I will be a son but can’t be my dad

A drama in my head

There is an American situation comedy series titled, How I Met Your Mother, I have never watched it nor do I know much about what it is about apart from what the title suggests.

On my walk this morning, a whole series of conversations played out in my mind, possible conversations with my dad that I expected might end badly that I resolved to put it to one side, but what transpired between the dramatis personae in my head was vigorous and vituperative, I was angry, probably too angry.

A question seeking answers

The other conversation was between my mum and me; we have developed a friendlier and communicative rapport, I enjoy it. I was going to introduce a topic with humour and move it on to the fact that I was feeling unnecessarily stressed out by my dad. He is becoming as impossible as he is inconsiderate and obdurate; I don’t use those words lightly and they explain to a larger extent why we have much conflict.

Then a sense of exasperation overcame me, I felt like asking my mum, how did you meet my dad? What was the significant moment that brought you both together as husband and wife? Materially, without the union of these particularly significant people, I would not have existed, someone else would have been born in circumstances and situations quite different from the one I have inhabited.

A son a bit different

It is almost like the bane of life, a fate over which there is no autonomy or agency, we happen upon a state and wish upon a star, each second, minute, hour, day, week, month, year becomes a story writing itself as each moment passes. You then find that of the things you can neither change nor alter, you make peace, make do and make the best of it towards telling a better story.

Where I might have found my dad to be a reasonable listening person, I find I have not been persuaded of the reality of that thought. It saddens me, but I will not agonise, I find that it is our attitude and our forbearance that gives us the means to deal with many things, especially the difficult. I will be a son but can’t be my dad.

Thought Picnic: From the village with love

Longer than usual

These conversations never last long, at least not for as long as he can remember. 3 minutes would signal a rather long exchange that had pleasantries, an expression of concern, some laughs, always some laughs, a prayer or two and a closing.

That was deed done, duty done, even if there was desire to have a longer engagement, just because engagement and conversation is good.

Yet, this time, the conversation went on for much longer than one had anticipated, they caught the 20 minute mark before any semblance of closing materialised. Interesting is the word that came to mind.

Ambushed at noon

On a topic she had not broached for nigh on a decade, it became the burning issue, a funny deployment of older smarts came in to play, after opining about not seeing a recent picture it leapt to seeing a picture of the grandchild will be recent enough.

Quite an ambush that was that he reared before he caught himself, not so much in agreement, but there are things that were never on the agenda regardless of yearnings of others and this particularly, never was.

As she weaved and waned between the suggestion of promiscuity and lack of choice, she offered her own unique and quite funny solution.

A parcel to bear

To the village she shall go and obtain for herself a prospective daughter-in-law, green and untouched, she will embark on adventure to arrive abroad passing through border checks, the name of the son emblazoned across her bosom for the sole purpose of procreation.

This is the stuff of stand-up comics, something that should have people laughing until their tears flooded the auditorium. At once the whole idea can be both amusing and repulsive.

Some parents just cannot let their children live their lives if that life does not conform to a norm or some expectation. In this, fantasy and reality will never unite in the fulfilled desire of another and for that, he is saddened for the disappointment others will just have to live with. C’est la vie.

Thought Picnic: The New Parable of the Prodigal Son

Angels of gathering

For angels abound that walk the earth in the form of people you and I see on the street, whose humanity has heart and soul, beating with compassion and empathy, leaving you speechless in gratitude, disarmed in thankfulness and helpless in the tenderness that can expressed by those who in their time have become another narrative of the Good Samaritan story.

As he left that office yesterday, having bit his lip in utter regret of the experience he had just suffered, you found on the busy street, a bench to sit, famished for hunger, he sat to gather his thoughts.

The gathering of the shards of his life shattered in a history that really had become a drama almost too liveable for words.

The new prodigal son

He left his country which had become his fatherland full of health, full of promise, full of hope and much else to the land of a different tongue, he lived, he prospered and he wasted his means – prodigal he had become that all he left with and what he had gained was lost – health, promise, prospect, status, job, home and desire – as each day appeared to hold no tomorrow, he came to himself like the prodigal son and decided to return home.

