How My Childhood Has Affected Me

I used my brother’s entire year’s savings, together with mine, to purchase a turtle. That has in the last few days brought me to the thought, ‘only God knows where Chinonso is’. And I’d explain what happened.

I had a discussion with someone sometime last week and had to defend the notion she had that I was, not in her words, a ‘buttie’. After trying to explain some of the past experiences I have had, I was left wondering about one of my favorite thoughts, CHILDHOOD. I have often blogged about my childhood experiences and even written and performed some of them in poetry. But for me, the hold of the past has a stronger grip on me than the present. Merging them together, I can direct and shape the future.

Growing up as the first born, a lot of things have shaped the way I think, and what I do and what I have become. And not only have some aspects of me been shaped, some have been thoroughly molded.

White kneed, short knickers almost looking like underwear because of the extreme length, I’d cut out a window and a door from a used up mini pack of Kellogg’s Krispies. I’d seal up the top while carefully boring a hole to accommodate the thread that’s going to leave this Ant House dangling down my window.

After carefully architecture of this uninhabited structure, I’d go to the refrigerator to pick one or two lumps of sugar, mashing them up, a part in water, another in a Coca-Cola crown. The latter being the food tray for my new friends, THE ANTS.

It had taken me weeks, maybe months to study the behavior of a lot of animals, thanks to the African Encyclopedia I always managed to sneak out from my parents’ room. In this case, I had finished a study on Ants. I had learned about the trail they left when one of them discovers food.

I found one of these invisible scented trails and then dropped a grain of sugar, which I ‘breadcrumbed’ to the specially designed Ant house.

I worked on other animal projects within the 30minutes of waiting for the ants to get accustomed to this new structure. But when they did, it was a busy route. From the flower pot in the balcony to the Ant House hanging down the window on the pink thread I stole from my mother’s sewing kit.

This was one of my first successful live projects. Then proceeded by the snail community I built. Oh that is another day’s story. But I tell you, this was a hell of a story. I actually got to understand snails.

Don’t blame me for reading this book, the African Encyclopedia which had a detailed, easy-to-read-by-children layout and loads of pictures. It’s been close to 18years now but I still remember vividly page 223. It had the picture of a wild cat, what I now think was an onyx.

Childhood had me asking questions, most of which never got answered; the most of those being backed up with MY OWN research. I later became a sucker for finding personal adventure.

Oh, how I wondered why my dad wouldn’t allow me play with the street children who played football across the street. Many times, I would sneak out.

