Photo by Thomas William via Unsplash

I grew up in a traditional Nigerian family. In a middle-class neighbourhood right in the centre of the busy City of Ibadan. And like the majority of the other families, one thing that was drummed into our ears was the importance of education. That, as I knew it, was the only escape from the poverty and lack of opportunities that surrounded us. Education, of course, comes in various forms, but it was common knowledge to the youth that careers in courses like medicine, engineering or law were the valid ones. And a mention of being a singer, a filmmaker or an artist would send shocks down our parents’ spines, resulting in quick lessons about stability and lack of job opportunities. In fact, I associated pursuing a career in any of these subjects as an act of rebellion and delinquency.

At first, I didn’t quite understand my parents. To me, it was simple. Everyone is good at something, and so they should pursue whatever that might be. And doesn’t every career choice play a role of its own in the progression of society? As a kid, I was known for my vivid imagination, interest in singing competitions and directing plays at school. My childhood album is filled with photos from these events. I still look through them for some sort of approval or confirmation from my younger self. I knew I felt the happiest and more authentic doing those things, but my parents didn’t quite agree. And so I went along with their vision of success instead.