For he thought, at least at home they speak his tongue, his fatherland, maybe he might find shelter, boarding, sustenance and some new hope, he was not expecting open arms, but there were many open to arm him with much to see beyond the morrow – it started well, though with difficulty.

The truth is, unlike for the prodigal son, there was no father that ran into the fields having sighted his son from afar to fall upon his neck and cry for joy that the son that was lost was now found, no new robes, no welcome feast but a resentful and judgemental big brother with a long checklist of eligibility for this and for that.

Checking the boxes to hell

Single, no dependants, no local connections, able, no proof of address, no bank account, no local references, no recent utility bills, no priority, not eligible for security clearance, not our business, no way here – the list was as long as judgement day had arrived and the only way was the way to hell or without saying the words, what he did hear from them was – Go to hell.

And hell it would have been because as he sat on the bench before nightfall yesterday gathering his thoughts until his angels came by to bear him away to safety from crawling with the swineherd and enjoying the Michelin star gourmet of pigswill, he would have been on a bench through the night drenched by the watering of the heavens that fed the trees and he would have found no tears to flow with the flood of sorrow that would have overcome him.

Barely netting the whale of the problem

The times have changed, the rules have toughened, the righteous are resisted and the cunning have run rings round the system, whilst England has no place for prodigal sons – it is mercy of angels, far and near, in kind and in means that ushered in another day.

The new parable of the prodigal son is not reading like happily ever after, the assumptions we made about safety nets are fallacies because the below on the jagged rocks of life lie those who have fallen through holes bigger than the size of elephants, we see them daily, the ones that checkboxes discarded without consideration, the ones society forgot and the ones that have become invisible but are there, in rags of clothing and prospect, in hope for the next meal having had none for longer than they can remember – they probably were not prodigal but have been put on the speedway to hell by a system bereft of heart and soul.

Yet, the politician and the comfortable mounts soapbox, rostrum, podium and lectern preaching about those abusing the system but saying nothing about those abused by the system and they be many too bruised to ask for anything but for some spare change from you and I – what will be done for them – he asks, what?

Thought Picnic: Talking down and listening up

For ancestral angst

The amazing power of silence came to play in an ambush this afternoon. Whilst he has been a stalwart of moral support in these trying times there are times I consider certain views inconsiderate.

I am grateful that in the rather dire times he took it upon himself to call regularly to find out how I was and hope that I recover fully in health, wealth and means speedily.

There was great comfort from those words and desires, one could only accept them in appreciation but it also opened the door to conflict – I must get a woman, I must get married, I need a carer, they are a necessary evil, you need to have children.

Really, I just want to get well, none of those other wishes appear anywhere in any list of priorities I currently have or project to have in the foreseeable future.

In paternal roar

So when I got back to work, it was not a complete slam dunk of the past, it was the beginning of a journey but it appears I was already expected to have completed that journey to means and ability.

Indeed, I wish I had completed that journey but I am happy to be in the right direction so I was so surprised at the ambush this afternoon when I was basically accused of being inconsiderate, not calling, not concerned and not communicative.

A call does not come cheap and though I would like to count the pounds, I have been counting the pennies – I was not going to go on the defensive and I refused to allow anger to rise for the offensive – I do speak my mind if occasion does really warrant it.

Offspring expressions

Using English for communication allows me to convey my views much strongly and forcefully than I could ever do in any other language and I use that to its full effect but this time, I allowed the torrent of recrimination and kept quiet, silent and devoid of determined contemplation.

Hello! I heard him say afterwards, it was not interminable silence but long enough to mean, when you have gotten it off your chest we can continue the conversation – without my addressing those matters – fair enough, he had a grievance, it was not something I had the immediate means to address – the conversation continued, respectfully, reverently, purposefully and wonderfully.

As it ended, I said to myself what I usually do say on the phone – but today was the day for the unsaid – I love you, sir.

Caught in the middle of feuds

Tired of the squabbles

He really tires of being caught in the middle of squabbles that might be significant to those involved but really just about stress him out unnecessarily.

Here he was trying to allay the concerns and feelings of his parents about his health which had suffered a crisis but now had reached a miraculous turn-around.

Then, when he was in hospital, there was that situation when his father was eventually informed of the truth of the circumstances just as he was preparing for some major celebration, his mother however was kept in the dark, for all sorts of reasons.

