MIP11: The Wisps of Soot
Everybody falls sometimes, make of that what you may.
If the title of last year’s edition was designed to be tongue twisting for my friends of Eastern Nigerian extraction, for this year’s, I raise you Ibadan people. The battle for supremacy between the sh and s I heard on my trip to Ibadan this week, would make WW2 jealous.
2024 has been a particularly peculiar year for me, a year where I got the opportunity to do some really interesting things and engage in multiple projects that I’d have hitherto thought I’d rather not. Or for some weird reason, I would never be able to combine with the already endless lists of what I’m doing. But I did them and that very excellently. From huge church projects, 360 marketing campaigns, private mentoring for many young adults and public speaking - which I absolutely love and believe is my calling in this life. Lol. Invite me for your events already, we’re taking bookings!
Through all of this, I’ve learned that more often than not, responsibility reveals capacity. Whilst it may be very inconveniencing, crippling and even burdensome, it is usually an unceremonious announcer of weight, stature and maturity.
Last year, I wrote about my website crash and file loss, even though it’s not fully recovered nor functional yet, my writing and posting this is my firelight from my wisps of soot.
The wisps of soot appeared as a one-liner in a phrase when I wrote MIP3 8 years ago - LONG WALK TO FREEDOM. Introspectively, there is a slightly similar perspective to the phrase, waiting to be explored. Rising from the Wisps of Soot exactly refers to working with the final flicker of hope - you can decide it’s a sad reminder of what used to be or a renewed hope of what can be.
Yes, renewed hope and no there’s no corn in my pocket. IYKYK.
This year, in March, I met someone who reminded me of a very consequential encounter I had 9 years ago.
The year was 2015, I’d just written one of my final exam papers and I was about to leave for my hostel, woefully failing at avoiding the answer-fact-checkers who wanted to know their fates early. I indulged a few of them because they wanted to be sure I’d not taught them rubbish the night before, at the tutorial.
After breaking some hearts and making the day for some, I was walking away until “Santiiiii!” It was Oyinlola. Circa 2014 when I wrote My Banana Island Girl story, we actually did go there together as PROs, looking for sponsorships for our beloved MCSA, UNILAG.
Back in the present!
Despite her diminutiveness, I quickly saw her as she half motioned for me to wait and half ran to me, with a girl that looked every inch like a fresher. After the exam pleasantries, she introduced the scaredly looking girl as Boluwatife and explained that she’s been really struggling with her grades and right in the heat of exams, she’s scared, worried, confused; name it, she needs help and that very fast!
That said, Oyinlola goes; “So Ranti meet Tife, Tife meet Ranti, but we call him Santi too.” I nodded at Tife and she managed a dry smile. Walking away, Oyinlola half shrieked “Ranti she must not fail o!” and off she goes with; “I trust you sha!”. I looked at the scaredly young girl in front of me half amused, half annoyed - the feeling of being forced to be responsible for an annoying sibling in school. If you didn’t know it, how does it feel to be God’s favourite?
It was not until after I asked Tife a few questions I understood the enormity of the task before me. On the back of taking private lessons for almost half of my class on some courses, I would then have private tutoring with individuals and some others in the lower levels, now this??
I was still in my upset phase when I heard; “Sir please, I don’t want to fail.” I was lost, like “ni kini??” but even Abacha would fold at the genuineness in that plea. It felt like someone trying to cling on to spark a fire from not even the flicker of light, but the wisps of soot. At the time, it was about the most vulnerable state I’d seen anyone.
She was almost teary, I couldn’t help but help her, really. I folded. I asked her if she thinks she can still pass these exams? She surprisingly was affirmative, if not she wouldn’t have asked for help at all, she quipped.
Great, I was more than inspired to help at this point, because that’s about all the wisps of soot we needed to restart the fire.
We exchanged numbers, she shakily punched hers into my Blackberry that year, I promised to look through my schedule and see where she fits. She started thanking me and politely asked if she could reach out in case I forgot or something.
She was really at her wits end, wisps end if you may.
Summarily, we met and started working together on each course’s syllabus. I taught her more about techniques for each lecturer than the actual line by line syllabus approach. We worked on some confidence techniques and she wasn’t as bad afterall, I think she was actually brilliant, she just didn’t take herself and her first semester seriously, so her grades didn’t give her a good head start into UNI. So she was worried and it really did a number on her confidence.
Each exam was a hit back to back and she even was looking forward to writing the last few. We closed for the semester and though I’d left UNILAG altogether, she texted me her results. She passed in flying colours or whatever our cool parents say those days. This is the part where I thank her for making my work easier than I’d initially thought.
Now the juice of the story; fast forward to March 9th, 2024 and we were at Oyinlola’s wedding party. Yes, the same Oyinlola! I was too engrossed standing in a corner in streaming Arsenal v Brentford to be bothered about someone walking really close to me like they were unsure it was me. I heard my name and popped up my head, yes, it was Boluwatife, but the all grown and stuff version!
The scenes from “Sir please, I don’t want to fail” replayed very vividly as she shrieked; “RANTI???!!!”. We went outside to exchange more pleasantries, since we couldn’t shout over the blaring speakers and we spoke at length. We had a meeting two weeks later and I was super impressed by her growth story. She remarked about how she literally waltzed through school and The “Sir-please-I-don’t-want-to-fail” of 2015 is now a Real Estate mogul, walking into multi million naira negotiations and eating big deals for breakfast, lunch and dinner and so much more which I can’t share here and now.
I’m always a stickler for ‘everything begins in the mind’. Remember everything with Tife started with my asking her if she thinks she can pass those exams at all. As I always write to myself first, because my notes have helped me countlessly, sometimes I’m in the middle of a tricky situation and I read through from the first to the current, including comments, reviews and feedback, and something just jumps at me, instantly transforming my wisp into a spark and into a huge fire. I have too many practical examples to understand that it is in the depths of those ashes that the embers of our truest selves find opportunity to glow, flaming to guide us through the darkness.
And just then, there comes our flicker of fire from the wisps of soot.
As you’ve made it to this point, I think you’re halfway through re-flickering your fire, you have a song recommendation as a gift from me to you.
Hey Siri, play me That’s What Faith Can Do by Kutless, the last stanza!
Thank you for coming, do let me know what you think.
Who knows? We might be seeing Tife in our next episode. Did I just let out a secret??
Can’t reveal much yet, but the flames from this wisp are definitely growing into a huge bonfire! MIP as you know it, is evolving!
The end.
Or is it just the beginning of your fire.
Tell me an inspiring story. What is/was your wisp of soot?
The curtain falls, but the conversation continues; see you in the comments!
Akerele Oluranti;
4:05am, 01/08/2024
superakerele@gmail.com
T: @Super_Akerele
IG: superakerele