‘See your Mate?’ – The Danger of Comparison

So many details from that day will remain forgotten or repressed in one dusty corner of my brain, but I clearly remember how excited I was as I skip-ran to our flat. My mum had sent me on one of her numerous and highly urgent errands that morning; she had a way of remembering crucial items just a few minutes before they were needed. I had dashed to the neighbourhood store without muttering any complaint about how her lack of bulk shopping always seemed to inconvenience me. My mind was fixated on something more important- I needed to make a quick decision and relay same to my Dad. The day before was the last day of the 1^st school term, and I had passed with flying colours, as usual. My parents weren’t the typical demanding African parents, we (the kids) just had to ensure that we finished in the top 3 positions and all would be well. Even though I hadn’t cinched the 1^st position this time, my placing 2^nd in a class I had received a double promotion into was truly a remarkable feat. So remarkable that my Dad in an uncharacteristic rash manner had given me a blank cheque, and had told me that night to let him know the next day what gift I wanted from him. This was what my basic mind was ruminating on as I made my way back to our flat when I heard my neighbour call my name.

“Sir! I’m coming”, I answered as he called my name again, this time requesting my presence. I rerouted my steps to the door of his flat, knocked and waited for him to tell me to come in, before stepping inside. I immediately found myself retracing my steps as I looked around the living room. My neighbour (Daddy Lade as I call him) who was seated on one of the sofas didn’t look to be in a good mood, in a corner I could see my friend, Lade kneeling and sobbing quietly. I didn’t like this. Daddy Lade didn’t bother with my visible discomfort as he began to ask me questions about my recent academic performance. I answered him innocently, without wondering what he was trying to achieve. I needed to get home quickly as my mum truly had an urgent need for the item she had sent me to buy. After he was done extracting all the information he required, he pointed at a book lying on the floor beside Lade. I picked it and proceeded to stand at attention until he signified that I bring it to him. He flipped to a page, handed the book back to me and asked that I read the first two paragraphs to his hearing. I did as he instructed and then passed the book back to him. He, in turn, handed the book to my friend, and that was how the drama started.

He asked Lade to read the same two paragraphs aloud.  While I had breezed through my reading exercise, it wasn’t the same walk in the park for my childhood friend. As she stumbled and failed to decipher some words, Daddy Lade would pass a snide remark, and ask me to correct her accordingly. The tone of his voice didn’t brook any form of disobedience from either of us- that is even if our young minds had the capacity to entertain such thoughts. And so, we went through successive loops of that sad exercise, while she cried and sniffled, and our eyes kept begging him to stop. I don’t recall him beating her, but the tongue lashing was ruthless. He kept reminding her that she was repeating the class for the second time, and pointed out how I was younger than her and still doing better in my studies. After a while, he let me go, and apologised for keeping me for so long.

I hurried home, my mum was impatiently pacing the dining area when I walked in. She placed her palms on her hips immediately she sighted me, ready to probe why I returned late. Her shoulders fell when she saw my face, she dashed to my side, feeling my neck for signs of a fever. Upon realising that there was none, she asked me why I looked pale. The words spilled out of my lips in a mad rush. I told her how Daddy Lade had subjected me to a mini-inquisition, how Lade had been crying all morning, and how it seemed like her holiday wouldn’t be a fun one. My mum made me recall the questions Daddy Lade had asked me, and the answers I had supplied in verbatim. As she wiped away my tears, she firmly instructed me to never to share any details of my subsequent academic performance with anyone who wasn’t my immediate family member. I’m not sure she gave a reason why; I just got the impression that she wanted me to be careful.

Every family has that standout sibling, in mine it was my immediate younger sister. On a good day I’m quite the looker, but my sister was the fairest of them all. Many a time I would gaze at her face while she was asleep and would be mesmerised. I was the slim, gawky one while she had the desirable African physique. I remember always getting the class award for the most intelligent female but my sister’s intellect was in a class of its own. It wasn’t limited to just books, she was the one called to act in school plays or to be the newscaster at general assembly; she was the well-rounded one. While I was the shy and awkward one whose reticence could be mistaken for aloofness, she was the social butterfly. I was known in primary school as ‘Tolu’s sister’. Even though I grew to deal with my shy nature and evolve into a class clown, my personality still paled in comparison with that of my sister. You just noticed when she entered a room, you wanted her in the room; she knew how to effortlessly lighten up every space.

