I was six years old when my dad lost his job but I had never realized we were poor up until I began to know the differences between a boy and a girl. You see, if my parents were to venture into any career, they would have made it big in theatre arts. Growing up, I always thought we were rich, excessively wealthy even. I never knew the meaning of the word “poor” or even how being poor felt till I was an adolescent.

If there’s anything my family values, it’s family rituals. Small steady traditions that gave us a sense of oneness, a bond. So I never thought of anything strange when Dad announced one Sunday that we were going to have the “As Usual”. Ironic because we never even had the ” As Usual” before. It turned out “As Usual” meant drinking garri with sugar and groundnut in one big bowl together as a family. I don’t think I have seen any child so excited about drinking garri as my siblings and I when we heard the plan. So Mom got out the biggest bowl we had and mixed the garri and we started eating. It wasn’t just the normal meal, it consisted of Mom and Dad competing against who could take the most groundnuts in one scoop. Mom who had grown up amongst farmers and garri drinking experts always won. The highlight of of the occasion however was when Dad stopped everyone from drinking and gulped straight from the bowl for some seconds before we could continue because he was the Man of the house of course and the initiator of the ritual. That’s how we started taking the ” As Usual” every Sunday after Church and never suspected that my father did not have money for a proper meal.

My father has also the best strategist I had ever known. He had the “Kalu Plan”. Kalu Plan wasn’t one plan, it changed as the occasion changed. For example, when he didn’t have money for the “As Usual”, Kalu Plan was to go into Mom’s small garden and grab any vegetable he could find and make a soup. We never minded how the meal tasted as far as it was my father that cooked it, “Daddy is entering the kitchen” was always a major highlight as he didn’t follow any basic cooking rules, he just added any ingredient his mind advised him too. No two meals ever came out the same. We all knew my father couldn’t cook to save his life but he did to save his children. Now, when my siblings and i come up with innovative ideas that reduce cost, we still call it the Kalu Plan.

Another reason why we never knew we were poor was because of Arsenal Football Club. My Dad is an Arsenal fan because as he said ” that’s where all the cool, calm and collected big men are”. None of us like Arsenal, I meant, they never topped leagues or anything (in our relatively short period of finding out about international football) but my Dad wanted an Arsenal heir. So every evening, we targeted when my Dad would come home and prepared our stage performance. We even wore Arsenal jerseys as our costumes. Immediately Dad entered the house, the first thing he would see was his children wearing his oversized Arsenal Jerseys and screaming ” Arsenal for life!” Dad would in turn join in the chant then proceed to give us twenty naira each. Twenty naira might not be much now but to three children who never really needed money because they had all the love they could ever need, twenty naira was more than enough and we grew to value love over money.

My Dad is also the biggest exaggerator I know. If an ant bit him, he would announce that he had been bitten by four scorpions and was dying. If he knocked on the gate three times, just know it automatically became ” I have been outside for over two hours!” If he mistakenly ate a stone in beans that you cooked, he would accuse you of breaking four teeth in his mouth. The exaggerating also had its up sides, my Dad is the best praise giver and motivator I know. You push rocks, he calls it mountains. Get the first position in class 3 times in a row, it turned to ” My daughter has never gotten anything less than first in her life before. You know she takes after me.” I get my confidence from him, we all do.

I think the best thing I learnt from my Dad is to find humour in everything, find something that makes you happy. That’s probably the only way to really live fully.