A woman brought her son to me, she said she is tired of the boy and his doings. He is just 10 and has dealt remarkable blows to his mother’s emotions. From fighting to other things, this dude is everywhere you go.
I spent about 5 minutes staring into his eyes and could clearly see what I used to be in the boy and started laughing. Only God knows why she felt I might have a solution to this boy’s issues and my laughter got her confused.
I told her that her boy will be fine and you have to tolerate his antics until he is old enough to quit. There is no other thing to it, and such persons grow up to be the most loving and caring humans alive. And I started telling her my stories, those I still remembered. For if you have not heard from others, you will end up thinking you are alone in the middle of the whole thing.
I spent an hour discussing with this dude as I have been there before, misunderstood, disbelieved, and sometimes left on my own. Yes. He looked at me and saw himself he never knew and the dude is a smart kid too. You can’t be stubborn and dumb. How would you cope with planning your way out of bad situations?
I have always been classified as stubborn, although I don’t understand what that word means. Yes. The word is still alien to me. In our street then, once I storm some houses, everyone will be at alert as I must spoil one thing before leaving.
Ahhh, the reports to my father made him weak so he took me to 82 DIV Enugu and handed me over to some soldiers and told them to deal with me as he has gotten tired of my exploits.
But soldiers are superheroes. They understood me and made me sit with them while on duty, bought things for me and asked if I liked the military. I was about 10 and they made me hold a FMC rifle for the very first time. I felt alive and was admiring the black thing. They also told me it kills people and shouldn’t be used anyhow. My father returned to find me bubbling and was surprised.
I overheard my parent’s discussing one night. I and my elder brother were the topics. My mother maintained that she has not seen anything like me before, that I am simply unrivalled. My father thought otherwise and was giving instances but she wouldn’t move from her position.
She told my father that she is thankful I wasn’t her first child and that any family that has two of my type is in serious trouble. So I walked into the parlour and poured water into a cup and was sipping it slowly, looking at their faces and they had to change the topic and then, my father barked at me to leave immediately.
I tell you, for once, I thought she hated me so much so I went to bed that night with wild thoughts on my mind. Believe me, some words can hurt more than a bullet wound.
In the morning, I wanted to ask her how we ended up as mother and son as I felt she was not really my mother and it made me suspect every move she made. But my mother loves me and her friends loved me too, especially days I represented her during church cleaning. Although it led to abuse there were good ones, those who wished I was their child and didn’t even hide it from my mother. She would tell them to be thanking their Stars they don’t have my type at home.
People classed as stubborn see things differently like adding a little fight where dialogue should be used or not seeing the reasons why the plates should be washed when asked to wash them. We just want to breathe and exhale our own air. Just like that.
I once engaged my older sister in a fight for slapping me. I think it was because I didn’t clean the plates after eating. She likes everything neat and I didn’t care. I was missing out on the playing field. I don’t like keeping my friends waiting. So we bickered for a while as she was trying to get hold of me and force me into the kitchen.
Resistance is all I do; I have always resisted and was dealing before she let out a hot slap. She is eight years older but I don’t fear figures, the fight in me was big. I was boiling with rage but she let out another one on the other side of my cheek. It sounded like thunder. At that point, I knew, fight back or just wash the damn plates plus she will always use it to oppress me.
I retaliated with a punch to her stomach. She is a tigress! Oh yes! she is and she pounced on me. I fought like my life depended on it. The energy was so unfamiliar. I had everything working against me as I have had plenty of run-ins with my grandparents and my siblings. I love messing with grandpa’s snuff box and will pour the black powdery thing in my palm and imitate the way he inhaled it. It was on a Christmas period and we were in the village. Most children of my age and the ones older will usually come to our house to stare at that stubborn Kc they have heard so much about. I had few friends so I sit idly sometimes and watch from a reasonable distance.
When they heard the noise from me and my older sister, even though I was struggling to loosen myself from her grip- I was almost being beaten to death – they came with whipping sticks to finish me off. I bolted once I saw my grandfather coming with a long stick, the trashing I received from my sister was enough for the day. My older brother tried to grab me, I took a sharp turn and he caught the wind. I ran to my aunt’s house. My mother came and took me home where I met another beating from my father. I made everyone’s day and they were happy. Tomorrow is a new day and I will start where we stopped. I am just like that.
I have always loved doing my own version of things and learning from the consequences. I hardly adhere to laid down rules and it ruins my relationship with people, especially those in position of authority. People will hate you when they cannot control you and therein lies the origin/Genesis of most crackdowns on earth.
Do we love to be controlled? NO. Most people will equally see the need, the reason as to why you do the things you do; why you respond and react to issues the way you do, sometimes to the consternation of every other spectator. We are just logical in approach and if command doesn’t sound logical to us, response would be inappropriate.
