Meet My Busy Mind.

Waiting for life to 'happen'

Monday, October 14, 2019

I have a confession to make.

Do you remember that world-defying Raptors game? The one that all of Canada and her many well-wishers stood still for, and went into days-long frenzy of celebration when won?

That game that signalled the first win NBA by a Canadian basketball team?

That game that offices closed early for, and pubs threw their doors wide open, as strangers huddled together and held hands, while screaming every time we made a basket???

I missed it.

I... who ADORES basketball, and wanted nothing more than to support my home team. I missed that we-will-tell-our-children-where-we-were-when-it-happened once in a lifetime game.

Why?

Because, I was waiting for life to happen. *rolls eyes*

Let me back-track.

…

Earlier this year, I moved to an entirely new city, for work. In the preceding year, I had been too pre-occupied with writing a gazillion exams, to deal with the realities of recently uprooting myself from my personal community of close friends and chosen family developed over the years, in the city I hitherto worked, in a different continent.

When I was not writing exams, I had immediate family around to distract me, and was too concentrated on re-igniting my career, post licensing exams.

So in my usual adventurous style, I accepted an offer in a city I had never visited (but it has grown on me now!), with zero friends, family or other support structure. I made my second move in two years.

After the initial excitement of new beginnings wore off, I began to wonder: what next?

What did people here do? How were nights after work spent? Where did people go to? Were people in my profession who looked and talked like me hiding??

The isolation hit me; hard. I was finally confronted with the reality I had not dealt with for close to two years, when I moved back to Canada.

I missed the smell of suya. I missed meshai indomie, with burnt eggs. I missed Salsa nights, and cruising on the streets of the capital city after my Saturday dance workouts.

I missed struggling with colleagues at work over a cob of corn, or an oversized mango, and who should take the biggest share. I missed my former boss yelling my name, the moment the smell of isi-ewu wafted through the kitchenette’s microwave.

I missed Abuja literary nights, Night of the Spoken Word, Jazz Nights. (Did I say already, that I missed Salsa nights?)

More importantly, I missed the friends who had grown to become my family. I missed the ease of friendship, the relaxed conversations, the (not so) mundane arguments about who was the better writer between Chinua Achebe and Wole Soyinka.

(Fyi: Team Chinua here)

And I missed the LOML. *insert bawling face*

So I moped. And moped. And moped.

And moped.

(I was a walking mop-stick)

I had made just one new acquaintance in my new city, whom a mutual friend introduced me to. The only semblance of life I had was whenever she reached out for some event or the other. After which, I returned to my mopeful existence.

I filled a huge Gee-Pee drum with self-pity, climbed in, and shut the lid tight; embracing and holding fast to my mopeful despair, even as life passed me by. I kept waiting for life to happen to me again, as it once did. My only constant companion was Netflix, and which each bingeful series completed, I felt a little of my mind and existence slide into nothingness.

I was alive. But I was not living; no I wasn’t.

It was in this state I was that news of the NBA finals began circulating, and dominated every lunchtime conversation. People made plans to watch it together in living rooms, some planned to watch it at a restaurant or pub.

So I reached out to my acquaintance, and asked that she call me when she wanted to watch the match, so I could find my way to her location.

Then I went home, and slept.

I slept right till the early hours of the morning, and woke up to screams from all over the city, fanned by the Raptors’ win. It was everywhere.

I had slept through the match, and missed it.

I saw snippets on social media. I saw the baskets made. One drop rolled down my eye. Then the next. Then a bucketful.

I cried with joy that we won. And cried in pain, that I missed it.

And that, my dear friends, was when it all changed for yours truly. That was the turning point.

I had been so busy moping and bemoaning my ‘fate’, that I had forgotten how to live life on my terms. I forgot that I had hitherto been responsible for creating my own joy, and setting the pace for my life.

Who was I waiting for to spice up my life for me? What did I expect… that some super-man would drop from the sky, and suddenly, my life would be as eventful and joyful as it had always been??

Did I not create my joy before?

Amidst the continued shouts of joy in support of the Raptors, I sat up on my bed, flipped my writing pad open, and took my pen. I began to make a list of the things that genuinely brought joy to my life.

Top of the list was books. I had left my books behind, to avoid paying for extra luggage. First thing I noted that was to buy a long-a** bookshelf, and slowly fill it up with my first love.

Books. (Reading always soothed my soul)

Next: I searched for Salsa and Kizomba classes around town. I took numbers down from online, made calls in the morning. By the end of the week, I had begun to attend classes and socials.