Consideration driving purpose

One of such reasons was, these people are now in their retirement years, they run around enough being concerned about the welfare of their children and grandchildren, obviously, the last thing anyone would want to introduce into that situation was the news of a child being very ill in some foreign hospital where they had no immediate access.

The father however was informed because he asked a direct question that put the answer beyond feigning anything else, one just has to be truthful in those circumstances, the mother, on the other hand lives in some religious institution involved in activities that makes Old Testament repentance look like kindergarten playschool.

God have mercy

To impose that news would have taken it into the stratosphere of the incredulous, he thought, at least, along with his siblings.

When his mother finally found out, it was the warpath paved with weapons for the ultimate assault, God have mercy, God have mercy, God have mercy on those who stood in the way, God have mercy, indeed.

So, armed with the news of confirmed medical developments, he sent a short text message to the phones of his mother and his father at just about that same time.

This should be news for all

His mother then called to warn that this type of news should not be broadcast, he is fed up with it all, prescriptions from abroad with the conveyance of fearful import along with all sorts of modes of amelioration – give him a break, I say, give him a big break, thank you.

Surely, such news of recovery should be broadcast to all, well, even the narrator cannot see the reason to keep it quiet since many already knew the situation.

At the end of the day, whatever is going on there should be sorted out there, they who are abroad have enough going on here to be so bothered about these seemingly external factors of conflict, feuding and passionate dislike, he pleads, let me not be your battleground.

His father had called earlier, was thankful for the recovery and prayed that both health and welfare be restored along with all the loses that came about due to the illness – that was definitely more edifying and easy on the ears.

None will take credit

The fallout is interesting, they both sent him medicaments, traditional and herbal with their different acclaimed potencies and those things lay in their bags just before either party claims that their thing brought about the source of good news.

Not one will take credit regardless of the efficaciousness of these things all because the poison of conflict leaves one lacking in any confidence in these things – he just does not want any of that on his mind.

Meanwhile, one fasts for weeks, the other prays in the witching hours, all for the good but where do these prayers go if at least for once between yourselves before you think of your son you cannot be friends or trust each other?

The question lingers, but no one wants to be caught in the middle of feuds.

Nigeria: Do him for vagrancy

A typical prodigal son

It is difficult to pick up where to begin to do this story any justice but it represents a microcosm of malaise that affects Nigeria, to ignore it is to condone a greater injustice where debate is necessary to deal with the ills that plague our country.

I was drawn to the story when I saw the title, “My father was a governor, but I’m dying of poverty.” [1] At first, I thought, Big Deal, why should your father who having been governor now have any bearing on your life today?

However, on reading the story, I was filled with revulsion, disdain and anger, emotions that could only be assuaged in the slightest by this blog.

A fatherhood of disgrace

This man’s father was Alhaji Barkin Zuwo, a Senator of the Federal Republic of Nigeria between 1979 and 1983, then Governor of Kano State in 1983. He was an ill-educated stark illiterate [2] who on seeing a number of For Sale signs thought the labelled goods belonged to Saleh.

He is the one of whom was said when asked about the mineral resources [3] in his state suggested the abundance of coke and fanta – minerals being a Nigerian euphemism for carbonated soft drinks. He also preferred to keep state funds in his house than in the bank.

In his lifetime, he had 4 wives and 18 children, a whole brood of incompetents and never-do-wells of which this Tijjani Sabo Barkin Zuwo is one.

Whilst certain religions allow for polygamous marriages, to sire a brood without attendant parental guidance that would allow them thrive and make something of their lives is the height of irresponsibility; it goes without saying that whilst people might not necessarily have large families no proper consideration is taken of what it takes to run a family properly before starting one.

Printing tales of woes

However, this apology of a character who finished secondary school around the time of Murtala Mohammed’s regime which puts it around 1975/76 went on a printing technology course in America sponsored by USAID and apparently made nothing of it.

I would suggest the reason why is because he thought since his father was a politician he could hang on the coat tails of patronage and influence peddling to get by, something many children and relations of people in power do in Nigeria.