I did so well during our final catechism exam before Holy communion that the seminarian who examined us said I should start teaching catechism. After about a year on the job, some kids decided to make fun of the way I talked. So I waylaid them and gave them the beating of their lives. I was reported to the seminarian who wanted to impress the mother of the kids. When he summoned me in their presence and asked me questions I didn’t like, I yawned and told him to change the story and he chased me around the church, from bush to bush. I enjoyed it. That was the end of my teaching catechism classes. The guy, who is a priest now came to our house to plead for me to resume teaching again but I refused. Once I leave, I don’t go back but I equally take time before leaving. I swallow a lot but when I make up my mind, it is final.
I listed the things I have done to this woman and I know she will be thanking God her son is still a learner. He truly is.
I and my younger brother had a habit of drinking my father’s favourite alcohol and topping it up with water. The fact that he is not always around made our trade lucrative and we were prospering. Life has a way of giving you out no matter how crafty you are. We will get high and sleep almost immediately. My mother thought we were doing it out of our own will. There is that one hole you will fail or rather neglect to cover and from thence comes your downfall.
We had gotten high then a friend came visiting. He was caught up in the process and my younger brother, in a bid to scare him, went and brought out my father’s rifle, pointed to the beleaguered boy and told him to hands up. His shouting brought people to our sitting room and we were reported. Our game was up and the man didn’t take it lightly with us. I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, leaving my younger brother to stew in his rubbish only for this man to fetch me like firewood and dealt with me.
Mrs my son is stubborn was looking at me with mouth open.
I once told my father that I want to become a DJ. We were sitting in the parlour watching DJ Green or so spinning the wheels while Nas was on the mic performing to a large crowd. I think it was after the release of his Stillmatic or God’s son album– I have forgotten which. It was also during holidays and I had just returned from boarding house. I was enjoying the concert as I would occasionally throw my hands in the air.
The old man was eating and observing my subtle madness while my elder brother glued his eyes to the teli. It was he who introduced me to rap– DMX and the Ruff Riders, Dr Dre, Nas, KRS one, Juelz Santana, Camron, Eminem, Wutang clan, Public enemy, Ice Cube, ICE T, Westside Connection, Corrupt, Dog Pound, Jay-z, Talib Kweli, Nate Dog, Warren G, Run DMC, Snoop Dogg,Tupac, Biggy and Bone thugs-n-harmony. I would later discover Jay Electronica, the Bullitts and so many others. He had a box where he locked his CDs, the Eminem show, Dre 2001, the Chronics , Stillmatic, Illmatic, God’s son, red light district by Ludacris, Dipset albums etc and so, I would ransack his bag looking for the key to the box just so I can listen to some rap.
He rapped occasionally, mostly G Funk. I rapped at Street corners, in class and into the ears of anyone who cared to listen. Sometimes, my fans were the spoons, pots and plates in my mother’s kitchen or the clothes I was washing. I dreamt of filling up a stadium one day while tickets will be sold out. But it was only just a dream. The truth is, my father used to buy boys2 men CDs, Isley Brothers especially Ron Isley. I still remember those oldies compilation–James Brown, Tina Turner, Luther Vandross, Phil Collins, Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston, Enya , U2, Ub40, Bob Marley, Jimmy Cliff, Culture etc plus our Nigerian artists like the great Fela, Majek Fashek, Raskimo, Osadebe, Oliver, Emeka Morocco, Celestine Ukwu (Minaj Television Awka used his song as the theme song for a weekly program by Leanard Onah) Bongo Ukwe, Sir Victor Uwaifo and a host of others.
Whenever he leaves the house, the whole compound will be on fire. I remember those secondary school seniors ordering me to sing for them or be punished. People like Duke never punished me because I could sing and rap. My father wanted me to study medicine. He knew I could do it. I knew I couldn’t. I don’t have the patience to sit down and study for 6 hours and I settled for biochemistry and was doing fine before father Ede started acting like he didn’t want us in his university.
That I wanted to be a DJ hit my father’s ears like a slap. So he gently kept his spoon on the tray, turned and asked me to repeat what I just said. Who wan die? I respected myself and disappeared into the room I shared with my brothers.
That was the last time I mentioned to my father’s hearing whatever I wanted to do that does not concern education. I think I escaped instant death that day and have been ever grateful to common sense that compelled me to just breathe and swallow whatever nonsense that was about to fall out of my mouth. If you never tried, you would never know.
I still do imagine, up till date, what would have been of me that day, where he would have hit me to reset my brain to factory mode. I tell you, that was one of the best decisions I ever took. African parents are mean. Yes. And when I say mean, I mean being mean to the highest level. I don’t think it is a very good idea messing with them, especially when it has something to do with education and you are dreaming of bringing a bad reputation to a noble name, na sorry go be your name when they are done beating you.
We had discussed what I will study in the university and I was being prepared for it and I woke up and said I wanted to be a DJ? The man took it a notch higher and told my mother that this one is not normal. That they will just wake up and this boy will disgrace them and start smoking weed for a living because that’s what those people he said he wants to be do. The woman said over her dead body.
