My earliest interactions with lies were pretty basic stuff.
Did you take meat from the soup pot? No. (You know the answer is an obvious yes).
Where did you go? I was just in the backyard helping Malam with his caps (I'd actually run off into the bush with my friend Wahab).
But perhaps my most remarkable memory of telling a lie happened on a crisp, summer day. My parents were out, and they'd hidden the newly bought tin of peak milk (the skimmed one) somewhere in their room.
I was on the prowl again.
I snuck into the room, and began combing. I tore through clothes, pulled drawers, rummaged through cupboards and ghana-must-go bags. Until I found it! My mother had carefully tucked it in her travelling box, and had thrown some clothes over it to disguise it.
It would've worked against normal 9-year olds. But I wasn't your average 9 year old, now, was I? I was acutely perceptive, plus acutely feline in my love for milk.
When I discovered the tin, I let out a little laugh. Ha-ha! Oh, y'all thought y'all was so smart yeah?
I dug in, shovelling as much as I could into my mouth because my parents could be back any minute.
I heard sounds outside, an okada pulling up, my spirited father greeting someone, my mother calling for my elder sister.
Damn! Injury time already!
I had to think fast, put everything back together and wipe my mouth clean. That day, I was the flash. It was as though some seventh sense had taken over. I was precise. Deadly. But it wasn't enough!
My father's footsteps were approaching. Cluck. Cluck. Cluck. It was seconds to my ultimate exposure. I mean, everybody knew I snuck in to steal milk and lick. But this could be the first time I'd be actually caught doing it! That couldn't happen.
I think I finished my hasty arrangement at the last second, just before my father pushed open the door. Then I remembered suddenly! My mouth! The milk powders would be sticking to my mouth! So I hurriedly drew my cloth over my face, and gave it a violent shake or two, then shook it down.
The door came open.
There my father was, looking down at me, all suspecting, all mistrusting.
"Nsikak, wetin you dey do for here?"
"Nothing, daddy. I just dey find something."
He looked like he was probing deep into my soul.
"You come take milk abi?"
"No, daddy! I no take milk oh!"
I raised my hands to prove my innocence, even indicated my mouth to show they were clean.
That was when my father began to laugh. It's one of those helpless laughters he has that begin as storms milling. Small ripples, growing into larger ripples. Then bursting into waves.
My feelings were hurt. How could he not believe me?
That was when he pointed to my clothes.
I looked down. Little lines of milk were scattered all about my shirt. In my haste to clear the milk from my face, I'd used my shirt and, by doing so, merely transferred the milk from my face to the shirt. The quick shake down I'd done wasn't enough.
I don't remember how that day turned out. I just remember my father's laughter. Oh my foolish, foolish, little boy. You thought you were so smart, didn't you?
In essence, we've all struggled with telling truths at some points in our lives. But when we constantly perpetuate falsehood, we don't always get the good fortune of full-bellied laughter. Sometimes, na cane. Or outright embarrizement.
Lies often come back to bite us in the ass. But not even that knowledge makes it easy to tell the truth at critical times.
I mean, why? Lies are so convenient, aren't they? One lie, and the problem ducks for the moment. And who is it that doesn't love peace? However temporary... Sometimes, we lie because we don't wanna scar people. Sometimes, we lie because we don't want to scar ourselves.
So why tell the truth in the first place? Why do honesty? What is there to gain? What is there to lose?
These questions were explored in the pilot episode of The Everything Human Podcast. Light Mark is an expert in his navigation of human stories - and I personally admire the personal angle he takes in his exploration. We listen and get the sense we're not just putting up with some puritan, ethics instructor, but engaging with someone who has seen both sides of the moral dilemma, and has chosen a side that best serves his humanity
Thank you @bright-obias