I noted the need for more work-out gear. The gym had been my paddy in the not too distant past. It was time to take our relationship more seriously again.

(With renewed dedication and a strictly respected schedule, I lost 20 pounds in four months)

I made enquiries regarding my favourite professional association, and was dismayed to discover that there was no thriving branch in my city. So I reached to HQ for blessings.

With amazing contacts I was connected to, we had something up and running in a couple months.

Finally, I found a church I LOVED. I plugged into the love shared freely, with all of my heart. I joined a sisterhood connect group, and became part of a BEAUTIFUL community of strong women, who met bi-weekly to uplift each other.

In the midst of all this, I began taking strolls to discover my beautiful neighbourhood. (I lived in a really beautiful neighbourhood, and never realised) I found a cute coffee-house/bookstore just down my street, where books were always on sale for $2, and there were monthly Latin nights hosted.

I fixed weekly movie nights with myself, even as I ignored the guilt whenever I walked rights past the gym next door to the cinema, to load up on aspartame from coke-zeros. I looked forward to these movie nights, and discovered the joy in popping handfuls of popcorn, surrounded by total strangers, while screaming at the big screen in unrehearsed unison.

I found a park where I’d just sprawl in the grass when summer rolled in, with my bottles of Malta, and my book for the week/month.

I smelt the roses all around, literally. As I daily skipped to work.

In almost no time, I did not have ‘idle’ time anymore. I laughed whenever I remembered my not so distant mopeful existence. I had now re-discovered my joy; I was living.

Life ~~was~~ is good.

Does it mean that I have stopped missing what I consider till date as my ‘tribe’, the people I had uprooted myself from, when I moved across continents?

Absolutely not. In fact, I have come to terms with the fact that I may never regain the depths of the bonds I had built with my old community, some going as far back as childhood.

But I now understand that there is always room for new relationships, new bonds, and other things that fill my life with joy and meaning; giving me not just a reason to exist, but to actually LIVE.

I am not sure if there is a lesson in all of this for someone, or whether this is just an excuse for me to unabashedly brag (rather smugly) about how I seized back my life’s reins.

If there is a lesson though, it is that there is no lady or knight in shining armour, coming to save you. There is no cape-wearing, fist-in-the-air-flying superhero, whose primary mission on earth is to help you smell the roses.

You are YOUR own superhero. Your army. Your back-up plan. Your cheerleader. Everyone else you come across is a bonus gift from God, or the Universe (depending on which you believe in)

So if you're busy sitting on your beautiful behind (irony, right?) and waiting for life to just ease up, and "things to get better", and the living to begin, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but…

Not happening.

Life will only be as amazing as you make it out to be. Stop waiting on someone else to colour it up for you. You're all the sunshine you need... and much more.

So if you need to go see that movie, by all means, buy the ticket. Get the sugar and popcorn, and have a blast by yourself.

Miss the beach? Wear your swimsuit. Take you novels/or Netflix, and literally go chill on the sand, under a shade somewhere, with a cool glass of Pina Colada.

Want to see the Eiffel Tower?? Hop on that plane already!

Who will take the pictures of you? Hey... what else are strangers made for?? (Lol)

The point is, it is no use waiting on life to just happen, when you can chart your own highs by yourself. Take the good and the bad in each’s own stride. Keep it moving, and be thankful for the gifts of love life gives.

But remember always, you are in the driver's seat of your own life. Life doesn't just "happen".

It becomes what you make of it.

Paz,

Meg.

P.s: Later in the year, I FINALLY began my French classes.

I know… I absolutely rock. 😊🙌

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Dear Doctor, I am African. Not 'Knock-Kneed'.

Tuesday, September 24, 2019

Image result for black female patient rolling eye

Before I (finally) moved to obodo-oyibo, I had often heard/read stories of people of colour, complaining about wrong or inadequate treatment at the hands of medical professionals.

From misdiagnosis, to lack of any diagnosis. Often stemming from inadequate medical exposure on things related to persons of colour (and some would even argue, systemic racism)

I often treated them as just that; mere stories. After all, were the gods of medicine in the West not what we used to taunt our tropical doctors on their inefficiencies??

Grey's Anatomy did an excellent job in schooling me that doctors in North America were little higher than mere gods. Close to infallible even.

Right?

In the time since I moved however, I have had my own personal experiences, which have made me begin to personally understand these complaints of people of colour, and be actively involved in whatever round of treatment I am given.

From flat out arguing with a doctor that the Zika virus was more of a South American phenomenon in recent times, so that there was no need to quarantine me for it, due to a return trip from Nigeria. (Good ole Lady Google settled that argument).

