On parental interference and sundry matters - III

A Problem Child

I have a blessing; I still have my parents who are alive and well, but we have a situation where we are estranged. This estrangement is probably because they are embarrassed or ashamed of me, and that is something we all have to deal with in life when it comes to how we live and the choices we make.

In those circumstances, I have taken measures to manage their exposure to these things, sometimes by reducing or eliminating communication.

For those children who have made their parents proud without having to sacrifice anything of themselves, I guess you are doubly blessed. The stars were aligned, maybe angels were even singing to the shepherds in the fields, as wise men journeyed with presents of gold, frankincense, and myrrh from the East to herald your birth. Oh, the prophets foretold it all.

I was not that child; I was different, difficult, and diffident. I was at one time smart and then considered stupid; for a while, trusted, and then not trusted. I was a handful to my parents, yet a product of the environment I was in.

We Were Not Friends

My African parents made many assumptions about what they thought I had learnt from examples that were not always obvious, for instance, the handling of money. Heck! My father is an accountant, but tell me, how do you pass down the genes? I guess only one of my siblings pursued a career with any semblance of that profession, so much for the power of example.

My parents are of the generation that maintained a certain status and stature, with a school principal for a mother, someone moulding impressionable young lives. The pressure to perform was even more stifling, the need to impress was necessary, and every failing was condemned with such excoriation it left an indelible mark.

Then I failed. I failed woefully, twice. I started courses at two polytechnics, both ending with the advice to withdraw. When I look back, I realise I was clinically depressed; my mother had Psalms and white-garment prophets on the rolodex of that time, and I found religion. I had finished secondary school at 15 and was starting all over again at 20.

A Different Parent

The difference this time was being under the guardianship of an uncle, my sadly departed Uncle Cash, a close relation who had experienced failures early in life but had become very successful in his chosen profession of insurance.

That relationship was different. It was not built on a yearning to show power by demanding and comparing, but on engagement and an appreciation that I was a person first, with my own beliefs and persuasions that could be accommodated within his mentorship and guidance. My parents backed off a bit, and I thrived.

The purpose I gained moved from setting goals to make others proud to achieving success for myself. I had the power to make my own decisions, based not on what others thought, but on what I thought was best for who I was, what I was doing, and what I aimed to achieve.

We Are Really Strangers

In their eyes, I could very well still be the child they once knew, because we grew so far apart from the day they sent me to secondary boarding school. They knew one child; I am a different man, and their child still.

In the same vein, my parents have changed from the people I once knew, even as some characteristics remain, and we have never really had the time to compare notes about who everyone turned out to be.

I have issues and misgivings, many of which I have written about in my blogs. I think I have had a reasonable relationship with my father and a rather volatile one with my mother. Even as I think of them and love them, there are elements of past resentment and abandonment that have taken hold as I review their parenting of me as an individual.

My parents, I can understand, have their concerns too: they have a firstborn son who is gay, has never married and will marry a man, has no offspring, and whom they have not seen in decades. And I am comfortable with all that, because it is my own life and not theirs.

Let's Do This Again

On my Facebook page, I have a friend request, the inspiration for this blog, because it is from my father, who I once blocked, then unblocked, but did not re-establish the friend relationship. After all, he conflated the situations of parent, participant, and policing.

Allowing him to participate in my social media activities meant that he began to police me, and then I got the message: “The earlier you make a good change in your lifestyle the better; it is not too late. All the best”. I was 53. I am going to be 60 in December.

You know what? I’ll accept that friend request.

Blog - This is my life, this is me

Blog - On parental interference and sundry matters

Blog - On parental interference and sundry matters - II

Thought Picnic: Breaking the yoke of the firstborn

Good intentions count for nothing.

I reflected recently on a situation where many depend on you, but you cannot depend on them. It was highlighted clearly but unnoticed at the time when an appeal was made for help and support.

What was obvious was what others actively did to contribute to that appeal, while those who were expected to do more were caught hand-wringing and hesitating, and were more concerned about how my plight affected them than genuinely caring about what I was going through.

Any contribution, no matter how small, would have helped, but all I heard was intention, and it never amounted to more. I am very grateful to those who, from afar, showed their generosity to a man who was going through a difficult period in his life.