The thing is that I was okay with it. Even if I wasn’t her, I got to bask in the feeling of having this wonderful being as my sister. I was content with just being me. However I couldn’t help being irritated when I was unfairly compared to her by my mother. Scenarios involving this came up in various times of my life. From mundane situations such as shopping for outfits to important matters like school placements. In addition to the visible differences we had, my mum had this illogical notion that I was the unlucky one. After all I was the child, who despite scoring 538 out of 600 in the common entrance exams had been unable to secure admission into a Federal Government College (F.G.C) seamlessly. I’d had to settle for a Model College before finally getting admitted into a Federal College (not even a tier 1 college at that) in the second term. Meanwhile, my sister despite flunking her placement exams (story for another day) had easily gotten admission into a highly rated Federal College. Iya Yetunde had conveniently forgotten that as the firstborn child I was the unofficial guinea pig when it came to parenting. The connections my parents didn’t know that they would need but had managed to secure when trying to get me admitted into a F.G.C had played their role but in a timely fashion this time around when my sister was up. But no, it was a matter of luck as far as my mum was concerned. And so I went through early life stomaching her insensitive statements and trying my best to ignore.

Looking back, that could have set a rock-solid foundation for sisterly discord, one that would stretch for generations unborn. But we were lucky. You see, I had a friend growing up. Her name was Lade. Yes, the same Lade. I remember the next time I saw her after the fiasco with her Dad, she related and played with me like nothing had happened. That was Lade for you, she didn’t have a single bad bone in her. She would still go on to endure more embarrassing moments with regards to her sub-par school results, but she never acted out her insecurities on me or anyone that I knew. She didn’t know how to hold a grudge, she was a plain and kindhearted person. I was in awe of her for that character trait and unbeknown to her, she had set a template that I strove to wholeheartedly follow. My sister wasn’t responsible for my bad luck, she didn’t influence the traits/talents God had bestowed on her, so why should I hate her for things outside her control? I was going to be like Lade, so help me God.

I used to think that I had emerged unaffected from those aforementioned situations, but I’ve come to realise that it wasn’t the case. Until recently I abhorred competition of any kind. It didn’t matter if it was a task/activity that I liked or excelled in and was sure to finish first. You just couldn’t get me to sign up. I passed up so many opportunities because I didn’t want to feature in a ‘Jane vs Yetunde’ scenario. Competitions could be very mean spirited and subjective, and I frankly didn’t have the stomach for it.

Also, until the incident with Lade, I never thought about what happened to people who didn’t do well in various pursuits. I was so absorbed in my happiness that I didn’t stop to consider the resultant effect of, say a poor term result on some people. I began to downplay my achievements after that. I learnt to deflect compliments not because I was suffering from imposter syndrome; but due to the discomfort I felt, that while I was been praised there was a Lade somewhere who was being browbeaten. I became comfortable with flying under the radar. It was easy to do so as I tended not to apply myself to a lot of tasks, but the few times the spotlight tried to focus on me I would disappear into the comfortable dark.

I still avoid attention of some sorts but I try to put myself out there. I now believe that healthy competition aids growth of geometric proportions. It’s also good to have routine assessments of yourself, business, and methodology etc. using best-in-class models as a basis to seek areas of improvement, otherwise you run the inevitable risk of being stale and not reaching your peak. The key is finding a healthy balance. I’ve also learnt to extricate myself from people/situations that seem to pit me up against other individuals. At times people do/say unkind things because they don’t know any better. It’s up to you to let people know how you want to be treated. My mum is easily my favourite person on Earth. I knew that her statements were usually uttered when she was frustrated about a situation that was refusing to give way. It was her coping mechanism. However, she needed to find another way to deal with such issues, one that wouldn’t demoralise me. So, I told her. One Sunday afternoon, I had gone to see my folks that weekend. We were talking in the living room, and she had made a statement along that line which didn’t sit well with me. I was lying on the black three seater couch, backing her, my arms folded across my chest, reminiscent of a scene typically found in a shrink’s office. I told her how much I didn’t like how she kept comparing me with my sister and pointed out how it could have affected the family dynamics. She became quiet, apologised and it never recurred.