To repeatedly explaining to another good natured doctor, that at 200 pounds and size 10, I was in the best form ever that my 6-foot self had been or could ever be.

I worked out 5-6 times a week, swam, walked, danced. Ate clean. Watched my cholesterol intake. Drank my lemon water. Minded my business. It was not my fault that the 'world' BMI standards surely failed to take into cognisance the density of African bones, in prescribing my BMI as "overweight".

Sigh.

My most recent run-in with the medical profession however left me the most gobsmacked.

It brought me to the initial "aha!" it is either we are in dire need of more persons of colour in the medical profession, or more medical professionals who are more widely travelled, have dealt with a wider demographic of humans and thus, possess a better balanced understanding of the applicability of their craft to people of demographics other than of Caucasian heritage.

(Phew! That was a mouthful)

...

I had gone in to see the doctor for chronic knee pain, resulting from University-basketball injuries that were ignored, and had years later, began to taunt me.

I explained this history to the doctor, told him of my prior scans even, and the recommended courses of treatment I had received over time, which my then budding career at never afforded me the opportunity to explore. Age now demanded I considered them.

After routine questions, this kind gentleman asked me to stand up, looked at my legs, then looked at me.

"Ma'm, the thing is you feel the pain more because you're knock-kneed, so..."

Whaaaaaat! Everything else flew out of the window.

"I am what??"

"Oh, knock-kneed. This means..." he proceeded to define it.

"I know what knock-kneed means".

Heck, I knew knock-knees since reading Elechi Amadi's the Concubine in primary five, and perpetually smiling at the knock-kneed Wodu Wakiri's comedic story-arch, in the otherwise tragic classic.

At that early age, I'd checked the meaning of "knock-knees", and understood it was what some derogatorily (and wrongly) referred to as 'K-Leg'.

Not that being knock-kneed is a negative label, worthy of rending one's clothes in dire mourning. But I had had enough tort legal exposure in medical negligence cases, to understand that just one 'erroneous' misdiagnosis in your medical treatment could send you on a medical lifetime journey of tears.

"Doctor, I am many, many things. But I am NOT knock-kneed".

He stood up, and showed me how his thighs/legs did not join together at the knees, unlike mine, which lacked the European "see through" all Victoria's Secret models easily boast of.

Sigh.

This fine, lanky gentleman, who could be no more than a size 1.5 (UK), both his legs together not as large as my one leg.

He was comparing his physical Anatomy to mine, in order to convince me that my mother had birthed me with a condition which stayed undiscovered for a huge part of a half century. Just as Christopher Columbus "discovered" America, surely, he had discovered I was knock-kneed.

El Oh El.

I knew it would sound childish to tell him of all the secondary school accolades I won for "Miss straight legs". So I tried to explained to him in the calmest detail the phenomenon known as Anambra Thighs.

The Anambra women of South East Nigeria, in Africa, are not only known for their tall height and big build. They are renowned for their thick thighs, which is where all the fat in their body play monopoly. So that your typical Anambra woman may boast of a six-pac size 8 upper body, yet, be stuck with size 12 pants and skirts.

Because: Thighs.

While we could not boast of the hips of our Imo counterparts, we remained unbeaten in the South-East (and I daresay, the whole Nigeria) for 'ukwu-turkey'.

Come rain, come shine. Even if I became a size 0 tomorrow, those thighs had sworn no retreat, no surrender.

And I love every inch of them. I love the banging body God blessed me with. The identity with which I had been gifted, not just as an African woman, but a constant reminder of my proud Anambra heritage.

I'd be darned if I'd let uncle doctor condemn me to a condition I did not have, because I was the first Anambra woman he had met. And I told him this, in the clearest of terms.

Suffice to note that the pitch he had prepared for a pair of $450 per-foot compression shoes to 'assist' with the 'knock-knees' was an epic fail, as I insisted on seeing his superior, who simply provided the necessary referral that I come in for in the first place.

*Rolls-eyes*

Now, this post is not to ridicule or reduce the good work my sisters and brothers in the medical profession do. However, just like in my profession - the legal profession - there is always need for a professional to apply restraint in 'blanket' approaches to every matter, and deal with each on the merits of their own. That knock-kneed persons have their legs joined at the knees, does not equal that everyone whose legs come together close to the knees is knock-kneed.

The demographic heritage of a person is rather vital in the provision of professional services to any person.

That you have limited exposure to predominantly a particular demographic is not a negative reflection on your professional capabilities. It just requires more open-mindedness and perhaps a little more of conscious exposure (research even) in dealing with members of a different demographic.