I cannot say if it was a total indifference or a lack of compassion that informed the lack of interaction that visited my cancer diagnosis last year, because a cursory view of my blog and social media activity would have revealed as much, but it might be conceited to think others should be that concerned.

They care little for you.

And so, when one re-evaluates issues as they are, some tough love must be applied to relationships that have become transactional due to family responsibilities. I dare say, they have lacked the care, love, or attention one would normally expect in such settings.

In my many experiences with adversity, they have not been the ones offering to support me; it is friends who stood by me. My shortcomings have been more an embarrassment to them than an opportunity to help, whether emotionally or materially.

Even the supposed comfort once offered by the matriarch soon wore thin as I struggled with my confidence.

Firstborns bear significant burdens of duty, often at the expense of their well-being, especially in non-Western environments. Extraneous demands are placed on us to deliver with little respite; we invest considerable resources with little return, as expectations and entitlement drain what little we try to save for tough times.

Firstborns Anonymous to the rescue.

The lesson we fail to learn is that everyone eventually manages on their own, whether we are there or not. How we burden ourselves at the cost of our own good is rarely talked of. A support group like Firstborns Anonymous could help us break free from these constraints to focus on ourselves.

We have become hostages to misfortune; we did not choose where we end up, and if, for many, we haven't asserted ourselves to gain privileges from our birth circumstances, then perhaps a selfish gene should take over, setting different priorities from cultural norms.

None of it was an investment.

We need to close the door to endless demands and build sufficient capacity for ourselves before we help others. Sadly, none of what was expended was an investment; if it had been, there would be some returns, some relief, some ease. Instead, they are sunk costs we struggle to walk away from, like unprofitable ventures.

In the end, when everything is accounted for, you owe nobody anything. When you exert yourself, do so with the hope that it benefits those who are truly grateful for what you do, and rest assured that if times are hard, they will stand by you.

The disappointment is tangible; our expectations were misplaced in what once seemed like a store of treasure, in family.

Drought in bladderland

You’ve seen it all before

I guess when it comes to health and medical issues you must forget to be embarrassed and face things with, well, an injection of humour.

When I was in hospital in late 2009, I needed to have a shower and I was in such dreadful pain being supervised by a nurse. She pulled the curtains to shield me, but in that state of sheer vulnerability, it meant nothing to me.

I simply told her, "In your job, you have seen so much that I do not care for what you see now", as I invited her to scrub my back and hose me down. We can be precious about the common things, when in the hospital, honesty, frankness, openness, and truth matter more than anything to get the right outcomes.

A drought in the bladder

So, this morning I got a call from a nurse at the GP surgery, we know each other, and she wanted a sample that I could not produce on demand. Well, after waking up and everything with the ablutions there is nothing to give.

As the conversation progressed, I asked if this could be medically induced, like cloud seeding the bladder, that sort of thing, you should never give the medical establishment those kinds of thoughts to work on.

For want of a better word, we agreed that I could visit when I am pressed and at the surgery, I’ll be given a container for it. Then, it might just need fear or terror to unwittingly wet yourself, why that surprises me when I once had juvenile enuresis is interesting. All they want to do is take the piss.

Blog - Childhood: Atọ̀ọlé (October 2010)

Men's things - I

Keeping an eye on it

When you get within a certain age range, you need to pay more attention to a few things, especially your health. I have attended talks, groups, discussions, seminars, and conversations about men’s health and ageing, these things interest me enough even if I do not seem to act on the much I have learnt.

I guess because I have usually had blood work done twice a year, I seem to be a bit conversant with health issues, my kidneys, my liver, bone health, and other indicators in the blood results that I chase up with medical personnel to have a handle on the issues when a result falls out of range.

One month on prescription folic acid and the folic acid deficiency anaemia is now a thing of the past, the last reading put it at borderline high when it was well below the minimum range hardly 7 weeks ago. The other things as red blood cell counts and thyroid activity we need to monitor over a longer time.

That erogenous zone of life

The elephant in the room, the prostate-specific antigen (PSA) test, that I have ignored and done nothing about for years. Friends report their experiences and I sometimes pretend not to be in the affected cohort. My GP even sent me messages inviting me to assess this facility, it is one of the more intimate men’s things that we find ourselves too coy to talk about.

