“Next year babe, but I actually wan resume, so I go fit dey hug you after mass 😩😩.”
Those were my guy, Gbenga’s words to me on a Sunday morning. The plan was to have the message put up on bill boards and sign boards, just to let the world know someone misses my healing hug; probably my biggest achievement in years. Well, I changed my mind and decided against it, cos you know what they say about pride. I don’t want to end up like the president’s daughter; a character in one of the many children literature books my mother got me as a child.
Instead of broadcasting, I decided to do some reflection, on how I transitioned from being an anti-hug and anti-handshake person, to being one who’d always reach out for a hug in greeting. This is one of the things I actually miss about my church on campus.
Before University, I was one who avoided hugs. I’d only hug those who I considered special. Explaining to people why I’d rather make out with the wild wind than hug them was stressful, cos humans usually aren’t satisfied with the “because I don’t want to” answer.
The major reasons I avoided hugs are;
- I was not a preacher of love.
I didn’t like any form of public display of affection(PDA). I didn’t even know how to show my excitement when I saw people I missed after a long time. I still don’t know how to. Hugging, just felt like a very socially awkward thing to do.
- I was suffering, and still suffer from Obsessive compulsive disorder(OCD).
I was overly conscious of my appearance, especially in my school uniform which was a white shirt and green skirt, and any white cloth at all. A crease on my perfectly ironed and glossy skirt would ruin my mood for the whole day. It mattered a lot to me, to the extent that I mastered the art of sitting, without a crease appearing on my skirt. I could go a week without ironing my skirt (only when power holding company decides to hold power), and there’d be no crease at all. What about my white shirt? Oh lord! Mistakenly get me stained, and see hell let loose. So you see? I wasn’t willing to risk my immaculate look for a hug that probably wasn’t even genuine. For the few times I hugged, my eyes would immediately look in the direction of where the hugger’s hands or face rested; it was a reflex action for me. Put the blame on OCD.
On days when I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid hugs, like days when there’d be an announcement of a win or some sort of commendation, I’d wear my green woven sweater over my white shirt. It didn’t matter if hell’s gate was left ajar. What’s shedding a few buckets of body fluid for a sparkling white shirt? Nothing!
As for handshakes, I think I was more anti-handshake than anti-hug. This is cos I have trust issues. I mean, I don’t know where your hands have been, but I know for sure that some are allergic to water. So, shaking hands anyhow was very risky, I wasn’t willing to put my sanity at risk. I was already comfortable with the “proud” and “snob” tag. A few more meant nothing. I had just few people I could trust, people who took hygiene quite seriously; the only ones I could comfortably shake, without putting my sanity at risk.
Fast forward to years later, I’d exchange hugs and handshakes with about almost half of the school’s population. Just imagine! Let me tell you my little secret, I enjoy the hugs, especially when the person being hugged smells nice; very calming…don’t tell anyone I said this, it’s a secret.
As for the shakes, hmmmm. It wasn’t so bad, since I have a habit of always washing my hands, until one day! Hmmm! A very terrible day. My innocent eyes saw terrible things.
I was jejely walking to God-knows-where from a lecture hall, when I saw this dude (most likely an Awo hall guy) blowing his nose furiously and with reckless abandon, with his bare hand. In my mind, I was praying he’d miraculously bring out some water, from I-don’t-care-where, to wash his hands. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. All I could do was cringe and make a disgusted face. Guess what happened few seconds later… This guy used this same desecrated hand to shake an unsuspecting friend. It wasn’t a light shake, fam! At that point, my soul must have left my body for a split second, I just simply could not can.
I started to have flashbacks of all the people I’d exchanged handshakes with, from birth to that very moment. It was a traumatizing experience for me. I got back to my room and washed my hands like I was trying to wash away the sins of the whole world. Just so you know, I noticed the world became a better place, hours after my cleansing ritual. I guess ‘Lamb of God II” would be a befitting name for me.
I had another tragic experience, and I’m not about to go into details. Now, almost every time a male stretches his hand for a shake, I can’t help but wonder if he washed his hands after guiding his little man to pass out some unwanted fluid. You can put the blame on men who don’t wash their hands after using the restroom. Thank you!
I’m already exhausted from thinking of the many unsacred hands we get to shake everyday.
I haven’t stopped shaking people sha. You know why? Cos In 2019, my mentor, Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, said, and I quote; “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.”
How do you feel about hugs and handshakes? Kindly share your thoughts.