2016 - 2017 was a particularly rough period for me. There were extreme highs and lows.

When it was good, it was really good. When it was bad... it was BAD.

I experienced disappointments that I did not see coming; life curve-balled me.

With the disappointments came trepidation, and I often found myself calming myself down in an empty room, amidst scalding tears.

(Yes. I cry.)

I also prepared to move across continents (in a series of serendipitous events). But I think I underestimated the effects of the move, and the accompanying changes I had to acclimatize to.

The whole time, I just pushed through the pain and the stress, while focusing on my given goal at any stage. But sometimes, I would break down... then pick myself right up, and continue pushing.

I remember sitting at a table in a garden-joint, eating baked fish after work one day with my friends, and whining about how unfair life was. The heavenly flavour of the fish in my mouth probably watered the seriousness of my unhappiness, as I shared some of what I was going through.

They laughed at my 'exaggeration' of the circumstances, and waived it aside. "You're a strong woman", said one. "You have a solution to every problem”, another. Nothing gets to you"  the third one.

It would have been funny, if it was not so not-funny; the disbelief that I could have down days too. Certainly, I am no Cersei of the House Lannister.

(Rolls eyes)

Strong Woman. (scoffs)

That's the term we casually ascribe to women who do not easily come across as (what's the word?) 'soft'. Women not easily given to doubling up in tears upon losing a coveted position, or failing a test.

Truth is the concept of a "Strong Woman" is somewhat of a misconception in itself. Because while the woman may not be prone to falling apart before the world's eyes (as is naturally and prejudicially expected of the 'weaker' gender) it does not mean she does not fall apart. 

Everyone falls apart, at one point or the other.

Like other humans (inclusive of males), who are prone to being overwhelmed every now and then, she simply falls apart in the sanctity of her privacy, and draws inner strength from herself.

Being considered a "strong woman" places the obligation of wearing the vestige of impenetrable stoicness, sometimes making the wearer come across as cold.

Like Margaret Thatcher of old. (My dear, dear namesake!)

But while being referred to as a "Strong woman" may be isolating in its weird way - carrying a lot of 'responsibility' and almost culminating into a burden of feigned super-power - there is equally some comfort to be drawn from it.

The knowledge that even in the deepest and darkest moments, you are a symbol of strength to others around is enough reminder to reach in, to consciously latch unto that strength, and rise to the occasion.

It is ok to cave in, to fall apart or cry every once in a while. Then pick yourself up, keep pushing through the challenges of life, and conquering obstacles.

If it is any consolation, it is that you have provided strength enough to others, to be regarded as ‘strong’.

Rise to the occasion. Own your strength,

Strong Woman.

Paz,

Meg.

Photo-Credits: Gina Torres as "Jessica Pearson" in Suits (taken from www.variety.com)

I had arrived.

But I lived on the Mainland with my parents, and commuting every day through the crazy Lagos traffic to Lekki would stress me out, and eat deep into my eighty-thousand naira-a-month salary. So I picked up my phone to call Uncle Peter, who lived in Lekki with his wife and four kids.

The last time I saw him was twelve years ago, he had not been married then. I did not even attend his wedding and worse still, I had not kept in touch with him via phone nor social media. So while the phone was ringing, deep down in me was a tinge of doubt he would oblige my request to live with them.

"Hello, Uncle Peter, good evening sir. It is..." I called him that evening, hoping I still exist both in his memory and good books.

Two things surprised me; he recognized me even before I announced my name, and he sounded very excited to have me come over.

"You are no longer a small boy o, you sound like a grown man!" his voice was filled with so much excitement, it had me blushing. "So you mean you have finished school, completed NYSC and now you have gotten a job?"

I appeared at Uncle Peter’s house on a Sunday evening, a day before my official resumption, ready to move in. Uncle Peter and his family occupied the ground floor of a yellow painted one-storey building. The compound was not so spacious, but (boy!), it was quiet.

There was a fine array of freshly trimmed flowers, red and green and yellow in colour. The smell of the flowers, the serenity of the environment, the clean surrounding, the fresh air and the bliss and the cool and the calm made me not want to set foot on the mainland ever again. Never again!

On the direction of the security guard, I walked further down, turned left and pressed the doorbell; still in admiration.

