It Was a 'W' Until It was an 'L'

Like lots of people, overthinking is a bane of my existence. Even before I knew there was a word for this condition it had being with me all along, a cruel, constant, companion.

And in this moment I would rather avoid divulging this memory I consider to be the singular most cringe of them all, of my childhood - which would have being non-existent but for... ( you guessed it!) pervasive ol’ overthinking - puh dum!dum!

No matter.

I’ve decided it is time to further cut down its menacing power in my past and from my life. So I don’t continue to have a decade old gnawing flashback that causes me to spiral into more overthinking even to unrelated matters or, currently quit writing this story.

My primary school in Abuja had a tradition of throwing annual end of year parties. A fun-filled event for the pupils of Olumawu Basic Education School to get us in the holiday spirit. During the Fall term, though the season isn't a component of Nigeria's climate, us pupils would be sent home with information to our parents or caregivers detailing the dress code, several activities, assorted refreshments and most importantly the attendance fee, ₦1,500 (about $12 that time in 2006) all conveyed in a flyer - it smelt so crisp, so glossy and colorful: a promise of delirious fun in bouncing castles and tall inflatable slides, booming music, distribution of toys, raffles, clowns, yes. clowns. And one of the highlights for many of us - consumption of surplus Jollof rice, with salad, chicken or beef and one’s choice of soda.

My three best friends and I anticipated and imagined every aspect of that year's holiday party with feverish excitement. Ayo, Mary, Remi and me would gather around at breaktime plotting our outfits, with the hairstyles, accessories and attitude to match. Fine, fetch (Gretchen Wieners would be proud) & fabulous was the goal.

And, above all, we would be together as we enjoyed ourselves.

The year was 2006 and we four Primary Six girls would be graduating soon. After the third term, most of our parents would send us off mostly to different boarding high schools. Not as punishment but because often private boarding high schools or secondary schools as we usually call them in Nigeria are of a higher standard and quality. And with regards to education if one wanted the best for their ward, it had to be private-run institutions from play group to university. But I digress.

The academic session drew closer to an end and everyone looked forward to the upcoming holiday party. I recall that during the term, apart from pondering the pending celebrations, us girls would also use some of our free periods discussing the latest and previous hits or albums - local and international, that we had heard or watched. Whether it was on Cool FM, Ray Power, Sound City, Channel O, MTV Base, Trace, word of mouth. Whatever the source, we kept each other updated and shared our favorite tunes. The best part though was us singing along while attempting to replicate some of the choreography in the music videos.

Sometimes awkwardly. Other times, we might have as well being the lead and dance crew all in one.

Our choicest, go-to record at the time was Hips don't lie by Shakira ft. Wyclef Jean

If there was a master class in this song we undoubtedly would have attended. Shakira was our muse and her signature belly dance is an art form that is perfection and demanded masterful execution.

LMAO!!!!

Imagine four 11 year old girls in a corner of a classroom breathily singing and conjuring up a range of movements from swaying hips, transitioning to curvy lifts, locks and drops while ensuring a wavelike motion of our torsos, fluid and elegant arm movements to say the least - all in an effort to mimic if not possibly out dance the alluring Colombian herself.

I tell you Tiktok boot campers could NEVERRR

After our finals we even dedicated more time to our class-corner concerts. Especially with teachers occupied with grading our exams and preparing our report cards, staff and administration simultaneously assisting with other end of term work and planning the holiday party (scheduled on the day before vacation). With no lessons to be had and confined to our classrooms, my mates, best friends and I enjoyed ourselves, chatting, acting and directing short dramas, some isolating themselves in a another corner to read, playing made up games or with Nintendo Game Boys one or two other mates had snuck to school.

We just enjoyed ourselves.

D-day arrived.

That one day that I was authorized by the school to wear mufti instead of my white and green uniform dress and accessory school kit. But I had no fear. I knew exactly what to wear. I paired a dark-brown A line knee length skirt with a fitted black-green top that was gifted to me by an older cousin. As per usual since two grades ago, I rocked my TWA (Teeny Weeny Afro) haircut.

