This shirt—the inscription, precisely— reminds me of one of my favorite clothes ever.
It was a pink and brown round neck shirt. The body was light pink and the cup sleeves were chocolate brown. I inherited this prized shirt from my favourite cousin at that time, to whom I was literally a pest and a handbag to. I followed her everywhere.
On the shirt was written, ‘I’m not bad but I’m wicked’ in a fancy bold print in shimmery chocolate brown.
Those words didn’t make sense to me (cos doesn’t being wicked make you a bad person? I thought ‘I’m not wicked but I’m bad’ would have made more sense) but God! I loved that shirt! It made me feel very bad ass. Letting that shirt go was one of the hardest things to do.
While my ownership of the shirt lasted, some of my relatives never forgot to remind me of how much of a gospel those words on my shirt were. I’d hear stuff like ‘this is so true! You’re not a bad person, you’re just wicked,’ ‘you’re truly not bad, you just have a strong heart.’ I don’t know if comments like that were supposed to make me cry or feel bad. If I felt anything, it was feeling like Mama-G had nothing on me. Like yo, una never see anything. I guess the joke was on them.
With comments like that, a stranger would be left to wonder how a sweet looking baby girl like me, all cheeks, could possess the evil I was accused of. Little would they know that wickedness to these people, was being unapologetic and firm.
Going down the memory lane, I realized I must have been one annoying, yet likeable child. I was called wicked cause I’d stand my ground on anything I believed in, and not falter. My ‘no’ was final and no one could make me do anything I didn’t want to. I’d refuse to apologize if I believed I wasn’t wrong. My apology was always genuine—even now. I’d never apologize just for being the younger one, even if the adult was wrong.
I had a response to everything, not even a duct tape over my mouth could stop me. I was in no way timid. I even got a nickname—madam you talk one, I talk hundred— as a result of my smart mouth. Nobody was above hearing the truth from me. You disrespect or cheat me because I’m a child? Be ready to hear me give you a large saucy piece of my mind .
Now, all of that doesn’t count as wickedness, does it?
I must confess that I miss my younger self, she was very confident, so confident, some thought she had some spiritual powers giving her liver. I’d catch the occasional glimpse of fear in the eyes of some adults when I made retorts. It always amused me, like na me them dey fear so? Shokolo me? This made me wonder, on several occasions, what having spiritual powers would be like, and I’d start to laugh at how silly those adults were.
On one occasion, I had to voice out my thoughts and said to this female adult ‘you think if I had such powers, I’d let you be talking to me like this? I’d have flogged the hell out of you, at midnight, and leave marks as reminder to treat me nicely next time.’ And that, dear reader, was on Mary had a little lamb. The female adult was left in disbelief. I must have been just ten, or eleven when this happened.
Though I was reserved, very respectful, and maybe shy, there was nothing timid about my character; while I miss that, I’m thankful for growth. With time, I developed a more diplomatic approach to life and situations. While it’s good to always say things as they are, wisdom sometimes should be applied, especially in this part of the world where most are still in mental shackles—This isn’t me saying I’m wise, but you know, my name is Sonia(if you’re wondering what my name has got to do with this, do yourself a favour and search for the meaning of my name).
My mother, from whom I learnt subtlety, made me know there’s a thin line between being rude and being straight to the point—this isn’t to say I’m not occasionally rude, I dish it out when it’s asked for. You can make your point clear, respectfully.
She also taught me that sometimes, when you have a goal, it pays to act the fool; acting the fool will never make you a fool, just know when to act it. An example is having to give a certain answer to a question in an exam, just because that’s what your teacher clearly wants, not because you think it’s correct. The goal is to pass the subject, so you do what you have to do, even if it makes you want to beat sense into that teacher.
That ends my story on my good but wicked heart.
Would I love to own a shirt like that again? Most definitely! It’s been on my bucket list for the longest time. This looks like the best time to own one, cos it looks like somebody got more wicked, even with her subtlety.
My only concern is that I may get stoned by angry citizens. Citizens channelling their frustration, at their leaders, to me, for having something in common with them—wickedness— and shamelessly parading it. Since not everyone reads my blog, I’d have to explain to them that my wickedness is a special kind, and very different from that of their leaders (that’s if I survive the stoning sha).
Are you a fellow wicked person? Show yourselves in the comment section, let’s know ourselves. And let us know when you started being wicked.