Right now, those days come back to me very vividly. The air clouded with yellow thick dust, the smell of sweat from teenagers and boys of my age, the curses and the blessings rained from a successful corner-kick. The joint pleadings from the whole school of wishful football players as they beg the woman whose groceries they have spilled after a shot that took her captive. The intense excitement I would get in knowing I will be in trouble if my father found out I was out of the house. The intense excitement I would get when the ball would fall into the compound of Seye’s Father; the house they all dreaded- for no ball that drops in comes out, or you’d face the wrath either of my father, or the dogs EXCEPT Seye slyly lends a helping hand.
And that’s how I got my recognition. That’s how I, the claimed ‘butty’ and son of the conservative neighbor got into the inner caucus.
Emma was the light, bow-legged street super star who could any day any time dribble his bigger brother Sunday hands folded behind. Boi, was the hefty guy, maybe 18 at the time but with a remarkable sister who I always noticed on the ‘field’. Tunde was Mama Ijebu’s son, whom I bought baba dudu from. Baba dudu was the nickname for some brown candy wrapped like sausages in a clear plastic bag. Tunde who was not so good as a footballer was the street class goal keeper. Any team that had him on their side had an 85% chance of staying in the competitions. I can’t remember the names of the other 6-8 guys but I remember the afore mentioned ones and one other, Seye.
Seye, was me and I was not often in the games because they were always scared that an injury caused to Seye’s father’s son may ruin the ….premiership. But I soon noticed him, always close to the gutters picking up different things, searching for things, excited about things. I met Chinonso.
In the past I never gave it much thought but it’s been almost two decades since I thought about him or about these events and yet I remember how tiny he was. I remember he was always in a gown. Yes, a gown. I remember I thought of him as fascinating the first time he handed me a pigeon knowing I’d give any amount of money for it. Whether I stole the money or not, I remember very clearly that I gave him some money that I thought was huge for that pigeon. The story of that pigeon, what that pigeon became, how I had to let it go is for another blog post. The only thing I can say on this post is my mother beat the living day light out of me when she found out a pigeon lived in my bedroom.
I quickly became Chinonso’s best customer as he scoured for exotic creatures for me, making some of the best crafts i have seen a boy do, even to date.
I once paid him to sculpt this awesome house for the lizards I’d later keep. He made the house out of dunlop slippers and broomsticks. If I had a camera back then, it was an object worth the shot. He once made a ‘radio’ out of rubber materials and weevil. Yes weevil! And yes, we generated interesting sounds from the distress calls of weevils.
We later went on interesting adventures to a lake 45 minutes walk from the house in a bid to catch creatures that I always thought was fish.
We once discovered the almond weevil. The bugs were awesome. Yellow and black. They looked like the lady bird only they were the size of my thumb. We’d wrap a string around the necks of these weevils and it was beautiful watching these creatures fly because the beating of their wings gave them a beautiful appearance.
As I began to grow up, my taste for petty creatures began to dim. My company began to change, I stopped moving with Chinonso and the crew. Yes that was until he came with another business proposal.
My brother and I had been saving to buy a fairly used Sega Mega Drive. It had taken us one whole year and we were going another year, each day saving our ‘break money’, cursing the drought and looking forward to the day when Shinobi was the leading game on our fantasized console. My parents had refused to buy us any gaming consoles because they felt they’d distract our education.
I used my brother’s entire year’s savings, together with mine, to purchase a turtle. That has in the last few days brought me to the thought, ‘only God knows where Chinonso is’. And I’d explain what happened.
I had a discussion with someone sometime last week and had to defend the notion she had that I was, not in her words, a ‘buttie’. After trying to explain some of the past experiences I have had, I was left wondering about one of my favorite thoughts, CHILDHOOD. I have often blogged about my childhood experiences and even written and performed some of them in poetry. But for me, the hold of the past has a stronger grip on me than the present. Merging them together, I can direct and shape the future.Growing up as the first born, a lot of things have shaped the way I think, and what I do and what I have become. And not only have some aspects of me been shaped, some have been thoroughly molded.White kneed, short knickers almost looking like underwear because of the extreme length, I’d cut out a window and a door from a used up mini pack of Kellogg’s Krispies. I’d seal up the top while carefully boring a hole to accommodate the thread that’s going to leave this Ant House dangling down my window.After carefully architecture of this uninhabited structure, I’d go to the refrigerator to pick one or two lumps of sugar, mashing them up, a part in water, another in a Coca-Cola crown.

The latter being the food tray for my new friends, THE ANTS.It had taken me weeks, maybe months to study the behavior of a lot of animals, thanks to the African Encyclopedia I always managed to sneak out from my parents’ room. In this case, I had finished a study on Ants. I had learned about the trail they left when one of them discovers food.I found one of these invisible scented trails and then dropped a grain of sugar, which I ‘breadcrumbed’ to the specially designed Ant house.I worked on other animal projects within the 30minutes of waiting for the ants to get accustomed to this new structure. But when they did, it was a busy route. From the flower pot in the balcony to the Ant House hanging down the window on the pink thread I stole from my mother’s sewing kit.This was one of my first successful live projects. Then proceeded by the snail community I built. Oh that is another day’s story. But I tell you, this was a hell of a story.

I actually got to understand snails.Don’t blame me for reading this book, the African Encyclopedia which had a detailed, easy-to-read-by-children layout and loads of pictures. It’s been close to 18years now but I still remember vividly page 223. It had the picture of a wild cat, what I now think was an onyx.Childhood had me asking questions, most of which never got answered; the most of those being backed up with MY OWN research. I later became a sucker for finding personal adventure.Oh, how I wondered why my dad wouldn’t allow me play with the street children who played football across the street. Many times, I would sneak out.Right now, those days come back to me very vividly. The air clouded with yellow thick dust, the smell of sweat from teenagers and boys of my age, the curses and the blessings rained from a successful corner-kick. The joint pleadings from the whole school of wishful football players as they beg the woman whose groceries they have spilled after a shot that took her captive. The intense excitement I would get in knowing I will be in trouble if my father found out I was out of the house.

