How I became a big sister

I have a neighbor. He’s one of those kids who seems to show up at my house whenever I want some time to myself. ie right after I get home from teaching and the only two things that are on my mind are making lunch and watching the next episode of the West Wing.

He’s one of those kids that makes it his mission to get into everything. I once chased him around our compound on a mission to get back the purple Sharpie with which he had started doodling on every surface that he could find. I’m still finding purple swiggles in new places. 

He also never wants to leave. When I tell him “bye” in Ife and try to gently guide him out of my house, he crosses his arms, shakes his head and says, “NO!" 

But somehow, he’s been growing on me for the past week. He runs to me when he sees me walking down the street, yelling "Auntie!” as I approach. He loves my plastic sunglasses. They’re a pair of those ridiculous plastic ones with the neon-colored sides that recently have made a comeback as promotional swag at any event. They are far too big for his face, and he unfailingly wears them upside down. 

I never had the chance to be a big sister. I’m by far the youngest in my family and spent my childhood being tortured (but also looked after) instead of being the torturer. Now that I have become the big sister in two other families, I have gotten to teach my younger brother how to ride a bike, use a younger sibling as an excuse not to pay attention in church and have someone think you’re the coolest person they know simply because you are their big sister.

Plus, if I get sick of it, I can always go back to pretending locking my door, closing my curtains and pretending like I’m not home.

P.S. Special mention to my older siblings. You cannot be replaced. I may be playing grown-up now but you will still always be the only people who get to roll me up in a Jane Fonda exercise mat.