I'm a Black PhD student living far from home. I managed to say goodbye to heavy eyes

This First Person column is written by Olajide Salawu, a third-year PhD student at the University of Alberta in Edmonton. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

Three missed calls. My father had called again from Nigeria. It was 4 a.m. in Edmonton. 

Having my father calling at this time was not something strange. He thought the world ran on the same time zone. When my father called from Shao, my hometown, just a few kilometres away from the Niger River where Mungo Park's remains are said to be buried (the Scottish explorer who claimed he discovered Niger River!), I could picture him sitting among other men of his age on a bómpé, a popular plank raised platform where most men retire in the evening to talk and play games such as checkers and Ayò Ọlọ́pọ́n.

He had called to say hello, laughing, and wanted to update me about family affairs. As the first child of the family I have the duty of listening to such talk. I was not annoyed, but I had to serve him a reminder again he had called while I was sleeping.  

I am a PhD student living far away from home while still responsible for keeping home close through phone calls, messages and video chat to keep down loneliness and nostalgia. 

I packed my bags and left Nigeria on June 17, 2021, heading straight into Edmonton's blistering summer. I would not know how much this would cost my rest as I bonded with family thousands of kilometres across the ocean.

Although academic activities had not started in June when I arrived, signing up for "acada life," as we say in Nigeria, no be small joke, with loads of book reviews and a never-ending reading list. 

PhD makes me think sleeping is a crime. One mind tells me, "Hey Jide, you are supposed to be writing that abstract by now. Don't sleep your life away." The other one reminds me, "Hey Jide, you still have a funding application to complete." 

Often in cases like this even when I interrupted my now-rare sleep time, I would still produce nothing. The draft of the PhD proposal I had completed on sleeplessness by the end of October had come back with some serious feedback: I would be doing a substantial revision, a.k.a., 'Nice try, begin all over again!'

Edmonton summertime's late sunset meant I wouldn't sleep early. I would encourage my partner in Nigeria to stay on the phone with me, while showing her the sun which would still be up, a red rounded disc by 8 p.m. 

"So when are you going to sleep now?" she would inquire in Yoruba. By the time I held her hostage on the phone, it was usually odd hours already in Nigeria. Sometimes, I felt horrible doing so, and would tell her to go to bed while I complete revisions. Other times, she would stay online with me while we blabbered through all sorts of topics: what happened on her way to work, what did not happen, the okada man's behaviour for the day (commercial cyclist which she took to work everyday), and so forth. I would have to persuade her to go in most cases because she would have to resume work the following morning by 9 a.m. 

Just as I was drifting off to sleep by 2 a.m., by 5 a.m. the sun was up again. Ah!

Tea therapy 

With my Edmonton friends Uche and Jumoke, I routinely talked about not resting well and the recalcitrant summer sun. Uche brought out different tea bags: chamomile, ginger, roasted dandelion, garlic. He suggested chamomile because it was night already. "It will relax your muscles," Uche said. I smiled in return. Uche insisted I take some bags along. I obliged. I was able to rest well for the evening, and would jokingly tell him now he was turning me into a tea addict. 

Fall of 2021 was three classes. This meant the intensity of academic labour increased. Now the sleep interruption came from my mum. When I tell her, "Maami, it is still 2 a.m. here," she would say, "I thought you were in the afternoon." Then we would pick up different things to discuss about home — my grandmother and her business, and my eating habits. I would also want to confirm how her health is faring, and whether she is resting well from work. I let my mum know that Edmonton is in Canada, and not the same as Ukraine when she worried a few months ago and called, "Jide, abi where that place they say there is war is the same place you are now?" I retorted rárá Maami, no, in Yoruba. 

While my sleep was nothing next to normal, I would be readying myself for candidacy throughout 2022 when my writing had become increasingly difficult to do. The long days of summer made way for the short daylight of winter. The sharp bite of cold seemed like someone grabbing my head from behind. Drafting became an arduous process. 

Strict sleep protocol

In January, I finally began to put myself on a strict sleep protocol. Uche had shared an article with me, an excerpt from the book Rest is Resistance by Tricia Hersey. This was after I'd complained to him again that my writing had been awkward and he asked, "Bros you dey sleep at all?" 

Now, I sleep at 10 p.m. and wake up around 6 a.m. That's eight-hour bliss to bless my body. I urged them at home to schedule lengthy video chats and conversations with me over the weekend. 

I now consider my sleeping more a kind of self-care. Because I am aware that straining my body with needless work will not increase productivity, I oppose the thought of dissatisfaction. 

I have to admit that getting enough sleep gives my body the motivation it needs to generate the thoughts I need to succeed as a Black graduate student. Yet, my rules must be flexible when I sometimes act as arbitrator over issues from home, when they might also need urgent help. 

When I finished my revision sooner than I anticipated, I started to realize how effective rest had been on my writing. I was able to submit more funding requests and create concepts for proposals and papers. Today, I resist every idea of restlessness, and I am adding Hersey's book to my summer reading list.

For more stories about the experiences of Black Canadians — from anti-Black racism to success stories within the Black community — check out Being Black in Canada, a CBC project Black Canadians can be proud of. You can read more stories here.

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