Yes, the Jealous Me!
But don't mistake this for the kind of jealousy born from hate or envy.
Mine is different, a jealousy forged from pain, longing, struggle, and deep love.
This is my story.
This is who I am.
This is the journey I've walked, through heartbreak, survival, mistakes, and lessons that shaped me.
I have been broken, rebuilt, and broken again. Even now, as I write these words, I am still fighting to survive. But amidst all the chaos, I remain grateful, because some people never even get the chance to fight.
Brief Background
My name is Ajibola, son of Mr. Waheed Durodola and Mrs. Khafilah Durodola.
I am my mother's first child, though my father had a daughter from his first marriage before meeting my mom. That automatically made her my big sister. We lived together as one family, full of love and laughter.
My roots trace back to Ede town in Osun State, Nigeria. We are proud Yoruba people, though my parents were based in Ibadan, where I was born and raised precisely in the Oke Ado area.
My father was a hardworking man who owned a commercial bus for transportation and also deals in sales of autos, while my mother was a trader. Life was simple but beautiful.
We didn't have much, but we were happy.
My parents adored me, and I loved them deeply in return. I attended one of the best private schools in our community. Every morning, my mother made sure I was well-fed, well-dressed, and ready to face the world. I carried extra snacks to school and always looked sharp; I was that kid everyone admired.
A few years later, my mother became pregnant again. Our home buzzed with excitement.
I was especially thrilled imagining all the names I could give my soon-to-be younger sibling. Deep inside, I hoped the baby would be a boy, just like me.
The day finally came, and to my surprise, it was a girl a beautiful, delicate little soul. My parents named her Balikis, a Muslim name that reflected our faith at the time.
As for me, I had been named Idris at birth, also a Muslim name. But as I grew older and discovered my path, I chose to embrace my ancestral roots and traditions, eventually letting go of both the name and the religion.
Her naming ceremony was unforgettable family, friends, and neighbors all gathered to celebrate her arrival. Our compound overflowed with laughter, food, and dancing. It was a day of pure joy.
The First Heartbreak
But life can be cruel.
Just a few months later, tragedy struck. My little sister, my beautiful Balikis, passed away unexpectedly.
I was only ten years old, but the pain I felt was sharp and raw, a wound that pierced deep into my young heart. It was the first time I experienced true heartbreak. She wasn't just my sister; she was a part of me. Losing her felt like losing half of my soul.
Our family was devastated. Neighbors, friends, and relatives came to comfort us, but eventually, they all returned to their lives. We were left alone with our grief.
My parents tried to stay strong for me, to smile even when they were breaking inside. But it was too late something inside me had shifted forever.
From that day on, I became quiet, withdrawn, and afraid. I didn't want to make new friends because I couldn't bear the thought of losing someone again.
The Birth of Hope
A few years later, my mother became pregnant again. This time, there was a flicker of hope in my heart, though fear still lingered.
When she gave birth, it was to a healthy baby boy. We were overjoyed. My parents went all out for the naming ceremony, the biggest celebration our community had seen in years.
They named him Ayuba Adeola Olanrewaju.
It felt like a fresh start, a new chapter.
My parents loved taking pictures, documenting every precious moment. We created memories I still cherish today.
As time went on, my mother gave birth to another boy, our youngest, whom they named Sheriff.
Now, we were three boys and one big sister, our family felt complete. Our home was once again filled with joy and laughter.
Life seemed good. The neighbors loved us, and we lived together in a small, tightly-knit community at Olowe Compound, Itamaya, Oke Ado, like one big extended family.
When Everything Changed
But life, as I would learn, is never constant.
After Sheriff's birth, everything took a dark turn. My mother fell gravely ill. She became so weak that she couldn't even care for the baby.
My father the strongest man I have ever known tried to hold everything together. He worked tirelessly, caring for my mother, us kids, and still trying to earn a living.
When my mother's health worsened, my father sent Sheriff to live with his elder brother so the baby could receive proper care. We would visit during celebrations like Ileya, but it wasn't the same.
As my mother's condition declined, my father's business also suffered.
Every cent he earned went into hospital visits, medications, and treatments that never seemed to work.
Our once-happy home became a place of fear, sadness, and uncertainty.
I was consumed by anxiety and sorrow, and my father despite his strength began to break under the weight of it all.
From Comfort to Struggle. The impact on our lives was immediate and brutal.
We went from comfort to survival mode almost overnight. I was forced to leave my private school and enroll in a public school, a completely different world.
It was a difficult adjustment. The environment was harsher, the resources fewer, and the reality humbling. But I had no choice. I had to adapt.