Now that the father is dead, the friends who congregated in his harem with their noses to the trough have moved on to other sources of patronage leaving Tijjani and his siblings seeking ways to perfect mendicancy on the reputation of their father in whose home was found 3.4 million Naira cash [4] at a time when the Nigerian Naira was almost par with the British Pound.

That such men have been visited on Nigeria is beyond the pale but worse still is the legacy of beggar children who are all grown up, useless, shameless and without an iota of dignity.

Wasted opportunities for corruption too

If Tijanni with the little and almost inconsequential education he had with all the patronage he could have commanded had played his cards right, he might not have found himself in the sorry state he is in now.

But the sad tale is many children of influential people rest on the laurels of the parent’s achievements and bide their time for the inheritance that eventually gets shared amongst a multitude of leeches that they really do end up with nothing – as the story goes, Tijjani’s slide from riches to poverty started at time of the death of his father.

He suggests his family is not united and there is no love between them – well, why would there be love in a poorly constituted sham of a family of numbers rather than children where the women who think they are wives were just sexual pleasure units of the religiously-sanctioned libido of lustful and lasciviously reprobate men?

Take a breather – Akin!

Hit him on the head with his beggar bowl

Anyway, Tijjani believes if he can unite his family they can take their begging bowls to the current state government and find familial succour as a matter of right.

I can count a good 100 million Nigerians who are more deserving of succour from their government; the 70% who never had a life of privilege or an atrociously corrupt father, who live on less than $2 a day, working hard to make ends meet – Tijjani deserves nothing more from anyone except if he gets off his backside and gets a job, else he should starve like lazy sloths do and die.

It is breathtaking when he suggests that many of his age mates are permanent secretaries and top government functionaries – it is laughable that a cretin with a printing technology certification of sorts thinks he should be in a top government position, Nigeria does tolerate and celebrate mediocrity in excess though.

You lay your own bed, it is not communal

It however highlights a number of issues; the feeling that we should all keep within the average success range of our peers that we cannot countenance the idea of people of a lesser age being in ascendancy and above us – Get real, this is the real world – I had to endure and live through the situation where when I was in my first year, my junior in secondary school was finishing his 5-year course – I faced the situation with dignity and got on with it without regret or commiseration – such is life.

He believes that he has passed the age of applying for a fresh job, well, he must have passed the age for having food on his table too and consequently he is a useless parasitic organism in society breathing air that might be of use to those who are well over his age still working their backs out.

Do him for vagrancy

Tijjani by estimation should be about 50 years old, maybe tops in his mid-fifties, but I doubt he has ever done a decent job in his life and so has no experience or skills to offer the Nigerian marketplace.

If he is anything like is father, he would be too much of a dunce to train for anything – I feel so disgusted to my guts writing these lines but Tijjani’s life probably parallels the lives of many other children of privilege in Nigeria who have done nothing useful in their lives and expect everything to come to them by reason of the hard work of others.

Tijjani apparently has written a bailout letter to the Deputy Governor of Kano State who I believe should dump the letter in his bin but send a reply that if he hears from any of the brood of Barkin Zuwo again they would be charged with vagrancy.

Tijjani “feels a nostalgia remembering the privileges he once had, but which are no more.” I almost find myself sympathetic but I refuse to be overwhelmed with that emotion.

In closing, Tijjani “is optimistic that help is not far away from coming his way.” Not if I could help it, get off your fat lazy arse and find some work, I say in utter exasperation.

Note: The Sun News On-line should use a spell checker and do some proofreading, it is the least to be expected of a newspaper – that is not to say I am perfect, I am always reviewing my blogs

Sources

[1] My father was a governor, but I’m dying of poverty – Barkin Zuwo’s son - The Sun News On-line

[2] Etteh: Language as physiognomy of the mind - The Sun News On-line

[3] The Varnishing tribe of glamorous politicians - The Sun News On-line

[4] Crippled giant: Eghosa E. Osaghae - Google Book Search: Book Preview Page 174

My father is my mother

Said it with kisses

Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! Three kisses as I boarded the bus that took us off the plane to the airport terminal. As I looked back to see who was being overwhelmed with this most expressive kind of emotional bonding, I saw a man probably late 30’s maybe in his 40’s and a young man of about 13.

His son, and they had gone away on a long weekend to Berlin, the mother did not seem to be in their number, so I suppose it was a boy’s outing for male bonding or something like that.