Two blood tests later, in early February and late March, my GP called to have a chat and then immediately scheduled an appointment to have me felt up in a funny place. I duly attended and before I could draw a sharp breath, it was over.

Well, it is slightly enlarged but smooth, and a scan is needed just to be sure. This matter is important but we rarely want to attend to it, either out of fear or embarrassment, both of which can kill you if a situation could have been caught early, but left too late.

Deal with it early

After my many encounters with the medical establishment for all sorts of life-threatening conditions, this should be the easiest of matters to assess, review, and understand, and hopefully, after the scan, I might just lay my mind to rest, absent of any worry or anxiety.

You have to know, to know, that once you are over 45 and black, the statistics can be scary, but do not become a tragic statistic, make that appointment, have those checkups, know the situation or at least have the knowledge to face up to it and have it dealt with promptly.

“1 in 4 Black men will get prostate cancer in their lifetime. Black men are more likely to get prostate cancer than other men, who have a 1 in 8 chance of getting prostate cancer.” Prostate Cancer UK

Men’s things are also about life and well-being, better the finger now than a scalpel blade later.

Reference

Prostate Cancer UK: Black men and prostate cancer

Men's Things Blogs

Blog - Men's things - II

Blog - Men's things - III

Blog - Men's things - IV

Blog - Men's things - V

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Blog - Men's things - IX

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Blog - Men's things - XIV

Blog - Men's things - XV

Men talking helping other men talk

Sharing a private matter

I am just listening to a programme on BBC Radio 4 – Room 5 where I think people talk about life-changing diagnoses of personal consequence. Today, it was about Jon, tall, successful, nice young family and ticking all the boxes. [BBC Radio 4 – Room 5 – Jon]

He was at Peppa Pig World with his family a couple of years ago when he discovered something wrong with his body, secretions from his penis that his GP first treated as a rash or basic infection, then he was referred to a Genitourinary Medicine (GUM) clinic where they determined he did not have a sexually transmitted infection. Now, I already suspected what it might be.

Anyway, after researching online, he found a consultant that diagnosed that he had penile cancer and it had spread to one of the lymph nodes, it was advanced, but also treatable and so they arranged the programme of treatment that has now put the cancer in remission apart from making Jon a totally changed man.

Time to be expressive

I share this story because it has resonance with me in many ways that I have written about before. As men we find it difficult to take about health issues, an irritation in a private place with the accompanying discomfort that we dismiss as trivial even as we are caught up in the embarrassment and tongue-tied when it matters.

Men are dying of conditions that are treatable if caught on time, prostate cancer especially, but also penile cancer and breast cancer, yes, men get it too. We need to cross that barrier that stops us getting help. Only you can properly explain how you feel for a doctor to begin a proper diagnosis or set you on a course of the treatment that would give you that best outcomes, you need to have your voice speaking loud, clear, without fear, shame, or embarrassment.

On sex and sexual organs, the words describing them should not be taboo and move out of the category of profanity. Penis, arse hole, scrotum, balls, buttocks, breast or whatever colloquialism or vernacular gives meaning to what you are referring to need to be words you can use freely in a describing how and what you are feeling as your life might depend on it, it is no time to be coy or shy.

You are going to be touched and prodded in places you have never been touched before or where you have not intended was touchable. Heck! Your life depends on touching the right places to feel and see what is wrong. You can’t play offensive when a situation has made you defensive.

Where my manliness was foolish

In early 2009, I allowed what appeared to be athlete’s foot to develop into a stinking sore half-aware that it might be related to a much earlier HIV diagnosis. That sore turned out to be Kaposi’s sarcoma, a kind of skin cancer and a manifestation in my own case of full-blown AIDS. My condition was that serious that at diagnosis in September of that year, I was given the prognosis that it was treatable if I could tolerate the treatment, else, I had only 5 weeks to live.