Uncle opened the door on the second ring and he was surprised at how tall I had grown. I caught his wife and kids peering through the window, stealing glances, and when I got inside the living room, they were all cheerful to see me. His wife - Aunty - happily carried my bag to the guest room, where I had been assigned. She came out through the kitchen with a huge plate of rice I considered too much for my small stomach.

After eating, Uncle walked me to the guest room, showed me the bathroom and asked me to ‘manage’ it.

"Manage this ke? With the air-conditioner and big bed? Uncle this is more than conducive!" Everything was falling so perfectly in line. I could not be thankful enough.

When I came back from work the next day, I was surprised to have dinner set for me. All I need is a place to rest my head at night, I did not bargain for this, this is too much,  I thought to myself.

Time saw Uncle and I bond over football matches together and throw banters each other, him being an Arsenal fan and I, proudly Chelsea. We became closer with each passing day, like friends, and we often engaged in chit-chats on a range of topics, from the renaissance to the contemporary, sports to politics.

And yes, girls. (He called me a grown man remember?) He has a sound mind and I enjoyed every moment with him, until that time when things started to fall apart.

I cannot remember the exact time things began to fall apart, and the centre could no longer hold. There was no specific event. But I realised that dinner became more inconsistent, and then, it was nothing but a distant memory. Notwithstanding, I did not take it very seriously. After all, what brought me to Lekki was shelter... right? Every other thing was a bonus. I just learnt to buy my breakfast and dinner from a roadside local buka on my way from work, and leave KFC for the big boys.

One morning before leaving for work, I was asked to vacate the guest room for the Aunty’s brother who came for holidays. Although Aunty’s brother was light-years my junior, I was sensible enough to realise that even in a circle of family, some members are more important than others. So I moved to share a room with the housekeepers, who before this time, looked up to me for orders when uncle and his wife travelled.

I came back from work one evening, tired and a rather hungry. It had rained heavily that evening, and I could not buy food on my way from work. As I lay on the bed going through the likes on Facebook for my ‘selfie-on-the-Island’ post, I was interrupted by a housekeeper who informed me my attention was needed in the living room.

I got to the parlour and like a criminal suspect, I stood at a distance from the dinning area, where Uncle, Aunty, Aunty’s brother, and the kids were all seated like a jury panel, ready to convict me. Then Uncle asked;

"What soap do you use in bathing?" The question was as embarrassing as it was unpleasant, but I managed to refrain from expressing my displeasure.

"I always use the soap I bought to wash and bathe", I answered him respectfully, but firmly. Then I excused myself, wondering what prompted the question. Maybe someone told him I was using the family provisions.

Another night that same week, I was once again summoned before the jury, with more than five pairs of human eyes staring at me, unflinchingly.

"My wife has noticed some things missing from the kitchen and it all started since you began staying with us", Uncle said, with concern.

At this point, the house was becoming very uncomfortable for me with such allegations and similar other happenings. I was disturbed by the change in attitude of my hosts and I thought deeply about it all through the week. I decided I was to blame. I was a victim of my own circumstance.

"I have not been doing domestic chores, and I have never assisted in buying house provisions", I thought aloud to myself. "Maybe that is why they are treating me like this way”.

So that Friday after work, I stopped by a supermarket and bought toiletries, beverages, biscuits for the kids and any other house hold item I could lay hands on.

The next day, with optimism and excitement, I brought out the items I had bought and took them to the kitchen. Uncle collected them, inspected them one by one, and with a blank face rejected them all.

"We do not need any assistance from you" he said, calmly dropping the items on the floor. "If you look at us thoroughly, you will see that we are living a comfortable life. Please take your gifts". He said that and left. My bones became weak, and my legs could no longer support me. I leaned against the deep freezer and allowed dejection to consume me.

I would later give most of the provisions I bought to the security guard, , and keep some for myself.

Desperate to still make a good impression, I woke up early before dawn the next day and swept the house, even before the housekeepers woke up. Aunty found me sweeping the second day in the wee hours, I was happy she did. In response to my greeting, she stated that they have paid housekeepers who took care of house chores, and no extra hand was needed.

The subtle hints that I had overstayed my welcome continued, but I failed to consciously acknowledge the handwriting on the wall, until I was forced to do so one unpleasant evening.

I was entering the compound, coming from work, and saw Uncle and Aunty leaning against their black SUV, with the children playing around. I greeted them and walked past. Then he called me.

"Come. For how long do you intend staying with us?", he asked, gently stroking his beards.