I was surprised at the effect it had on me, not so much the sudden longing for a child but the fact that one can find someone to lavish love on, be so strong and protective whilst vulnerably expressive such that all are assured of security with each other.

The young man could well have been embarrassed but he did not show it, alas, my father never deigned to exhibit a tendency to the effete, but that is not to say my mum was quicker to kiss than to try her backhand swing across my face.

My father is my mother

Then, in the news, we find that a baby girl has been mothered by her father, a difficult subject of analysis but a reality that our society has to contend with.

Yesterday, I posed a dilemma to the warring factions of the Anglican Church who having been split by the subject of homosexuals in the clergy must wonder how to celebrate the possible Christianity of a girl born to a natural woman who is legally a man married to another woman who could not conceive.

In many ways, people seem to have a yearning for children, though many do not realise that desire for all sorts of reasons, the most serious being the inability to conceive when you have all the biological functions to effect conception.

Some would be minded to adopt, though one sees a lot of celebrities who along with their natural children still adopt to create larger diverse families.

Sort yourself out

I could understand what would have lead to a legally registered man deciding to conceive and take a pregnancy to term rather that run the gauntlet of prejudiced, conservative and uncompassionate adoption agencies.

One thing that cannot be violated is the ability to conceive and carry your own baby regardless of the social ructions one might encounter, the parents only have to work harder at making the child feel worthy, worthwhile and be of great worth in their community and society.

The girl would be fine

Many are already second guessing what life the girl would have and how it might turn out horribly for them, in the news yesterday on BBC World, they brought in a rather virulently conservative psychiatrist who condemned the parents as money-grabbing, insensitive and selfish – the commentary was completely off-putting no matter what she had to say.

However, in the end, I am still a supporter of strong family units even though I do not seem to be in one of note apart from running a large family of one.

Society is the bigger pool

Society is changing in ways we would never have countenanced a generation ago, apart from the unfairly derided single-parent family unit; gender is no more particular significance as to the pairings of persons that make up the parenthood in a family.

Where the church and many other religious organisations seem to be missing the greatest cause for proselytising is that their organisations are made up of people drawn from the society in which they sit and definitely not the other way round.

The so well sanitised religious adherents appropriately indoctrinated in the most dastardly bigotries and prejudices need to spend their everyday lives in society being examples that should encourage others not isolate and alienate those that seem to be different.

Unfortunately, church leaders are still too busy squabbling to attend to their calling, meanwhile, people are being called into ever more bizarre lifestyles that are fast becoming the norm.

A father and son

Overview

In some ways, I have always had a strained if not difficult relationship with my father. Where we have tried to make up, it was always been marred by circumstantial issues that introduce new strains rather than reinforce newly established communications.

Last week, I read with some poignancy the stories of growth-up men who wrote about how they would have liked to have a better relationship with their fathers whilst they could when their fathers were alive.

Immediately, I though about what things I would like to say, share and chat to my father about my experiences, my decisions, my life and obviously share of those things that have happened in his over the last 14 or so years. I still have the advantage of him being around and should make good use of it.

Similarities that belie differences

Many years ago, I thought my father and I were radically different and opposite people, whilst that may be true of some instances, fundamentally we are peas of the same pod.

Being born of African parentage, we have more of a patriarchal society where age plays significance in earning respect, proffering wisdom and complete deference no matter who have been wronged.

In terms of similarities, we are both the first born of our families, we could be quite obstinate, stubborn and resolute, all of which yields to a sense of pragmatism when dealing with tough issues, that at times is a fault, when more of a sleight of tongue is required other than frankness.

In areas where I thought I was more humane, I suppose that is because he is fundamentally African, strict and probably too straight-laced and principled compared to my more liberal European outlook with a bit of the English gentleman affectation.

Being the patriarch of the family, he has a force of personality that could be domineering, his charitable work is legendary, he has helped lots of elders, peers, siblings, extended families and he principally has been a village chief in all but name, long before he was honoured as a chief.

I am in those areas no match, my absence from that African societal structure means I do not have the angst and agony of living under his shadow or the aspirations to embark on activities I am not entirely equipped for.

