The flames of Fame
I knew early the burden and blessing of Fame. Growing up, my parents were "celebrities" within the constellation of people who knew them, and they knew. It was a mixed experience. It does not help that my principal, Mr. Ibeh, calls me Rosemary Popular in school. I did not have the nerve to tell him my surname was Popoola, not popular, because if I did that, then the whole school got to say one of the popular's children talked back to the teacher. More so, I knew that even my father had never objected to Hausa people calling him Yellow, so what would be my excuse for choosing to be addressed differently? Half of the northerners, except those who had official dealing with him, knew his surname. They call him Yellow because my father was a tall, handsome, beautifully bald, and extremely fair man (no colorism, I promise). My PoP echoes my thoughts on the cost of Fame. He said Fame denies you of privacy, seclusion, and normalcy.
Recently I spoke at an event where I said that fame, class, and whatever status symbols do not exclude women from public surveillance that makes us self-regulate because we are aware that we are being watched (public panopticon) and more so of double standards and other complex issues. There are complex issues around the politics of National Honor(OON, MON, OON, and all the N), and I hope someone is researching this. How does the Hall of Fame becomes a Hell of Fame when you are a woman who refuses certain forms of subjectivity? How do gender, race, and sexualities influence Fame or infamy?
Congratulations, Teni Apata, the real sugar mummy of Lagos. Injure them with that thing! Omo Yi wa je gba!
Also, Happy International Day of the girl child in arrears!
If you ever notice that I unfriend you and am still on Facebook, just know I prioritize my mental health. You can do the same if my feeds unsettle you.
Maranatha!
Let me go to my bo ji o ji mi
Posted on Facebook on October 12, 2022.
I do not own the copyright to this image. Kindly email oyin2010@gmail.com for credit.
