As Told By Ada: I Smoke Just To Cope With Living With My Parents

As Told By Ada is a Culture Custodian weekly series exploring the unique and often chaotic experience of navigating life as the oldest daughter in a Nigerian household. Over the course of these mini therapy sessions, we give you a peek into the ups, downs and lingering effects of growing up “the first.”

I was recently called to the Nigerian Bar. What should have been one of the happiest moments of my life has become just another milestone my parents immediately replaced with a new expectation. The latest is that I actually practice law. Subsequent expectations include marriage and lots of babies.

My dad is a professor and my mom has a Ph.D. in corporate law, so they were never going to let me stray too far from the legal world. It’s practically my birthright. My parents told me that if I graduated from law school, they would give me space to create whatever kind of life I wanted for myself. Then I did, and now they want ten more things. 

My mother is the first daughter in her family, she’s the one who comes through for everybody. She attends everybody’s weddings, contributes to the planning, and is patiently waiting for her own time to shine. Since I finished law school this year, my mom has become very interested in my love life. Last week, she called me to ask if I was dating. I told her I wasn’t, and she said, “If the men in your circle are not looking at you to date and to marry, you should probably examine yourself.” Another time, I was with my friends dressing up for an event when my mom informed me that my sides were starting to fold and that I had to be very careful because who wants to marry a fat girl? The gag is: I’m a lesbian, so these glossy dreams of lavish weddings and dazzling aso-ebi are definitely not going to become a reality. If only she knew.

Before I went to law school, I worked two jobs. One as a community manager for Ayra Starr, and the other as a creative assistant at Obodo Nigeria, a queer nonprofit organisation. Both roles were flexible, so I only went into the office physically twice a week. I was doing what I loved to do with my life. I was happy.

I lost both jobs in law school because I couldn’t balance them with my coursework. It was devastating, and when I called my parents to tell them, they assured me that as soon as I had my degree, I could work whatever roles I wanted. 

I got the degree, and they’ve been trying to force me into a law firm ever since.

Unfortunately for all of us, I’m kind of insane. I have a very strong sense of justice, and I will fight anybody over anything if I believe I’m right. Silence for the sake of peace isn’t really my style.

I have two older siblings who both live outside the country. My brother is doing his own thing, and my half-sister isn’t my mom’s biological daughter, so my parents don’t really have control over them. That leaves me to bear the brunt of their control issues. My mom genuinely sees me as herself 2.0. I’m clay in the hands of the creator—her—so she can mold me into whatever she wants. She didn’t spend half the energy she spends scrutinising me on my brother.

One day my brother woke me up with kicks because he was hungry and something in my head snapped. I went straight to my mother and told her how I felt about the way he was being raised. I reminded her that she had all these thoughts and feelings about my dad—he never entered the kitchen, he was entitled, he was clinical—and pointed out that she was raising an even worse version of him. I was his younger sister and he was waking me up for food. How was that acceptable? My tirade must have really gotten to her because she spoke to my brother, and before he left the country for school a few years later, he became marginally less useless.

But that was one of the rare instances where my mom actually listened to me. Ordinarily, I might as well be talking to myself. Maybe something about giving birth to a child makes you feel like you’re God. You can’t be questioned or reasoned with and, ultimately, your will must be done.

Recently, I was working in my room while talking to my cousin. Usually, my parents aren’t home during the day, but on this particular day, my mom came home early and heard us laughing. Till now, I don’t understand why the sound of our laughter aggravated her so much. She burst into my room, started yelling at us and insulting me, saying I was doing nothing with my life. The highlight of her outburst was her screaming, “Which rich people do you know whose children are working remotely?”

Apparently, I was embarrassing her. How was she supposed to brag to her friends about my work when there was no visible evidence of my labour? How was I supposed to meet a husband and have children if I never left the house to go to work? She had a grand plan for my life, and I was determined to ruin it.

Our relationship confounds me in many ways. I don’t think I have ever been my mom’s favourite, but she confides in me about a lot of things a parent probably shouldn’t be telling a child, especially about my father. It really frustrates me because she can complain about him, but when I need her to help me stand up to him or talk to him, suddenly she doesn’t want to be at odds with her husband.