In many instances, he is a first amongst equals and first amongst many, a very courageous man being whose life has been shared by his influence on many probably to the detriment of a closer relationship with us his children.

Contrasting my parents with my paternal grandparents, it is amazing how religiously tolerant my grandparents were.

At times, it appears the people of my parent’s generation who were probably the first to be educated and educated to a high standard simply had their prejudices and superstition accentuated and reinforced - it is an observation that fetches true conversing with my cousins.

For a meeting of minds

My father’s status has meant he has been deprived of the source of good advice concerning many issues he has had to contend with. His elders generally deferred to him, his peers probably envied him and listened more to him than recommended much to his favour, the younger ones just never did chat back.

It has meant that critical issues have not had the kind of scrutiny to make objective assessments where necessary, he has however, fared well regardless, he could have fared better in other circumstances.

My long held view about my father’s core competence which I expressed to one of his protégés almost 10 years ago, only really filtered down to him just 2 years ago, and he ruefully expressed the absence of advice from people who could have been more helpful.

Then I said, "My father is a brilliant accountant, but I have my doubts about his business acumen", such commentary can only in a matter of frankness come from a son, I suppose.

What I seek

There are a number of areas where we are at variance and those issues becloud the core aspects of just being able to communicate freely.

My father is well into his second marriage, it is unlikely that at 38, I can be persuaded of the benefits of a life-changing experience like marriage and having kids, when in fact, this kind of enterprise should have been embarked upon probably 10 years ago.

Bless him, he even suggested arranging one for me, I have never so clearly rejected an offer from my father as I did that one offer, even he was quite taken aback.

The African psyche suggests you are only a responsible and settled man once you are married and begin to have kids, well, I suppose if I were living in Nigeria, the pressure would have been unbearable to respond to what everyone expects, regardless of if that is what you want for yourself.

Basically, in Nigeria, you live what society expects of you, not what you chart out for yourself, at times, you might be lucky that those views work together.

Another area is where he wants to me to adopt his patriarchal mantle, whilst I am given to a modicum of magnanimity my sphere of influence is mainly in Europe and not in Nigeria, I do not intend to postulate and pontificate on what people should be doing in Nigeria, having not been there for 14 years.

Also, in the 19 years that I lived in Nigeria, it was rarely acknowledged that I was a native; I was mainly referred to as the boy who was born abroad. In fact, I am the product of 2 radically different cultures and I try to exhibit the best of both.

Many a time, I have been persuaded to get involved in some business venture, it is something I just do not have the mind for, I core competence is in computing and understanding how Information Technology can be used to help a business grow, beyond that, I have no clear career goal to become a trader, a manufacturer, a builder or even a free mason.

Once we clear away all this stuff by agreeing that our separate desires may not been subject to the compromises necessary to see them through in favour of either party, we can move on to the father and son talk.

I am proud of you

These are words every son craves to hear from his father, however, I have gotten to a stage where I am no more driven by the desire to hear those words.

However, I have those same words to say to me father, I am immensely proud of my father for his achievements, his sense of humour, his many community building activities, his stoicism and more so, his desire to reach out in the end to establish a relationship I have desired.

When my father was honoured with a chieftaincy title (equivalent to a status of deputy king, or something along those lines) last year, I felt he was most deserving of it than all his peers, I recognised all the work he had done in modernising our village, raising its profile, helping the people unto greater things in life and so on.

In a country where any megalomaniac with just 2 coins to rub together could acquire a chieftaincy title for a price, my father’s was a worthy honour bestowed out of gratitude and recognition for the work he had done over the years. I am glad that in those little windows of opportunity I have had to chat to him, I clearly recognised that honour to him.

Finally, we live in a world where many get estranged from their parents for so many reasons, causative or circumstantial, we however do not have centuries of life to live to be able to continue holding grudges for another one day, these people were once part of our lives by reason of their being our parents, they represent our roots, our pedigree and the source that creates our future.

If we can get nothing off our parents regardless of their failings, in the many areas where they have tried to be as good as they can be; that is not to say that some parents are not downright rotten, we should for once seek their blessings in many of our endeavours.

Blessings not in the sense that they have to vet what we do, but in the sense that they encourage and promote everything that helps make us just that much better at whatever we embark upon.

There is where I want to be with my father.