I am a forced ambidexter

IF YOU KNOW YOU’D MISUNDERSTAND THIS POST, PLEASE DON’T READ
I am a forced ambidexter. I say so because I was born left-handed, but some ogogo teacher who thinks she has two heads and I think has no brain made me start writing with my right hand. Both my grandfathers are left-handed. I’m not saying being left-handed is hereditary, all I’m saying is I wasn’t the only left hander in my family so it was not a big deal at the home front at all. I was really enthusiastic about school as a tod. I can say so because I remember stuff as far back as when I was three (feel free to argue with yourself). I can categorically say I felt out of place and confused for a very long time because my kindergarten teacher literally ignored me whenever it was “writing time”. Whenever she deemed it fit, Mrs Olaniyi (yes, I remember her name) would beat shit out of me because “I placed my pencil on the wrong hand”. I was a pre-schooler that used the hand that seemed normal to her prior to that time, so I really did not understand why this woman used to beat me so much. I wondered why she did not beat Opeyemi Giwa who sat directly opposite me or Jegede who sat beside me that way. At home, I used my left hand for my assignments but I really began to dislike going to school. Eventually, I reluctantly switched and all hell let loose when “Daddy Jummy” noticed. I don’t know for sure if I ever saw aunty again.
The deed had already been done though. Growing up and learning some of what you’d refer to as basic stuff was really difficult. Figures 2, 3 and 8; letters E and S seemed not writeable and whenever I wrote them, I did not understand why I wrote jakujaku (lai ni dyslexia). My handwriting was nothing to write home about (and when I eventually improved, any handwriting expert would still think a left-handed person takes my notes for me. I cross my Ts, Fs, Gs, Hs, Is and Js slashing from right to left). But for the injury I sustained on my right thumb, which had to be stitched, when I was 7; I’m sure I would probably still not be able to differentiate my right from my left (there are still times I look at that scar just to be double sure of the fact that I’m right). I could not tell the time except with digital watches until I started using biro (primary 3). I did not and still do not (despite a second degree in geography) really understand bearing.  Anything that involved left and right just appeared to be muddlesome.
Need I say I got tongue-lashed so much, more often than not by total strangers, as a kid? Some would not say anything but give me awfully rude stares for doing things with my left hand; especially when they’ve seen me write with my right. Some ode peers of mine too would sometimes ask in the rudest way you can possibly imagine “what is wrong with your right hand?” I remember one mumu once asked me in Uni, “Why are you waving at me with your left hand?”
When I was a child, I had to start using fork and knife at functions just to avoid peering eyes, wagging tongues and unending questions. For a kid who did not understand wa kin pa e till she was 9, I appeared like a butty child with my cutleries but for times I had to dissect amala or pounded yam in public with the so much detested owo osi. At some point I really just got tired of explaining. How will I be eating my own food with my own hand and you are the one making noise? Dakun is it your food? Abi is it your hand? If I hand you something with my left hand and you feel offended, feel free to not collect it. If I point out the directions of a place to you with it, feel free to go the other way. If I dial your number with owo osi, dakun don’t pick my call. In fact if I give them your package at Speed Drop or Lemz Delivery with my left hand, don’t collect it when it gets to you.
I think being a forced ambidexter has made me the strong-willed non-conformist that I am today. It has made me question many of the so called societal norms that form our culture. I must say I find many of them baseless, gender roles inclusive. You’d hear them say “girls don’t do that” “ise okunrin ni” as if doing those things involve the use of ball sacs. You cannot just tell me not to do something without telling me why. You absolutely would also not give me the “that is how we met the world” nonsense of an excuse. I would not buy it. Those that left the world for you to meet that way, they have two heads abi? If you really want to amuse me, tell me the Yoruba society frowns at it. Happy frowning o, one day, maybe not today or tomorrow; they will smile. That’s how I went gorimapa two years back and one particular woman kept complaining “laikin se okunrin, women do not cut their hair this low” But for Iya Jumoke’s home training, I almost asked her if it’s my head or the hair I shaved off that is her property. I wear my own jigida, on my own body, and you are the one complaining. Biko how?
Anyway, the koko of this story that nobody asked for is live and let live. If it will not take your life or reduce your bread, please don't make a fuss about it. minding your business is serious business.
Nota Bene: If you read this post anyway, misunderstood it and you are angry. Go to your room. Sit on your bed. Pick up your pillow, the largest one. Use it to cover your mouth. Now, scream into it. Trust me, you’d feel better. If you did not, please feel free to come and flog me in Jericho.