The treatment worked because there was a body of knowledge and experience garnered from people and many of whom had not survived that became the canon on which specialists could claim and assert confidence to tackle my condition. I was put on antiretroviral (ARV) drugs that I am still on and seven sessions of chemotherapy over 5 months to put the cancer in remission and reverse AIDS to the point where I have had an undetectable viral load of HIV for over 12 years.

Responsibility and acceptance

I know I contracted HIV through reckless and unsafe sex practices, I have come to terms with the responsibility and consequence of my own actions, however, I do not live in guilt or regret of that, I have a life to live and I intend for whatever time I have left to live it well. In the process, I have learnt to speak freely and liberally especially with medical personnel about how I am feeling, promptly, directly and without mincing words.

However, many diagnoses are not of commission or omission, they are accidents of nature bringing adversity, infirmity and challenges with them. We are left with ourselves and the help we can get to face these situations with the hope that we might surmount them and get to tell a better story.

My voice for my choice

To a team, I once had so say, “It’s my body first, before it is your guinea-pig.”, when I was challenging the determination for intrusive treatment not long after my ordeal with chemotherapy. To another, when I was seeking treatment for another condition, I was blunt about being aware of my mortality as a result of co-morbidities for which immediate action was taken. When I was asked to change to medication that gave me no quality of life, I presented the daily dairy of recorded side effects and contra-indications, and at my request, I was put back on my original drug regime.

I am in my knowledge and understanding as good as my medical notes, if not better. It comes from genuine self-interest and awareness along with the freedom and willingness to talk to address any medical situation I am facing. Then, I encourage the invitation and sitting in of medical students on my consultations, I believe that not only can they learn from my condition, that experience can also go into helping others. I would normally engagement them to appreciate what areas of study and research they want to specialise in.

All the help available

Obviously, for the outcomes I have had, I have to thank the open-minded, professional, considerate doctors in their humanity who have listened, understood, helped, and encouraged me on my path to wellness, their expertise applied with respect and consideration has been lifesaving in so many ways.

To us men, when you feel something, have it checked out and follow the full course with all the advice and help you can get, speak up, speak loudly and if you are not getting the best outcomes possible, challenge the orthodoxy. It is always your body first, before it is anyone’s guinea pig, no matter how good they are at what they do.

Thought Picnic: I will remain curious and work on it

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Who is me again?

Recently, I think I have been searching for a better understanding of myself, a kind of review of my past, my present, my prospects, the circumstances in which I find myself, what might need tinkering with and what other things must radically shift.

I guess I am constantly challenging myself to appreciate if I am achieving and contributing, whether my ideas are sound and what I need to do or where I need to go to get inspiration and insight for whatever I am faced with. There are days I do not think I have done much and there are many caught between the shame of being slothful, the guilt of not achieving my goals, the embarrassment of being caught out and the humiliation of being shown up.

Finding my place of vulnerability and being able to deal with it is still a process, the way I find it difficult to ask for or seek help when I need it most. I am working on finding the voice to fix the things I am uncomfortable with.

Guarding the influences

This Coronavirus pandemic lockdown where you are left alone and with your own thoughts, many influences begin to insert themselves in your life, usually from social media and television. I do manage my television influences better than I do social media, especially Twitter. So much jumps out at you to enrage you that you need to condition yourself in terms of initiation, engagement, response, contribution, restraint, disengagement, or indifference.

Then, I am getting better at extricating myself, I do not need to be drawn into issues that drain mental energy, denigrate, or are unedifying. The unpersuadable are just unpersuadable and it is important to see the trait early before the fruitless frustrates. Most importantly, know the unnecessary for it is unnecessary, something to be ignored and where the temptation to tweet must be resisted for your good.

I will remain curious

As I go through this developmental process, I have been trying to find fulfilment in the things I enjoy without having the things that drive others define my sense of achievement. Listening to a number of discussions from many interesting people, the pep talk is quite off-putting to the point of detestation.

The life coaches and motivation speakers who go on about using this period of sequestration or rather retreat to say you should focus on something, have a purpose in life or pursue your passion, without which you have underachieved leaving you an anxiety wreck as you realise you have let another day slip useless away, again.

Blog - Thought Picnic: In the days of useful ideas

Elizabeth Gilbert in a recent TED discussion brought in a new thought process, suggesting we exercise curiosity; a kind of interest probably in the mundane, which I do so well, observing beyond just seeing, the stakes she said are lower, there is no anxiety, for looking closer brings to light things easily missed.

