Parenting in age of godlessness and increasing cultural decay

Africans used to be very good at raising children. Africans raised in the old way were incredibly grounded, well-mannered, dutiful and responsible.

A few of the odd ones, of course, became serial killers or went into politics, and that was a question of diseased minds, I believe, not upbringing.

There was a lot of violence and child labour involved in the raising of a family, though I am not sure whether this is what contributed to keeping them strong and straight.

My mother was a parental Osama Bin Ladin – wedded to an ideology of absolute conflict, with lots of religion thrown into it.

ROPE

Looking back, it is perhaps easy to see why a firm hand, a propensity for the rope and the switch would be natural for a woman trying to raise a brood of boisterous African children, including boys, with a husband who was often away.

My mother’s approach was helpful until I became strong and faster than her. Then I would simply weave in and out of her reach like Mohamed Ali.

At other times I’d just run, sometimes a bit slow to persuade her that she was gaining on me, then take her round and round until she was dizzy and out of breath.

I grew up knowing if I did something silly, my mother would beat me like a snake, no questions asked.

There was also no question that, if I was infantry in a war, she was both a big artillery piece and air cover: pounding a path through the jungle of growing up and suppressing the opposition to keep us moving.

FEAR

My father had an Irish side to him. Whereas he was as grave and unapproachable as any traditional African father worth his Afro, he had a flighty, fun side to him.

He spent lots of time with his friends drinking beer and wearing fancy clothes and had an aversion for physical labour, not necessarily because he was lazy, but possibly he had had enough of it.

He was interesting but like most fathers your relations were always tinged with fear.

In the mountains where we grew up, a man was by definition a fellow with a horrendous temper, a sharp panga, and a capacity to deploy it without the slightest hesitation.

In his case, he had spent his youth running around the city stealing guns, conspiring against Her Majesty’s Government and doing some very unsavoury resistance business.

They finally shot him, rounded him up and for seven years tried to kill him by putting him to break stones in the heat of Manyani and by beating him with the wooden mallets now used by the GSU on demonstrators.

MAGIC

These experiences produced, by some magic, a relatively easy-going parent, rarely raised his voice, never raised his hands against the children but one whose wishes – rarely expressed – no one would ever contradict.

If the mum was the artillery, this was the nuclear option.

When the time came to let me go at the age of 14, my father did not sit me down and give me a lecture.

He took me to school by bus, a journey of long hours. All my earthly belongings were in a heavy metal box.

I was such a little boy that Form Two hyenas nicknamed me “gakenke” which I think is Kimbere for “baby” or “infant”.

In our day-long journey, involving many bus changes, my father never helped me carry  my box.

GOOD STUDENT

He never glanced at it and feigned not to notice as I staggered after him. But he shortened his stride so I could keep up. And when I looked like I was going to break down and cling to his leg and beseech him not to leave me with those leering boys and severe teachers, he stood there like a mountain, all 20 foot of him, gave me only 20 bob for pocket money, advised me to be a good student, adjusted his hat and strode off without a backward glance.

Today, parenting, especially among the expanding middle classes, is a different affair. First, we do everything for our children, they lack for nothing.

Secondly, we can not bear to see them in pain or going through hardship. We do not see that a bit of hardship is also an opportunity to teach them life skills.

Thirdly, we don’t dedicate sufficient time to parenting, because we are mostly away working or having fun.

INSECURE

Children grow up knowing that their parents have more important things going on in their lives. There is no artillery, no air cover and no nuclear options.

They grow up vulnerable and insecure even though they are surrounded by money, barbed wire and private security guards.

Fourth, parenting is outsourced, just like the laundry. There are parents in this country who will not be bothered to pick their children up, even when the school writes and asks them to.

They leave it to the teachers to call an Uber.

We are over-emotional, inattentive, weak and corrupt parents. And we are raising, as my friend points out, not independent and healthy children, but pampered pets, unable to stand on their own and face the world.

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