My outfit highlight: Black suede ankle boots. They were my first ever boots!! My dad had been on a work trip to London earlier in the year and asked what I'd like and I said ankle boots. And to my surprise I got them.

It's safe to say when I arrived at school at around 9am and saw my besties I unequivocally knew we understood the assignment. We looked cute and ready to have a great time. The activities for the event rolled on. Music was constant and the DJ was in the zone serving hits and staples :Love is Wicked , Get Busy and Magic System's Premier Gaou (This particular song! I'm judging you if you don't know it. Go on! check it out).

All was right in the world or so I thought. We were by the raffle stands when Mary noticed that the MC had started a free style dance competition. She convinced me, Ayo and Remi to sign up. I mean, we loved to dance but we had never done anything publicly. This was the entire school (well, a lot people) watching. She reminded us how we did this every time and that it wouldn't be different, we were good enough plus we looked goodtt.

Gosh! A pep-talk and a half! Ayo and Remi were gingered to the gods! But this whole time I was panicking on the inside. As good as I thought I was, I worried that I might make a mistake, I might trip and fall face flat, that I was ugly - which was a fucking lie obviously, among others, thinking about it now.

But this is the curse of overthinking one thought can latch on and snow-ball into several. And next thing you know, your negative thoughts are likely to become your reality. Reluctantly I signed up for the contest but the damage had been done. I was overwhelmed by obsessively considering the infinite ways things could go wrong. Mary was right with the reminders and affirmations but I was unable to regulate my mind at that moment. Perhaps I would have just expressed that I was feeling well and excused myself. That would have been okay and they wouldn't have minded either.

After all it, the contest was a one-on- one format but we went together as a team. Mary went first with her opponent. Each competing pair had three tries to display their sickest moves and then be voted each round by the audience to be declared winner. That is the reason it did not matter if only one of us wanted to sign up, you'd only be representing yourself.

Needless to say Mary crushed her opponent. Emerging victorious with two free tickets for the raffle. Ayo and Remi followed suit. Watching them excel increased my anxiety. LMAO! Again, I laugh now because it really was not that serious. My girls were having a blast. And hoped that I would too. My turn came. I saw my 'adversary' and wished the ground would open up and swallow me. It was Dotun. And he was my crush and a grade below me. Wow! I had a secret crush on a Primary Five boy.

My friends assumed I was ready to bag my dance battle like them. It did not help matters too that the DJ started playing one of our favorites and a massive hit in the country that year, D'banj' s Why Me . Then they noticed I began to fidget but before the could come closer and check in the music was on full blast which signed that the first round had began.

Dotun sprang on to the dance floor immediately and had already wowed the crowd in a mesmerizing combo that resembled a Michael Jackson break dance performance synchronized with makosa, swagga, swo- dance styles that are popular across the country and continent till date. And to mine and everyone's horror while he displayed dance genius I froze the whole time.

I thought I would die literally of shame when he approached saucily. Like I needed that. Fellow pupils, staff, attending caregivers cheered and that was the end of my dance battle. We did not even get to the second or third round and my junior-dance-master crush was crowned the winner. My girl friends rushed to my rescue and led me away from the dance floor into one of the classes. I had began to sub.

After spending what felt like hours in silence with my friends comforting me. I began to explain my initial feelings prior. They felt bad and hoped I had said so earlier but it was too late. Mary, the most extroverted (sure you can tell by now) among us began making silly jokes about Dotun's dancing comparing it to an intense hoping-dance rabbit to make me feel better. It worked some. We spent the rest of the party in each others company as planned and no one made fun of me. Juniors especially did not even dare and my girl friends and I returned to the festivities.

I really have carried this with me for 14 years. I am ready to let it go. That was a loss for me that day in that moment; an 'L' but in hindsight, the entire day was a whopping win. My hallmarked 'W' because I had my closest friends who loved me regardless. And thanks to counseling I am learning continuously push back against the disruption that overthinking generates. Sometimes even considering the worst case, only briefly can be beneficial. To avoid accumulation of further negative mind talk.

And if you struggle like me in my experience remember that having a genuine and caring support system helps.

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