I know I am curious, it feeds my learning, the learning to love myself more, it brings insight, it is questioning, precocious, inquisitive, challenging of the norm and I might just end up being proud of myself, grateful of the wonderful people and things that enrich my life. I think I am comfortable with that.

Thought Picnic: An implausibility of junkies

Losing the mind

One is left quite befuddled by it all, the desire for some to lose their minds as if it confers a sense of fulfilled excitement and a strange sense of happiness.

They revel amongst friends, that is a good thing but the drink is quaffed in quantities that would drown fish in their habitats and a person who left home, fully aware, fully conscious and fully coherent suddenly begins to demonstrate the height of stupefaction.

This morning I watched with incredulity and embarrassment for both myself and the slightly less inebriated friends who could not get their friend to do anything reasonable.

He had drugged up on something that he began making animal sounds apart from the weird unmentionable things that accompanied his actions.

Not mindful of it

Of the four that were with him, three departed but one was left behind, running out of patience with exasperation to the point that he would have deserted his friend.

Then I wondered, why they did not arrest the situation before it got out of hand, or maybe they were caught unawares but that would be a backstory many would not know until he comes to and flatly denies he was playing up.

Yet, an obvious risk was pending as the establishment was ready to call either an ambulance or the police, both presenting a humbling of the hubris of wastage on recreational substances.

Medically, he might find accord, the health personnel aware of what to do, but the police would record an infringement of sorts, which depending on what he does when his head is sitting right on shoulders could presage serious regret.

Getting to the mind

The threat of the latter seemed to get through the barrier of the drug-addled state he was in and reason seeped through as he found his voice to forestall the looming tragedy of excess.

Whilst I did not see the end of the saga, it occurred to me that a new animal grouping was possible as an implausibility of junkies or an embarrassment of friends. Though the usual application is an implausibility of gnus and an embarrassment of pandas.

If there are ways to manage an implausibility of an embarrassment, it would take more than whispering into the ears of people to consider their options and their choices.

Nigeria: #PayKeshi - A minister incapable of shouldering responsibility

Goaded by embarrassment

Nothing gets the Nigerian government of Goodluck Jonathan as agitated to be vituperative in overwhelming defence of their policies than a public embarrassment.

We must agree as they have severally demonstrated; they have no capacity for shame, but embarrassment shines a light into the nooks and crannies of the failings of the system that they close ranks sending out spokespersons to the media and Twitter/Facebook minions onto social media to stem the tide of criticism.

Yesterday, the calumny descended to a new low, quite shamefully contemptible that it left many seething with rage.

A man of distinction humiliated

Stephen Keshi, 51, as the manager of the Nigerian national football team since 2011 has won the Africa Cup of Nations in February 2013 and has successful added Nigeria to the contingent going to the Brazil FIFA World Cup in 2014. [Wikipedia] [Wikipedia]

Despite his successes as a homegrown coach, as at July 2013, he was owed five months’ salary and out of desperation in October he lamented that he was owed seven months’ salary. Some of this has now been paid. [BBC] [Vanguard Nigeria]

These were his words, in October, “The lowest point of my career is working and not being paid for seven to eight months. I have never had this kind of experience before.” [Vanguard Nigeria]

He earlier stressed the point with, “I am not being favoured. Whatever I am doing here, I am doing it with everything I have and I need to be respected and be paid.” [Vanguard Nigeria]

Stephen Keshi was then reacting to comments attributed to the Nigeria Football Federation (NFF formerly the Nigeria Football Association NFA) that allowances and bonuses paid to coaching staff should be enough to sustain them. [Vanguard Nigeria]

A manner of calumny and atrocity

This appeared to embarrass the Minister of Sports, Bolaji Abdullahi, who yesterday upbraided Stephen Keshi for going public with this seriously untenable situation, some quotes from the news story are replicated verbatim below, courtesy of the Vanguard Nigeria newspaper. [Vanguard Nigeria]

“If NFA is having problems paying Keshi’s salary, it means that the system has a problem and that system has to be addressed.”