Ahhhhhh!!! The day of reckoning had finally come!

The question was as unexpected as it was hurtful. Every happiness and sense of fulfilment in me from the day’s work vanished like a sweet dream at dawn. He looked at me intensely and our eyes locked. Then I looked away.

"I will leave immediately I find an apartment Sir".

I lied (ish). I wasn't looking for any apartment in Lekki. The apartments there were not for starters to life like me with a meagre salary. A small cubicle costs about three hundred thousand naira in rent, exclusive of other fees.

Later that week, I would leave his house and thank him for the hospitality. I would go back to the Mainland, because the Mainland was where I had my home, and my dignity (or what was left of it).

I would eventually quit my job because the cost of transportation barely saw me save thirty thousand naira from my salary, and the traffic induced stress was not worth it.

***

Everyone can welcome a visitor, but it takes much more to keep them. Not that those who cannot keep a visitor are wicked. It just takes something much more; something uncommon, perhaps divine, to harbour another person indefinitely. It is a burden that cannot be assumed unilaterally by the beneficiary of the arrangement.

So if you have ever been sheltered without any pain, be very, very, very grateful. And whatever you do, be sure to never overstay your welcome".

If I were to count the Nigerian artistes and entertainers I absolutely admire their craft, Folarin Falana a.k.a ‘Falz’ would most likely be in my top-five pick.

Expectedly the star of the series is Star, with all of her drama, fire and spirit. But my favourite character has remained Jahil, a washed-out music talent-manager, always looking for who to sell “the next big thing!”, and often coming close to mainstream success, but having it slip through his fingertips.

 Notwithstanding his inability to sustain his trickling conquests, I have admired his (blindly?) optimistic spirit over the past three seasons; always up and about one new deal or the other. The one thing I took exception to was his ‘shady’ personal lifestyle, which though separate from his ear for genuine talent, raised eyebrows.

But everyone in the show acknowledged him as a ‘hustler’, and for some reason, even though he worked genuinely hard, this was not always made in the most positive light; he attracted scorn with the use of the description.

Why? Is being a hustler a bad thing??

While more conventional (online) dictionaries such as Oxford and Cambridge see a hustler as a person who “tries to trick another into giving them money”, a hustler is also defined in other sources as a street-smart person, working hard to make ends meet by “using his smarts, and outcunning everyone out there” (www.urbandictionary.com)  

(Sounds familiar?)

Keeping it real… a lot of us would well fall into this latter definition of hustler, especially in today’s business world where certificates simpliciter no longer suffice to keep one ahead in their chosen field.

A hustler is that person who is always one step ahead of everyone else, finding the next untapped potential, and turning it into a thriving business opportunity.

Argue all you want, keeping one’s head well above water in the business world requires being a (well-bred) hustler. For example, people like me, who new to a particular environment, will put themselves out there to sell their exceptional products, services or skills, in order to compete equally with other professionals in their field, and carve out their own niche.

In case you missed the memo, “Networking”, “Entrepreneurship”, “Consultant”, “Contractor” and even “Politician” are all bourgeoisie euphemism for describing the art of hustling.

You know that inventor always looking to sell a new invention, or app?? That too  is a hustler.

So hustling - or being a hustler - is not a bad thing in itself, per se.

But…

(You knew the ‘but’ was coming… right?)

There are ways you can go about your hustling, which would ensure it is a totally good thing, and not subject you to the scorn and derision with which Jahil was always met.

For starters, your hustle has to be legit.

I mean, this goes without saying that if you are known to hustle in things that would pit you against the law (or your side-hustle is pseudo-illegal), you would be a pariah, and a lot of legal businesses would want to have nothing to do with you.

Even if your hustle is legit, do not be like Jahil and maintain a rather unattractive personal lifestyle, which could invariably affect your professional hustle, and make potential investors or business associates question if they want to be associated with you.

Secondly (and equally important), you have to gain integrity in your hustling i.e. ‘street-cred(ibility’).

In other words, it is okay for example, to be that Nigerian contractor who is always looking to execute one contract or the other. But also build a reputation around yourself, and ACTUALLY execute your contracts, to the standards promised in your proposal.

It is not enough for you to “network” (or hustle) your way into a job. You cannot network through your career.  You have to actually bring the goods, i.e. know the stuff for which you are employed, or build that knowledge on the job.

