Lack of Meaningful Communication between some African Parents & their Children
BY ZAYDAH NICOL KAMARA
About a month ago, my mom and I were in the kitchen laughing about a scene from the Real Housewives of Atlanta show. The drama and desperation exhibited by these women had reached the height of plain ridiculousness.
I began to talk about my now defunct marriage and what I had endured during and after my divorce and subsequent relationships; the horrible betrayal, the startling disappointments, the cruelty human beings are capable of inflicting on each other. I told my mother that one thing I am most proud of is that the storms of life have not destroyed me. I am very proud that I have not only survived my ordeal, but am thriving and redefining myself outside of being a wife and mother.
It was at this juncture that my mother started telling me about the horrible things she has had to deal with in her life too. She told me about being in love with her then Sweetheart, getting pregnant by him and then being unceremoniously dumped and left behind by this man. This man would later marry my mother’s then best friend. She told me more stories about her heartbreaking encounters with men. This was all so shocking to me and instead of empathizing with my mother, I began to feel anger. I turned to my mother and asked her between sobs; “How come you never told me any of this before? How come you never prepared me? Why am I only hearing this now?” My mother did not reply. The conversation ended just as abruptly as it had started.
No one to talk to
After spending the whole night thinking about what my mother had divulged, I began to feel sympathy for her. She had done the best she knew how to do. She is also a victim of the culture in Africa where there is a lack of meaningful communication between parents and their children.
Growing up in my native Sierra Leone, parents were like demi-gods who were never wrong and who laid down the law. The only form of communication between parents and their children were the daily greetings, the allocating of errands, and discipline.
My mother has two daughters, me and my older sister, Mariama. I feel like my mother should have prepared us for life in the real world. She should have passed on her experiences along with some motherly advice about her bad experiences with men, relationships, life… everything.
It is so sad that when a girl of 14 or 15 years starts having her period, the only “talk” she has with her parents is a threat: “Now that you are having your period, if you let a man touch you, you will become pregnant. If you become pregnant we will kick you out of the house.” That is what we got from our parents as young girls.
I still remember how panicked and stressed out I was after I had my first kiss with a boy. I was 14 and had made it to this boy’s house with my best friend. He told me he wanted to be my boyfriend and before we left his house, he called me into his room. I was so innocent, so naïve. I followed him into his bedroom and once in there he held me close, kissed me and rubbed my body. I was shocked and terrified. I pulled myself away and told my friend we had to leave immediately.
Once we made it home, I became nervous, stressed out, and afraid. I thought he may have impregnated me, after all, my parents had told me that if a boy touched me I would become pregnant and here I was, a boy had not only touched me, but rubbed on me and kissed me. I was horrified, and the worst thing was, I couldn’t talk to anyone about my fears, no one. Going to my parents would be the same as making a death wish. If I asked my older aunties, they would be alarmed and would make it their duty to notify my parents.
I was a wreck until I had my period 15 long days later. I was relieved after I had my period because I had learned in one of my classes at school that having a period means you were not pregnant. What a relief that was. Sigh!
Broken Trust
I was talking to my friend, Reggie about the challenges of having meaningful communication with our parents back home and he couldn’t wait for me to finish so that he could tell me of an experience he had with his mother when he was 11 years old. He went on to tell me that one day, he had taken a piece of fish from his daddy’s plate and was hoping nobody had noticed. Well, his mother did, and she called him, wanting to know where the fish was and whether he had taken it. The first inclination of an African child when asked about something that he may be guilty of doing is to deny, deny, deny.
My father used to ask; “why do African kids lie so much?” Well, because we don’t get ‘time outs’ like our foreign counterparts do, we don’t get toys and privileges taken away for a while, we don’t get a lecture about why something is wrong. No, we get a hot slap and a beat down. We are embarrassed in front of our friends and neighbors. Our bodies carry the marks from the cane or electric wires that were used to “discipline” us. So, lying seems like the better alternative. A girl who was caught having sex had raw, hot pepper put into her eyes and vagina while being beaten by her mother. Repercussions like these made it really hard for us kids to fess up to mistakes or wrongdoings.
Back to Reggie’s story. The boy chose to keep quiet the whole time his mother was drilling him on whether or not he took the fish. He just stood there sad, not saying anything, about to burst into tears. His mother knelt down to his level and assured him that if he told the truth he would not be beaten or punished in any way. All she needed to hear was the truth, nothing but the absolute truth, there would be no repercussions. Reggie thought it was too good to be true so he kept his silence. Again, his mother begged and reassured him that she wouldn’t do anything to him if he told the truth. Nervously, Reggie took his mother at her word and admitted that he had indeed taken the one piece of fish. He said that, the moment he uttered his admission, was the same moment the harshest slap landed on his face … leaving him feeling disorientated, disappointed and betrayed by his mother. That was the day he told himself that moving forward, he would never trust his parents with certain information.
Why?
Parents did not divulge the reasons behind their threats, they never offered explanations; it was almost as if they themselves were embarrassed or afraid that should we know the real reasons we would attempt the forbidden acts they were trying to conceal.
I grew up with 3 brothers and a male cousin. My brothers used to bring their friends home all the time. Instead of my parents talking to me about sex and relationships, my Dad told me instead to stay in my room when my brothers’ friends came over, wear long clothes and not to smile at any of them. I still remember him saying; “….if you smile at them, they will think you like them, and believe me, you don’t want to give them that message…” So, I became a prisoner in my own house, every time my brothers’ friends came around. I also wasn’t allowed to go outside to buy from the local shops. “…you stay here, let your brother go get it for you.” My father would say.
The Talk
After 5 years at an All-Girls secondary school, I was going to 6th Form at a mixed school to further my education, my father summoned me to the living room and threatened me; “…so, you are starting 6th form at this school, I am telling you this now, I DO NOT WANT TO SEE ANY BOYS WITH YOU OR AT MY HOUSE. IS THAT CLEAR? ALSO, YOU GET OFF AT 2PM EVERY DAY. I will call the house every day at 2:30pm. I want YOU to answer the phone when I call. If I call and you’re not here by 2:30pm to pick up the phone, you might as well just die. Do you understand me? Did I make myself clear?” That was the ‘talk’ I got from my dad to start off in a school where I would get to interact with students of the opposite sex.
Looking back, I try to understand my parents’ approach to parenting. They were doing what everyone else around them was doing. It was the way they had been raised. They knew no other way. My parents only wanted the very best for me, they did not understand that if they sat me down and actually talked to me I would understand. They did not understand that sex, menstruation and relationships with the opposite sex were not supposed to be taboo topics. They knew we feared the brutal and harsh punishments they meted out to us, so they used those instead. Even though I am disappointed that my mother did not prepare me adequately from her own experiences for life in the real world, I forgive her. I sympathize with her and I love her.
I had to learn the hard way, the worst way, but I am better for it. They say, life gives you the test first and the lessons after. I am a strong, self-assured, independent woman now who is raising great kids; not the way my culture dictates because I am no longer with their father, but by giving them love, reassurance, constant communication and encouraging them to always ask questions. Not threatening them, but helping them understand situations and consequences, motivating them to be the best they can be.
Hopefully, because my generation is more educated and more exposed we will be the ones that change the dynamics of communication between parents and children from the less meaningful to adequate and appropriate.
(Featured story in Dunia PRINT Magazine Issue 10 )
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