My father has his faults, but amazingly, he’s very sweet when it comes to me. He’s unequivocally the better parent, and it drives my mom crazy. When I got my bar final results this year, my scores were lower than I had anticipated. I told my dad, and he was kind, supportive and simply happy that I had passed. I told my mom, and she shouted, insulted me, cried and complained to my dad about his “softness” in handling the matter. The next thing I knew, I had to apologize for upsetting her. This kind of dynamic can only go on for so long before it starts to take a real toll on a person, and I think I’m nearing my wit’s end.

I’ve been working since I was 19. I realised very early that if I wanted peace, I needed to get my money up and become fully independent. I take that very seriously. I rarely ask my parents for money unless it has to do with school, but my mom still throws that in my face whenever she gets the opportunity. While I was in law school, I had to fly back and forth a few times because I was posted to the Abuja campus. They paid for those flights, and till today, I still haven’t heard the last of it.

My remote job pays me significantly more than any entry-level legal role my parents have suggested, so I’ve refused to leave it. In response, they called their friends to advise me that life isn’t about doing what you enjoy, that I have to crawl before I can run and that, essentially, I don’t need access to so much money right now. That really blew me. It’s like my parents want me to be handicapped so that I’ll be more amenable to a husband coming to rescue me from their house and elevate my status. Until then, they want me completely dependent on them.

To them, they’re doing the right thing and putting me on the right path. I know they’ve done their best. They can be sweet and lovely. But the way I see it, it’s just very unfortunate that they had a child like me. If they had a good Nigerian daughter, things would probably be easier. I have a cousin who’s my age. She’s married, she’s best friends with her mom and it’s all very quaint. I know my mom would like that, but we’re just so vastly different that we cannot have that kind of relationship.

I’m at the point where I have a very strong belief system and I know what I should be doing with my life. I know that the things my mom doesn’t like about me are things I wouldn’t trade for the world. I also know that the things she doesn’t know about me—like my sexuality—would horrify her if she ever found out. 

I’ve spent the last few years mentally detaching from the material things my parents provide because I know things can go left at any time. I need to have a certain amount in my savings in case anything happens. I constantly remind myself of the passcode to the safe where my mom keeps my passport and birth certificate so that if anything ever does happen, I can grab my documents and leave. It sucks not being able to fully accept the nice things they do for me because I know it’s all very conditional.

Earlier this year, I had a very crazy experience with a girl who threatened to out me to my parents. She showed up at my house unannounced one day, and I was genuinely terrified. I realised very quickly that dating while I’m still living at home is an incredibly risky game. Thank God for my current girlfriend. She’s lovely and she understands my reality. But I still feel very unsafe at home. I’ve seen a lot of queer people recently whose parents have become incredibly violent towards them, sending police or soldiers to drag them to institutions because they left home or because they were outed. Knowing those stories makes it impossible not to think about what could happen if my love life ever stopped being a secret.

I dissociate and smoke just to cope with living with them. I know being here for the next few years is going to be hell because my parents’ expectations keep getting heavier. The concessions I’ve made up until this point are the most that I can make. I was very depressed and suicidal for a while, but after a lot of therapy, I had a breakthrough. It’s not that I want to die. It’s that I so desperately want to live. So I’ve decided to live.

In my parents’ lifetime, they will see me living, and they will deal with it. The thought of being alienated from my family—especially my dad—in the coming years does make me sad, but I feel like it’s necessary. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s what has to be done.

When I started unlearning the things I was taught growing up—the misogyny, the religiousness, the doormat tendencies—I didn’t know who I would become. Today, though, I’m very proud of how my politics have developed, and of how sharp my moral compass and intuition have become. I’m very happy with my friends and with the cool things I get to do. I’m very happy that I’m a writer. I think younger me would really like who I am today. She may be a little gagged, but she would be pleased.

If this story feels familiar, you can share your own experience, drop a thought, or simply let off some steam through this form.