From Childhood Innocence to Class Realities: My Journey to Understanding Privilege

Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise - Thomas Gray

I grew up as a very aware and observant child. The cloud of innocence and naivety of childhood dispersed very quickly, from being aware of what death meant from age 6 to realising that money doesn't last forever. I believe my upbringing has shaped who I am today. Despite being sheltered by my parents, growing up on the streets of Lagos exposed me to different realities. I saw homeless people on the streets, some of whom were naked, but not necessarily deranged. On the other hand, some wealthy individuals talked about their travels around the world with their families during the summer.

It was challenging to fit in, on one end I enjoyed trips when my mom would take my siblings and me to (what I thought were) really nice restaurants where we would eat Jollof rice, Chicken and Salad. While my neighbours never got that opportunity and their parents were spending late nights burning candles at mami night markets to finish selling their wares. You could say I was born into a middle-class family when it still existed. My parents could pay rent for a 3-bedroom flat and send me to the best schools in the neighbourhood.

Lagos was such a melting pot, that even in the best schools in the neighbourhood then, you still had kids from impoverished homes and owing school fees of various terms. However, their parents wanted the best for them and would still send them to these schools where they would spend half of the term being sent out and flogged for owing school fees. Yet, they would weep over the fact that after all their "sacrifices", the children would still fail.

Is that where you live?

Every year, my school would organize a train trip at the end of the session. The train will ride all throughout the community, displaying its students for all to see while singing Christmas carols. Everyone always talked about how fun it was, and how they'd get to see their houses and wave at their friends on the way, becoming the envy of the neighbourhood. Once when I was in primary 4, I got the opportunity to ride the train. Our class teacher asked if she could ride with us and be dropped off at her house.

In true early 2000s fashion, my class teacher was a short petit woman, adorned with her colourful wigs and shiny golden lipsticks. Her suits were always oversized but she carried herself with so much class you'd think she was the first lady. So I was quite excited to finally put the house to this classy woman I got to see every day at school. As we rode around the neighbourhood, from the estates to the slums, I was enamoured to see how mixed the community was. There was no clear demarcation between the rich and the poor. Right next to duplexes, you could see the "face me I face you" With each swerve of the train, the voices and screams of children reverberated through the community. 

The train screeched to a halt as my class teacher yelled for the driver to stop. She got off and said goodbye to us with the promise to see us when we resumed. As she was leaving, someone asked where her house was. She pointed with excitement to a block of blue-painted one-bedrooms with a hallway and a zinc cubicle in front of the unfenced compound. This signified the shared bathroom for 10-15 families. My heart sank as I realized that my teacher, whom I thought was classy, was poor.

Coming to terms with classism

That wasn't the first time I came in contact with poverty, I lived on a street filled with all sorts. From the rich with the super high fences to the poor who'd play with tires on the streets. But I guess, I never really understood it, I actually even admired how small their houses were. I compared their houses to the small sections of my wardrobe, I had dedicated to my dolls as their house, with makeshift furniture from random objects I could find. I really thought these folks were being minimalist with their carpets instead of rugs, stools instead of chairs, and stickers of "My Year of Prosperity" smacked right in front of their termite-ridden front doors.

Thus it was a shock to me when I realized this wasn't the life they chose, they weren't minimalist! They just couldn't afford to live the way we did or even better. Then I got mixed up with the rich and I began to hate them. 

Anticipate an intriguing revelation as I peel back the layers of my story. In the second part of this article, prepare to embark on a captivating journey that will challenge your perspective and leave you pondering the profound impact of privilege and poverty.