“When you get a job you do it and you don’t go about embarrassing your employers because your salary is delayed.”

Surely Keshi was right to talk

Nobody is saying the NFA/NFF does not have problems, however, if a performing and successful member of staff to whom the organisation has responsibilities and contractual obligations is not paid for up to 8 months that it becomes a demoralising and destabilising burden that could affect their productivity, there is cause for concern.

It is evident that from Stephen Keshi’s words that he was affected, despite that, he has fulfilled his contractual obligations without quibble, but with dedication and unrivalled patriotism worthy of the highest commendation.

And as the Sport Minister noted, if the NFA/NFF was having problems, it could report up the chain for intervention and resolution, it beggars belief that the NFF/NFA allowed the situation to deteriorate to the point that the coach had no other choice but to vent his spleen – 7 to 8 months with pay is just unspeakable.

A matter of assuming responsibility

This atrocity happened under the watch of the Minister of Sports. He had the choice of expediting the payment of all arrears along with an apology to all the staff owed their emoluments or in this case, for the embarrassment indicated by the failings of the NFA/NFF; he decided to make a villain of Stephen Keshi, a victim of the failed system in his ministry.

That is just shameful and lacking in sensitivity, though it is redolent of a culture of impunity amongst employers in Nigeria who get away with not paying salary on time, if at all with them demanding as in the words of the minister – “you get a job you do it and you don’t go about embarrassing your employers.”

I would say, the employer can avoid the embarrassment and shame by just paying the salaries.

That bill is essential

In conversations I participated in on Twitter, the matter of a third party owing the NFA/NFF sponsorship moneys was brought up. However, this is completely beside the point, a desperately unconscionable way to pass off blame and share the responsibility for what is essentially bureaucracy incompetence, lethargy, the lack of sensitivity and the lack of respect for the hardworking personnel who have brought plaudits and glory to Nigerian sport. [KickOff.com]

If the Workman (Unpaid Wages Prohibition) Bill had been passed through the legislative process to become law, the matter would have been cut-and-dried on the issue of responsibility. [Information Nigeria]

Somebody in the Sports Ministry hierarchy would have borne ultimate responsibility for the contracts and the payment of salaries to staff.

The organisation in the law would have faced a surcharge of up to 30% of two months’ wages for delaying salaries more than 30 days to a maximum of 60 days.

Any salary delays beyond 60 days will attract a 30% compensatory surcharge with the possibility of the employer serving a month in prison.

For Nigerian employees need it

The Minister clearly identified an employer – employee relationship between the coach and the NFA/NFF, a designated person will carry the sanction if imposed by the courts where the contractual obligations of prompt and full salary payments are left wanting.

It goes without saying that Nigeria is desperately in need of this punitive measure and law that protects the rights of employees whilst giving them the means to seek redress through an expedited legal process that provides specific legal guidance as to what is due, fair and just.

The NFA/NFF under the threat of sanction would have done everything possible to meet their obligations and the minister would have had no justification whatsoever to excoriate Stephen Keshi for speaking out for his right to be paid on time, in full, with due respect, courtesy and dignity becoming of an exemplary and hardworking Nigerian of repute and accomplishment.

A real man shares blame and glory

The Sports Minister has the gall to step forward to share in the laurels and the glory of sporting successes of Nigerians who still excel in spite of and despite the incompetence and negligence of the rotten bureaucracy, he heads. Where that system fails, he should unashamedly shoulder the responsibility for the lapses and the atrocities without looking to pass off blame to others.

His statement about Stephen Keshi was at best regrettable much as it was the display of utterly reprehensible conduct.

The humility of accepting blame

Those who have found ways to agree with the minister must for once find the humility in and magnanimous heart to sensitively take full responsibility and sue for justice rather than shirk and dissemble with sophistry.

Beyond this, Stephen Keshi becomes a poster boy for the many millions of Nigerians who have suffered the indignities of slave labour extracted on the forlorn hope of salaries that will never materialise.

I hope the legislature now sees why the passage of the Workman (Unpaid Wages Prohibition) Bill is of the utmost urgency with the case of Stephen Keshi putting a human face to unacceptable business practices in Nigeria.