In this part of the world, we tend to pride ourselves on our capacity to stoically bear suffering. It is a form of bragging right. We believe that it is essential for character building, some religious sermons emphasise how important it is for you to turn the other cheek in every painful situation. I don’t think you get points of any kind for being long suffering in a situation that you could have easily turned around. Always remember that the people who love you will respect your feelings. Don’t be afraid to call out harmful behaviour. Strengthen yourself to let go of people/situations who refuse to shape up. Nobody, nothing is worth your self-respect.

Be the change you seek. In boarding house then, we used to swap stories of how our parents used to compare us to our seemingly more well-behaved siblings, cousins, neighbours etc. We were united in how much we disliked it. Some would be seething in anger when gisting about such episodes. Now we are the Parents, Aunties, Uncles, Bosses and Leaders. Are we still repeating the mistakes of the previous generation? Have we explored alternative ways, techniques that constructively critique, methods that help to motivate people in our care, instead of tearing them down?

But what about the most dangerous type of comparison? The one where the perpetrator and the victim are one and the same? What if the person doing the comparison is someone you can’t cut out of your life? Every now and then we run into a more successful acquaintance during our daily activities or on the streets of social media. We leave feeling unaccomplished with ourselves based on how our lives do not hold a candle to that of this newly acquainted individual. Next time you find yourself in such a situation, before you start with the ‘No be my mate be dis?!’ internal talk and start firing God with queries in quick succession, take some time to evaluate the situation. Ask yourself if you really desire these achievements/traits. Do you want such because the individual makes it look attractive? Or is it due to a herd mentality? Are you beating yourself up about not starting your business so many years ago because Individual A’s hustle has now clicked, and he/she is being celebrated on the cover of every noteworthy publication? Do you want what A has even though you know you are not of the entrepreneurial ilk and thrive in a 9 to 5?

Gauge if you are holding yourself to an unrealistic standard. All dreams are valid but you need to set achievable targets. What’s the basis of comparing yourself with someone who lives a jet set lifestyle when you are just out of school and still need to put in some work to be able to afford that standard of living? There’s no need to rush, all in good time.

If after all this your self-questioning seems justified, there is no need to wallow in self-pity. How can you fix it? Is there something you are not doing right or at all? Don’t be shy to reach out to the said successful individual or friends in the same category for helpful pointers, the power of collaboration cannot be over-emphasised. Stop beating yourself up unnecessarily and strive to change the situation you find uncomfortable for the better.

Also, you know, something good came out of my childhood experiences. It taught me that ‘no one puts Yetyne in a box!’ I learnt to quickly spot and blank out people who expect one to fit a certain mould; a mould based on what their impressionable minds have been conditioned to believe, at times a mould based on their insecurities. I learnt to be empathetic before I knew what the word meant, I learnt to be a defender of the public and their struggles…well, within my circle. Woe betide you if I come across you trying to chide someone for being different! We seem to forget that our differences are what makes the world a colourful, and interesting place. We all don’t have to be extroverts, fantastic singers, rhythmic dancers, well-spoken or quiet individuals etc. Always aim for the best version of yourself, work on fixing the traits that need to be improved. Embrace what makes you different, that’s what makes you uniquely you.

 

P.S. I’m all for free speech and being able to express one’s opinion(s). I also have the thick skin required to survive in such a world. However, since it’s very likely that my mum may stumble on this page, I’d appreciate it if you refrain from leaving any hurtful comments about her. 

Thank you.