The intense excitement I would get when the ball would fall into the compound of Seye’s Father; the house they all dreaded- for no ball that drops in comes out, or you’d face the wrath either of my father, or the dogs EXCEPT Seye slyly lends a helping hand.And that’s how I got my recognition. That’s how I, the claimed ‘butty’ and son of the conservative neighbor got into the inner caucus.Emma was the light, bow-legged street super star who could any day any time dribble his bigger brother Sunday hands folded behind. Boi, was the hefty guy, maybe 18 at the time but with a remarkable sister who I always noticed on the ‘field’. Tunde was Mama Ijebu’s son, whom I bought baba dudu from. Baba dudu was the nickname for some brown candy wrapped like sausages in a clear plastic bag. Tunde who was not so good as a footballer was the street class goal keeper. Any team that had him on their side had an 85% chance of staying in the competitions. I can’t remember the names of the other 6-8 guys but I remember the afore mentioned ones and one other, Seye.Seye, was me and I was not often in the games because they were always scared that an injury caused to Seye’s father’s son may ruin the ….premiership. But I soon noticed him, always close to the gutters picking up different things, searching for things, excited about things. I met Chinonso.In the past I never gave it much thought but it’s been almost two decades since I thought about him or about these events and yet I remember how tiny he was. I remember he was always in a gown.

Yes, a gown. I remember I thought of him as fascinating the first time he handed me a pigeon knowing I’d give any amount of money for it. Whether I stole the money or not, I remember very clearly that I gave him some money that I thought was huge for that pigeon. The story of that pigeon, what that pigeon became, how I had to let it go is for another blog post. The only thing I can say on this post is my mother beat the living day light out of me when she found out a pigeon lived in my bedroom.I quickly became Chinonso’s best customer as he scoured for exotic creatures for me, making some of the best crafts i have seen a boy do, even to date.I once paid him to sculpt this awesome house for the lizards I’d later keep. He made the house out of dunlop slippers and broomsticks. If I had a camera back then, it was an object worth the shot. He once made a ‘radio’ out of rubber materials and weevil. Yes weevil! And yes, we generated interesting sounds from the distress calls of weevils.

We later went on interesting adventures to a lake 45 minutes walk from the house in a bid to catch creatures that I always thought was fish.We once discovered the almond weevil. The bugs were awesome. Yellow and black. They looked like the lady bird only they were the size of my thumb. We’d wrap a string around the necks of these weevils and it was beautiful watching these creatures fly because the beating of their wings gave them a beautiful appearance.As I began to grow up, my taste for petty creatures began to dim. My company began to change, I stopped moving with Chinonso and the crew. Yes that was until he came with another business proposal.My brother and I had been saving to buy a fairly used Sega Mega Drive. It had taken us one whole year and we were going another year, each day saving our ‘break money’, cursing the drought and looking forward to the day when Shinobi was the leading game on our fantasized console. My parents had refused to buy us any gaming consoles because they felt they’d distract our education.
Chinonso came with the offer which I couldn’t turn down. He would exchange a 1 year old turtle for my piggy bank our life savings. Close to 25minutes later, I was stooped beside him watching the turtle and getting feeding instruction from him. Yes, this was after I had handed over my piggy bank mon
ey our life savings.
I kept the turtle for a few months before I gave him out as valentines gift to a girl I had a crush on. This later became a landmark in my life as I began to make senseless sacrifices later on. The turtle died in her hands many years after.


I later got sanctioned by my mother who knew we were saving for this game console.


Raphael was the last animal I kept in my room( okay apart from the 6 cute featherless birdies that got me in trouble by screaming too loud when my mom walked in, having learned the sound of my door means food).


I moved on to facing my academics and music squarely.

But going back to the past to remember the events brought me so much joy, brings me so much energy and it reminds me of the type of person who I am TODAY. The thought of the past confirms my strengths and shows me some of the greatest challenges i am facing at the moment.
But what the heck will Chinonso be doing today?