One of the most telling verses
in the Bible today, at least in as far as the political circus in
most African countries is concerned is Proverbs 17 verses 21 and 25.
For the sake of this article, I am turning the verses around to: ‘He who is sired by a
fool gets himself sorrow, and the child of a fool has no joy’ or 'A foolish father is a grief to his child and bitterness to them whom he bore.’
If you are a mad man’s child,
you have no rest because while he runs amok around the whole village;
while the mad man causes senseless destruction to the neighbours’
properties; while he gleefully crisscrosses the village paths butt
naked; while he howls meaningless songs in the middle of the night;
it’s his child who suffers most.
It’s the mad man’s son who
has to run after him and take him back home; it’s the son who
has to apologise to the neighbours for the wanton destruction of
their property; it’s the son who gathers the discarded torn
clothes from the ground and force him to cover his nakedness; it’s
the son who consoles him in the dead of the night so that he stops
disturbing the neighbourhood.
And in the morning, it’s the son who cannot face the day and join other children for
they whisper among themselves, ‘There he comes one who came from the loins of a mad man.’
It’s the madman’s daughter whose
heart is gnawed by anguish; his daughter who feels the nakedness on her
back; his daughter who carries the curse; his daughter who cannot walk
down to the river to fetch water with other girls for they too
whisper behind her back: ‘There comes the daughter of the madman.’
There are times when the mad man
dances to the songs in his head. Elated, the children clap their hands
and then sing real songs for him. But the mad man takes off towards
the hills leaving the children heartbroken.
Even when sleep and exhaustion
subdue him, quietening his madness; even at those rare moments when
hunger calms him; even when for some other reason the madness cools
off; his children are always alert for they know that when it returns,
it’s like a tsunami.
Somebody in the family has to keep
an eye on the axe, the box of matches, the open fire, the family gun,
the spear and anything dangerous lest the mad man gets hold of it and
holds the family hostage.
Even the ladder too has to be
hidden far away from the mad son because who knows once he gets it
whether he will not climb on top of the house, tears his clothes off
and does his madness antics.
Sometimes these antics divide the
family. Some members will advise the children to tie him up to the tree
so that at least they can have rest and time to do some chores. They
will say so because he shames the family.
There will be others who will tell
the children to whip his bare bum so that at least he will be scared of
acting up. They will say because of his madness, they cannot walk the
village with their heads high. They claim that the whole village
whispers behind them: ‘There goes the mad man’s children. The one
who tears his clothes or dances to the songs in his head.’
Yet there will be others who think
that being cruel to the mad man does not make sense. They argue that
the ancestors will not be happy. He is, after all, their blood. ‘God
gave him to us. All what we can do is put up with him,’ they will
say.
Although the mad man’s children
listen, deep in their hearts the pain grows thick.
If the mad man's mother is alive, it’s even worse
for the mother whose womb turns in anguish and despair for it was
here the madman was formed. It was here where the madman fed
on her juices and breathed his first. It is here where the madman
first thrust his restless feet and swung his small arms in defiance
of reason. It is here where the madman first tossed and turned with
so much energy.
Yes, the madman’s mother suffers
most. She suffers in silence. But she tells herself, ‘He is just a
different child.’ That ‘Every child is a blessing; must be
accepted as they are; and for what they are.’
Even when the madman wakes up one
morning throwing about all cooking utensils; defecating in the water
pot and urinating in the fire, it’s the mother who will talk to him
so that he stops.
But the madman does not stop. He
even looks for an axe to chop up the cooking utensils. Still the
mother just looks trying to make him see reason.
As it is Africa is like that
mad man’s child. She agonises over what the fathers are doing destroying the future.
The price of having a madman for a father is the pain of losing sleep over him; the agony of knowing that
he will never do anything; the disheartening of a life so
wasted; it’s the soul-consuming realisation that the future
generation is being slowly destroyed. (First published in 2013)
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