As I lay in bed, awake and fuming at the persistent rodent
problem in my roofing, my thoughts shift from murderous to self-analytic.
Having studied psychology, psychoanalysis is a term I know well and have used
on many accounts to try understand and explain human behavior, usually odd
behavior. The doctor has now assumed the role of patient and all I can do is
wait to hear the diagnosis of my ailment.
In many cultures, Africa included, it has, sadly speaking,
been considered a silent taboo to seek the help of a therapist, because if you
do, you must be crazy. However, I
believe that like any other ailment of the body, the soul can become ill and
thus needing a trained doctor to cure it.
Therapy is important in this day and age where crisis is the
norm and people are maladjusted because of several traumas faced.
Self-medication involves addictions in many forms and even the good forms of addiction are still
addiction. For example, a workaholic can be viewed in two lights- one that he
is well adjusted and works hard to provide for his family and on the other
hand, being maladjusted, he does not spend time with the family he works very
hard for. To understand addiction in any form, one needs to understand the
human soul, but who can ever purport to know such a complex and unique structure
as the human spirit?
So, in the wee hours of the night, onward my thoughts trudge,
as I carry out an introspective search for truth. I like to think of myself as
a recluse who chooses a path least travelled, like the eagle that loves the
thrill of a storm or the rodents in my roof whose motto, I am convinced is, Never give up. Because of this, I find
myself having to explain my well-meaning addictions,
music being the greatest of them all.
Music has always been a part of my DNA and not inherited, but
what I believe is a deliberate act of God to bless my family with diversity.
That said, as a child, I always found myself wandering off to a distant land
like C.S Lewis’ Narnia, a land of boundless possibilities, of creativity and
childlike faith in an art I would later call my purpose.
That dream was rudely cut short when attempting to relay the
contents of my heart to my family, the one question every aspiring artist is
asked, was asked And what do you intend
to do with music, be a teacher with a petty income? So I was bundled up and
taken to University and for the next four years pursued a normal degree which I did not myself choose (at least let me choose
my subject of torture). Those were the longest, most unfulfilling four years of
my life and if you ask me, repression is a coping mechanism I have mastered
well. That journey of a thousand years
finally came to an end and in open protest I did not attend my graduation.
Was it really my degree
in the first place?
It would be a case of mistaken identity if I went, was my argument!
It is such passion that drives me till this day. The
struggles of an entrepreneur trying to break ground and find a place in the big
circle of life can easily discourage an individual but in my view, life was
meant to be conquered. If Christopher Columbus never ventured out into unknown
worlds looking for Asia, America as we know it would never have been
discovered. If the classical jazz artists had not stumbled upon nonsense syllables the beautiful
improvisation we now call scatting would never have been heard.
This is what reminds me that no matter what my life
experiences have been like, nothing just happens by chance and that in all
things I can recycle what I have gone through to better myself. For there is a
lesson learnt in every delay and fall. In this case, my study of psychology may have been
in my opinion the worst decision a parent could make for their child, but
maturity comes to show me that I understand myself and other’s much better
because of my study in Psychology.
I have also come to know such resilience and patience because
of the frustrations of not living my dream. And I have come to appreciate the
fact that to err is human.
