asking why I was this way. I became a sort of problem child at home, my dad would usually shake me and hug me when my mum was exhausted trying to calm me. He would tell me that I am special and that God created me for a reason. Yeah, I usually thought, to scare the other kids. In school I almost beat up a boy who hid my lunch box once. I was quite tall for my age so nobody dared touch me. No one talked to me when we had group assignments, the kids never said a thing to me even when there was a need to. My teacher regularly told me she couldn’t understand why they would behave cruelly because of my eye colour. Our superstitious nature, she’d usually mutter to herself, and shake her head. I don’t know if you can imagine this or not, a tall dark girl with bright green eyes and a horizontal scar on her face, scary? Maybe not but it was something people were just not into.