It also requires actually listening to and understanding your clients' history, rather than mansplaining & Caucasiansplaining their issues away.

My lunch-time discourse the next day about this with other colleagues of colour reaffirmed that it was not "all in my head", as they recounted their own experiences, and how now they held fast to their doctors of Pakistan, South African and Caribbean heritage, due to poor treatment with prior 'traditional' doctors they had visited.

But this does little for the diversity we all are trying so hard to promote, does it??

My take away from all this is that it is not just enough for more people of colour to be in the medical profession. If persons of colour stick to persons of colour, we perpetuate systemic polarisation in the society.

Rather, there is the need for our medical (and other) professionals to be more in tune with the fast changing demographic of our society, and align their services to be better suited for case by case application, rather than holding every demographic ransom to European standards.

Maybe this may require changing some textbook theories. Maybe it may require conferences at national and international levels, and a much wider discourse. Or maybe even it may require moving us all to Mars, and blowing the trumpet on Earth.

I don't have all the answers.

All I know is that next time, please pause and conduct proper research, before you wrongly declare a well-rounded, full-figured, body-bangin' woman of African heritage as 'knock-kneed'.

Paz,

Meg.

GIF-credit: www.giphy.com (Original photo from the Real Housewives of Atlanta)

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Business

The Art of Professional Networking

Monday, August 26, 2019

Professional Networking Events in Houston

There are many things we are taught in school.

How to sit quiet. How to speak proper. When to write our exams. Where to write our names on exam sheets

In courses like Law, you’re taught the basic rules of Contract. That one cannot give what they do not have, a.k.a nemo dat quod non habeat. And that you have some obligation to be your sister’s keeper, under the law of tort.

We are urged to make the best grades, and are assured of the good life waiting for us outside the gates of school, once we stick to our teachers’ every wise word.

What we are seldom taught (if taught at all) is the need for, and the art of networking.

Networking entails constantly meeting, discussing with, and exchanging ideas with people of same (professional) interests. In these times, where ‘being intelligent’ has been made the new average by the many tools that the internet affords, networking has become as fundamental to career growth, as tomato is to Nigerian jollof.

I learnt this the hard way in the course of my career, especially moving to a whole new place, and having little number of professional contacts in my field. I would go to a professional event, sit tongue-tied, feeling lost the whole time, and leaving lostier than I was when I came.

Over time however, I came to understand (and appreciate) the value of networking. Through networking, I have met amazing mentors, built professional (and personal) bonds, and even gotten awesome job opportunities. And I have learnt that even for the self-employed, networking is an AWESOME tool in putting your brand out there, and keeping the business rolling in.

While I cannot promise you that I have locked down the "48 Secret Laws of Power-Networking" (lol... if you find them, please share them with me too) I can share with you tips I have learnt along the way, to help you get started on this networking journey.

1. Build your online Profile: If you're still under the mistaken belief that your employability is only based on your CV, then you're still stuck somewhere in the mid-80s.

With the availability of digital footprints, it is easy scour the internet for a quick due diligence on a prospective employer, employee or business partner.

Be deliberate with your digital footprints. Keep your online profile consistent, and marketable.

If you do not have a LinkedIn account, again, you're somewhere in the mid-1960s. At the very least, have an up-to-date LinkedIn account. And it doesn't matter if you're still in school; the earlier, the better.

2. Join Professional networking groups: Snoop around your vicinity and profession. What networking groups would afford you the opportunity to build your professional community? Join professional associations where you can, sign up for networking events, and strive to attend these events when you can.

3. Engage: It is not enough to just join professional groups, then sit pretty. Engage in events you attend. Engage on LinkedIn. It could be as simple as asking important questions to clarify salient points in an event, or clicking an article by someone in your field that you admire, and adding your own views.

Reach out to members of your network on LinkedIn. When you do, keep it simple, and straight to the point. If you get a chance for a chat or coffee, find shared interests to chit-chat on as well.

4. Volunteer: There is often the mistaken belief that volunteering one’s services only benefits the organisation being volunteered. This is not true.

In addition to increasing one’s professional network based on interactions with people met at volunteering opportunities, there is also the advantage of gaining better knowledge first-hand in the area of specialty of the organisation. You could also volunteer your time with the associations you join, as well as your immediate community where you live.

5. Aim at building relationships: This is a tough one to digest sometimes. The truth is that nine out of ten times, no one will meet you at one sitting and hand you a job, or give you the keys to their business empire. But if you build genuine professional relationships, you would be increasing the number of people willing to refer you for or to an opportunity in future. More importantly, you'd be enriching yourself with valuable associations, which will carry beyond just finding the next gig.