Meanwhile, Sheriff was growing up in our uncle's home, surrounded by care and stability, while our home felt like it was crumbling around us.
Day after day, my father tried new solutions, seeking any possible cure for my mother's illness.
But nothing worked.
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and still, she remained bedridden.
The fear and sadness I carried as a child only deepened.
And I began to wonder:
Would we ever find light again, or was this darkness here to stay?
The Darkness That Followed
Despite all the trials, struggles, prayers, and countless money spent trying to save my mother's life, the sickness still claimed her in the end.
Her death shattered me.
It was as though the ground beneath my feet had been ripped away, leaving me falling endlessly into darkness.
I remember that day vividly. I was on my way home from school when I saw a large crowd gathered at our doorstep. My heart sank instantly.
Before I could even ask what was happening, someone rushed toward me and wrapped me in a tight, suffocating hug.
At first, I didn't understand.
But then it hit me, my worst fear had become reality.
The sadness and fear I'd carried for so long multiplied, drowning me in a storm of grief. My body went cold. My voice failed me. That night, I couldn't stop talking to myself, whispering questions no one could answer.
Sleep became a battlefield filled with haunting, strange dreams. I would wake up drenched in sweat, terrified of closing my eyes again. My life, our lives had been completely turned upside down.
A Father's Silent Battle
My father… the strongest man I have ever known… crumbled before my eyes.
Imagine losing someone you've spent most of your life with. Someone who was not only your partner but also your source of strength.
Her sickness didn't just break his heart, it drained him completely.
Financially, spiritually, mentally, and physically.
It all started with an illness.
But it ended with a void that swallowed everything we had ever known.
Our once joyful home became heavy with sorrow. Family, friends, and neighbors came to grieve with us, their tears mixing with ours.
And yet, as always, once the crowd dispersed, we were left alone to face the harsh reality.
Empty Promises
In those days, promises flowed like water.
"I'll take care of you."
"Don't worry, you'll never lack anything."
"Call me if you need anything."
People said so many comforting words.
But when the real struggles came, those words turned out to be empty echoes.
Life grew harder, and my father was left to bear the weight of our survival alone.
Despite being a good man who had always shown up for others, no one truly showed up for him when he needed it most.
He worked tirelessly, trying to provide for us while battling his grief. My younger brother, who had been staying with our uncle, eventually came back home, adding to my father's responsibilities.
Even with debts piling up and rent unpaid, my father never gave up. But there came a point where the walls closed in, and he could no longer hold us up alone.
A Father's Departure
When things became unbearably difficult, my father made a painful decision, he left for another state, hoping to find a way to rebuild our lives.
Before leaving, our grandmother my mother's mother came to take Sheriff, our youngest, to care for him since he was still very young and needed close attention.
That left three of us at home:
Me, my younger brother Ayuba, and my big sister.
My father's departure broke something deep inside me. Though I tried to believe he was leaving for our sake, the reality was harder than I expected.
Contacting him became difficult. The only way we sometimes heard from him was when Aminat's father, a kind neighbor, relayed messages or received calls on our behalf.
The Struggle without Him
With my father gone, life became even more brutal.
We had no one but each other and Aminat's father, who, unlike many others, never abandoned us.
He stood by us after my mother's death and continued to help even when my father was away.
I can never forget his kindness; he was like a light in our darkest times.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks turned into months.
Still, no word from my father.
Each passing day deepened my fear and sadness.
What kind of life is this?
Why did everything change so suddenly?
These questions haunted me endlessly.
I cried every single day. My once joyful childhood became a collection of painful memories.
The happy, lively boy I used to be faded away, replaced by a sad, quiet version of myself.
I withdrew from people, afraid of losing anyone else.
At some point, I even began to wonder if I was cursed, as though bad luck followed me everywhere.
After some years, my grandmother returned to take me and Ayuba with her, since Sheriff was already living with her.
My big sister stayed behind with Aminat's father and his family, where she began learning skills from Aminat's mother.
This separation was painful, but life had forced our family to scatter in different directions just to survive.
Life at Itamaya, after my father left, was filled with hunger, sadness, and hopelessness.
Those years etched themselves deeply into my memory.
They shaped me, every painful moment, every night of crying, every morning of uncertainty.
These memories never fade.
They live inside me, fueling both my pain and my strength.
And as I look back, I realize why my sadness has grown so heavy:
Because everything I went through has made me who I am today. The Jealous Me, longing for the life we once had, while fighting for the future I still hope to see.
To be continue....