The next day, we landed at Fr Obayi’s adoration ground, Saint Teresa’s Catholic Diocese Nsukka. When they said those with mental problems should come out, my mother said I should run out so they can deliver me from my madness and that she is tired and doesn’t mind leaving me here if possible. You could see the seriousness on her face. But I refused going out because I wasn’t mad. She didn’t even want to argue with me. She obviously didn’t have the strength. She went and called those MOD boys and told them that I was hiding there, that they should carry me to the altar. The 3 boys carried me to the altar but their body told them they carried someone. At the altar, they did all the magic and people were shouting and falling on the ground. I just sat there thinking of how to pay my mother back for embarrassing me.
As if that was not enough, she took me to the priest after the adoration and told him that she doesn’t know what is wrong with this boy. The man placed his hand on my head, said some prayers and told her that nothing is wrong with me. Did she believe him? No. The coming week, we were inside peace mass transit headed to Iva Valley in Enugu to meet another powerful prayer warrior. This one told my mother that my heart is as hard as a rock and that they should pray or I will end up ruining whatever is left of them.
I believe my father was hard on me because of the things I had done in the past. You know, that unnecessary stubbornness that landed me in hot soups; be it in school, church, our street etc.
I remember one day my mother caught us experimenting how to smoke with a rolled sheet of paper. Action begets consequences. She just stood and made sure I saw that she saw me, then continued her walk home while singing a song that had something to do with trying to save someone who is keen on committing suicide. My gang discharged, at least their mothers didn’t see them. Even if they did, they weren’t as strict as my own parents. So I stood around our gate the whole day afraid to enter the house till my father came back and forced me inside. My mother said, “Oga, welcome” which in other words meant you are dead like dead kpatakpata. Jesu! I sat and thought of what I had gotten myself into. She served me food with this stern look on her face. I was afraid to eat and then I was ordered to go and take my bath.
After changing the clothes with which I wore trying to learn how to smoke, I wore 2 Jeans shorts and wore a Jeans trouser on top. She acted as if all was normal but I knew it wasn’t.
12 am, consequences came calling because that is my mother’s pattern. No stupidity was overlooked. She woke me up and said I should explain to her that thing I was doing with Paul and co during the day. The thing too heavy for mouth. I tried to feign ignorance and also form sleepy eye but my ears were twisted and squeezed like an old 100 Naira note.
How do I begin? Crying was out of the question. I am not always a fan of crying. I was fidgeting with my fingers, blinking my eyes at nanosecond intervals, and then words like “so me and my husband are suffering to provide for you people and you are trying everything you can to bring shame to this family?” hit my ears with precision and then, “I will kill you before you kill me”. But has it reached a killing exercise? I wanted to ask but words failed me.
I was hoping, even if temporarily, for rapture to occur that moment and send us all to heaven than for that cane to touch me. Not again that week as I had a scuffle with my elder sister a day before and she slapped me, so I went and brought a long stick to hit her and my elder brother saw me fuming and wanted to side with her. I threw insults at him and we found ourselves in the bush in a hot race for survival.
At a point, I wished I could disappear. He caught me and used his belt to finish me. But my mother did not know about that. The first stroke kissed my bumbum and the thing made a usual sound. My mother burst out laughing. I wonder what my face looked like, being caught again. You know, that period you are in court, in front a judge for a crime you committed days before and you are caught inside the courtroom committing another crime, that’s what it looked like.
She told me to remove everything, remaining the last boxer short, and so, I accepted my fate and woke the whole neighbourhood up. For I can’t suffer in silence. Someone has to lose sleep, and maybe, save me. Wetin sef? Her attempts to shush me up didn’t work. Why would it work as that was my only escape route? She knew, one more stroke, the whole neighbourhood will be banging on our door.
For some things can kill you, one million times before they get close to you. Some are consequences of your actions or inactions. Others are things beyond your control. Yet you have to bring the whole fight in you, no matter how small it looks compared to the object in front of you. In the end, we woke my father up. The man needed sleep and so, stepped in and saved me but told my mother that they will talk about it in the morning. Thank God other things made them forget and up till date, I don’t play around cigarettes, not me. The memory of that day is still fresh on my mind. I saw someone in my mother who was ready to tear me to pieces and that is the beauty in the meanness of African parents. They don’t leave room for irregular madness and will cure them as they come, using the only means that have for centuries proven to be reliable: the whip.
During one of the long vacations, I left my hair in ragga mode. My father gave me money to go and cut the hair, so I went and barbed punk. The man saw it and didn’t utter a word. I thought he had accepted it only to wake up one morning to be an object of laughter by my siblings. My brother gave me a small mirror and I saw the hair that I so much loved in ruins. My heart was broken. Then enters the spoiler in chief, the no-nonsense, the no talking, action-oriented Mr Okenyi. He just walked past me like nothing happened. I was wondering; why are people this mean? I was also waiting for him to give me money so I can go and barb normal low cut as he decided to use his scissors and chop my hair, making it look like where rats hosted a festival but he went H A M on me, took his bath and rode off. My sister volunteered to use scissors to make it look normal but I refused. My mother stepped in and helped.
So, madam, it’s an innate characteristic. It’s not learnt.
Her ears were full and Mrs my son is very stubborn didn’t know what to say again. Your son will be fine once he passes some stage. Fear not and she went home with her trouble