For you to gain credibility through your hustle, you have to develop actual substance. The hustle may only get you a foot in the door. But it is the substance of the products or services you are selling which will guarantee you a permanent seat at the table.

Finally, as a hustler, you need to know when to stop hustling, and consolidate on the acquired fruits of your hustle. You need to know when to stop chasing shadows or “the next big thing”, as this could affect your focus on things you already have on your plate.

(Remember that proverb about the bird, and the hand, and the bush??)

Sean Combs. JayZ. Bill Gates. Steve Jobs. Oprah. They all were hustlers at one point or the other. But they knew the right time to stop hustling, and consolidate on what they had attained, even diversifying when necessary.

This does not imply that you do not exploit avenues for improvement or development. Rather, do not place your sights so narrowly on (unguaranteed) future ‘deals’, that you fail to adequately develop the ones sitting squarely in your laps already.

Calm down.

You got through the door. You got your product out there. Now, develop your product or services into something formidable.

Grow your brand. Grow your personality also. Build your empire from your hustling, and make it as attractive as possible.

Then, let the hustle come to you. Let investors, employers, clients be the ones to seek after you, based on your proven track record of delivering on your products/services, and the niche you have carved for yourself.

And when you recognize young (legit) hustlers just like you once were, just smile to yourself, and provide some mentorship/guidance to them when you can.

But you cannot forever aim to just be a hustler, if not, you would be doing yourself a huge disservice, and limiting yourself in a world of otherwise limitless possibilities.

Be more than a hustler; be phenomenal.

Now that you have read this, go and hustle properly.  

And may the odds be in your favour!

Paz,

Meg.

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Photo-credit: Wilford Harewood/Fox

Fear is such a potent illusion. It blinds you to your abilities - especially to your one ability to overcome it.

But that is all it is: a mere illusion.

Yet, the illusion which Fear projects could be so potent that that it makes you insecure, and question everything you (think you) know.

In the past, fear had crippled me. Literally.

I remember growing up not being able to face the world. After I discovered I had a gift for music, I could not sing; not even to my family members and friends, people you would expect I would be most comfortable with.

For the longest time ever, I was afraid that they would LIKE it; that people would genuinely love my voice.

(It should have been the opposite, right?)

Fear was the reason I didn't realize how much strength I had, and how incredible I was in being strong for other people undergoing challenges, so that I kept falling under the weight of my own challenges without putting up a fight.

Fear made me stall in the pursuit of my dreams, often forcing me to seek easy ways out of obstacles. And I remember being so afraid of standing up for myself because I thought being "at peace" with everyone was the answer to setting myself free from what others thought of me.

Heck! I couldn't even sleep at night with the lights off, because I was so afraid of the dark. That was how much power Fear held over me.

Being a victim of fear is like living in a haunted house; there is no resting place and every door seems to lead to something more frightening. It is as though there is an unseen bogeyman waiting to pounce on you for daring to actualise your dreams.

Thankfully, I learned to overcome my fears, and began living rather than merely existing. How did I survive this mortal fear of Fear?

I can only attribute it to courage, to hope, to a strong will and to the ever flowing grace of God.

I realised that if I rose above my fears I would not only strive to make the most in my life, but could use my voice to encourage others (at every given opportunity) to make the most of their lives. And in retrospect, it gives me such great happiness to be in a much better place than I ever was.

It is not as if the Fear just went away of its own accord; I just acted despite the existence of Fear.

I constantly remember a quote attributed to Mark Twain, that “courage is not the absence of fear; it is acting inspite of it”.

(Quite similar to the charge given to Joshua in the holy book: Be Courageous)

So whenever fear knocks on the door of your great mind, do not let it in. But if it finds its way through, let your courage be greater than the Fear you feel in achieving your greatest potential.

Do it afraid.

Onyinye.

 Onyinye is a singer-songwriter, with a powerful voice. She is also a fitness enthusiast, and a noodles-and-chicken aficionado.

 She has released a song titled “Home”, has done a cover of Beyonce’s “Daddy Lessons”, and occasionally writes on her blog www.dreamgirljourney.wordpress.com.

We patiently await her debut EP.

*Have you followed our blog today? Simply click on the Follow button to the right-side of the post, for your computer screen, or keeeep scrolling down on your hand-held device. And keeeeeeeep scrolling further down, to add us to your circles.