When you start a networking relationship, look beyond "what can they do for me?" to forming an actual (professional) connection with the other person. See every network connection as a potential opportunity for long-term professional relationship, rather than as a means to an end. Nobody likes to be a "means" to an end.

6. Keep reading: It is important to keep yourself apprised on happenings in your area of interest so that at the very least, you can hold meaningful conversations during networking events/opportunities.

Make out time a week to read, either core materials, or online articles. Keep increasing your knowledge in the area.

7. Network laterally: While job-hunting or even business-hunting, it is easy to spend the most of your focus on networking with people more senior than you in your field, as they probably wield more influence and make the most of the business decisions.

But people greatly underestimate the huge resource that one's peers constitutes in networking. Your peers have their ears closer the ground; they know of the existence of that opportunity, even before "management" has decided to publish same. They understand the inner workings of the business or organisation, and are likely to be more emphatic in understanding the challenges you face. Accordingly, your lateral connections are more likely to be rooting for and with you, than connections hirer up the ladder.

Even your lateral connections also searching for opportunities (like your) are great avenues for networking. They may come across opportunities not suited for them, but which would be a perfect fit for you. They are also likely to be ready to go into business partnership with you, and take same risks with you.

In networking, never under-estimate your peers.

8. Keep Networking: When you FINALLY land that perfect job or the business client... you would be hurting yourself to stop networking. While you may not be available at the drop of a hat for every event, it is important that you keep yourself 'out there'. It would help you stay on top of potential opportunities for your organisation, and especially, for your own future development.

And even within your organisation, you will find that it is as important to continue to apply the networking skills you have acquired. Particularly if it is a bigger organisations, with various opportunities to explore for exciting work streams.

Whatever you do, remember that networking never gets old. Keep attending events. Keep meeting people. Keep making (and growing your connections)

Keep networking.

Paz,

Meg.

Photo-credit: www.unpakt.com

2 Comments

Life

Dear August... (and maybe September)

Monday, August 05, 2019

Wait... did you think I was done?

That I had forever buried my e-pen and ink at the bottom of the Dead Sea??

That I had shut THIS all down, packed up my stuff and moved far, far away to Australia?

(No offence to my darling Australian fans... I love you 😍😍 )

Heck no!

But I have been up and about..

Remember when I hinted at the end of last year, that I was taking a step back in 2019, to build more substance in my life??

I love, love, LOVE to give through my writing. And I did a lot of that last year.

But sometimes... to be able to give, you have to build. And grow.

Which is why I've been off(ish). I've been working on personal growth, in my career and otherwise.

Most significantly... I slowly (but surely) rekindled my love for reading, just for reading sake.

I know; it's hard for folks in professions like mine, to make reading their hobbies. But fam... it hit me that movies and Social Media had consumed too much of my appetite than was intellectually healthy for me.

So I took a healthy step back from all of that, and literally forced myself to go back to reading.

At first, it was hard. So I started with the baby stuff. Pseudo-romance novels, laced with the Nancy Drew-type sleuthing.

Then I moved on up to hard-core thrillers. The Dean Koontzes and Robert Pattersons.

Now... I'm in full groove back in my addiction with reading, and just plucking the books from the shelves. My focus recently has been more on autobiographical novels; fun enough to keep me mentally entertained & stimulated, while taking notes on real life lessons.

I've got a poppin' line-up of some of these books, for August, and likely September. If possible... I just might stretch reading them to October. (Talk about delayed gratification)

How do I get the time, you ask?

Boo... I've learnt to restrict my movie watching to just weekends, and I'm now very selective with how long I'm on Social Media a day. Sometimes... 30 minutes a day. Other times... none.

So yes, these are my faves right now: Becoming (by Michelle Obama a.k.a Queen Mother forever!), Born a Crime (by Trevor Noah), Second Class Citizen (by Buchi Emecheta), year of YES (by my darling Shonda Rhimes), Invisible Women (by Caroline Criado-Perez) and Girl Stop Apologizing (by Rachel Hollis).

You can be sure that I'll gush about some (if not all) of them via reviews here.

In the meantime... yes. You can do the happy chicken dance.

I surely ~~am back~~ never left.

Paz,

Meg

P.s: Feels good to be back... doesn't it?

1 Comments

Waiting for life to 'happen'

Dear Doctor, I am African. Not 'Knock-Kneed'.

The Art of Professional Networking

Dear August... (and maybe September)

MEG CHINELO EGBUNONU

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