Looking Like My Mother Is Great.
When I was younger, I was graciously described as my father’s carbon copy. This was the full package. I had his face, his mannerisms and his funny jokes in my arsenal. I stepped out of my house and gave myself away as Omo Kunle within seconds. It created an assurance in me, a sense of identity I enjoyed carrying as my father was the coolest person I knew.
Being my father’s carbon copy was sweet as a young girl, I thought it was especially cool because he was really tall. Questions like “Where are you growing to?” and affirmations like “You’re so tall for your age.” gave me a rumble in my stomach, which made me feel more special than everyone else, they didn’t know I was growing faster than my shadow, they should be scared.
I went everywhere with my dad and got the same affirmations I longed for from his friends. However, when my teenage years came, it came with a bit of a shift in this neatly built self assurance. Firstly and to my greatest surprise, all my friends were taller than me. How can all my friends be taller than me when Aunty Bose said I should be competing with trees and buildings by now? No wahala, there’s time, I’d catch up, slow and steady or whatever.
Then another issue came up, this is trivial and funny in my head today but a pressing issue at that time. The issue with looking like my father was that he didn’t have boobs. You see, upon entering secondary school I began to get familiarised with some words; “stick”, “flat”, I was forewarned not to go outside on the windy days as “the wind would pick me up and throw me away” and so on. My dad was tall and slender and most importantly, a man, I looked like my dad. It didn’t take any time for these words to start bothering me and I couldn’t suddenly stop looking like him so I found fake solace in the classy act of tissue stuffing.
One morning, getting ready for school, my mum caught me stuffing tissues in my tiny pink bra top and we had an awkward conversation where I looked at the ceiling above instead of her eyes.
“I looked just like you when I was younger.” “I didn’t have any boobs till I gave birth.” My mum was very kind to my plights and tried to get me to see my beauty in people who looked like me “Look at Seyi Shay, she’s gorgeous!”
When I was younger, if anyone dared to say to me that I looked like my mum, I was quick to correct them. “I look like my father, that is the general consensus thank you!” not for any malicious reason but just because that was the general consensus.
Now, I look like my mum, which is great. I see it in every selfie, grandiose boobs aside, my eyes are just like hers. The complexion of my skin is tailored from hers. I remember more often that I came from her womb.
Interestingly, when I look back at older selfies, filter ridden and always at a diagonal angle, I still see her. I didn’t see her before but I see her now. I still see my dad, the one that everyone saw, in my nose, in my shoulders, still not my height because I’m a simple 5'6 where he was 6'4. I also see my grandmother’s face, in my open teeth when I smile. I’m not exactly sure what size cup she was then, but we have the same laugh.
My face survived wars with my great-grandmother. I see me in sepia tones and film strips and in the same crispy photos I also see my dad’s full black hair and my grandmother’s high cheekbones, they survived wars too. Carrying along with me my mother’s long torso and my father’s big feet paired with my self induced horrible posture, the reflection of my mirror tells a love story so grand, every vein in my body to each strand of my hair makes me a believer.
The belief of my beauty stays as my reflection continues to change and it surely changes, it persists against its own wars, not as grave as the Biafara war and such, but against internal enemies like dysmorphia and external ones like the advent of bleaching creams. It survived hair growing in more odd places than I’d like and my voice getting hoarser than I’d prefer, it will continue to. As I grow into my features which are dated back generations with love, I persist not despite these features but with.
