Growing up, I often heard people say, “It takes a whole village to raise a child.”
What this simply means is that every adult within the circumference of a growing child is duty bound to teach the child the acceptable ways of its people. Now, you’ve got to also understand that “teaching” can often come in the form of “corrections” of different forms, if a kid misbehaves outside the home, an adult nearby would feel obligated to deliver a knock on the head, a slap on the butt or plain simple kneeling down in a corner, just so the child learns some life lessons.
Since nobody I knew of my parent’s generation had a manual for raising kids, I guess it was easy for them to rely on the “goodness” of other people’s hearts to correct us kids and keep us on the straight and narrow.
I would bawl home expecting my mum to march me back to the adult and pour hot vituperations while wagging her finger at the offending adult never ever to lift a finger against my pampered skin. Instead, my mum would click her tongue and respond with, “The child that refuses to learn at home will be taught a lesson outside.” I didn’t know who to hate more, the adult or my mum.
When I realised I wasn’t getting support from home, I stopped “reporting myself” and often ran home to avoid those outside punishments.
Now, things have changed. It’s different, this proverb comes to mind, “Ba mi na omo mi o de inu olomo” which is loosely translated to mean, “I may appear to appreciate your correcting my child, however, it doesn’t go down well with me at all!”
The modern translation would approximate, “All that crap about taking a village to raise a child is trash, I can raise this one by myself thank you, so therefore, all itchy adult hands and burning tongues should forever hold their peace or you’ll answer to me!”
Parent these days don’t want to “take their two ears to hear piim” from their child over some smelly adult hands on them for any wrong doing. Yes, o. I am one of such.
If I find a child throwing tantrums and behaving badly in public, I simply increase my pace or cross to the other side. I don’t believe in communal child raising, no, sir. I believe every parent should know how best to raise their child.
Sometime ago, however, I had a rethink. My cousin came visiting with her trio of little lads. They are much younger than my kids and were just all over the sitting room and everywhere we had space indoors. They were leaping like frogs from couch to table, diving around like Spiderman and generally upsetting my well-arranged living room. At first I was accommodating of their enthusiasm, I mean, boys would be boys, huh? And they are within the age of four and nine years old, so what did I expect? So I smiled but kept calling out to them to avoid the TV, the desk top on the side and a few breakables I couldn’t move.
I kept checking to see if cousin was doing her job of keeping her boys in check but no, she just seemed relaxed and at ease with the chaos around her, plus I saw she was truly exhausted and needed to sleep, so I let her, meanwhile, I had begun to get anxious.
I didn’t mind them breaking a few things, because they had already broken my glass cup at this time, but hurting themselves and making me run to the hospital was something I just didn’t want to do. So I called out, occasionally to the boys, no show, I switched the TV channel to Cartoon Network which is always guaranteed to mesmerise the most difficult kid, no, they just wanted to leap around the house, so I marched them outside since, I figured, they were less likely to hurt themselves with glass outside the house but they came in shortly to continue their mayhem.
At this time, I had lost all pretenses at patience and gave them each a spank on the butt. Like magic, it worked! Peace at last…erm no, not just yet.
Cousin wakes up to the cries of her kids. All pointed at the “wicked aunt” who beat them. I stood my ground, defiant, like the righteous adults of old.
“I don’t beat them,” Cousin says, “I just talk to them.”
“These wildings?” I asked, “They understand words?”
Long story short, Cousin packs her bag and boys and hasn’t spoken to me since.
I became contrite. Maybe I shouldn’t have spanked them.
Then I became defiant again, maybe I should have let them hurt themselves then she’ll have to take them to the hospital herself, because I wouldn’t have gone with her; maybe I should have sent them home a long time before now. Maybe…maybe…
Should I call cousin to apologise? I didn’t want to. I felt they deserved the spankings, haba! Children of these days don’t hear word again.
Maybe I should have called Cousin sef, instead of writing this piece, she may not even read it sef, she’s still pissed at me.