There comes a time in every parent’s life (I imagine) when (s)he is confronted by the reality that the outside world has contributed to his child’s education with knowledge he doesn’t care for.
There are all these kids in my compound, grandchildren and extra grandchildren of my landlady. Families who had congregated to celebrate something. And these children are chattering and running about rampant and unchecked.
I am about to go out and I have just stepped out, am locking my door. A few yards away from me is a cluster of families – a few parents and some children. And the children are talking loudly, when one of them, a boy, talking the loudest, starts shouting questions which I’m not sure he expects answers to.
Like: “Who wants gala?” “Who wants rice?”
His shouted questions are largely ignored, just another raised voice contributing to the racket dominating the evening atmosphere.
Then he bursts out with: “Who wants big dick?”
The reaction to that question happens in stages.
It registers with me first. (Let me not hear pim about my hoeliness.) I turn a look that mixes startle and amusement from the door I am locking to the boy.
Then it registers with the adults, who collectively turn horror-stricken expressions to the boy.
Their alarm registers with the other children, who sensing from their parents that Junior has said something horrifying, turn confused looks to the boy.
The noise dies down.
A woman, presumably Junior’s mother, then hisses: “Ayomide, where did you hear that word from?”
“Mummy…” the boy begins to stammer.
“I said where did you hear that word from?” the mother reiterates, rising to her full height, towering over her child.
The other adults are looking from child to mother, to child to mother. You can almost see the physical presence of their smug judgment, that self-satisfied “Thank God it’s not my pikin that said such an abomination” demeanour.
I don’t even know what they find more horrifying: that a child knew the words “big dick” exists in the English language, or that it is a male child who’d uttered the words.
The mother pounces on the boy, already swinging her hands to beat out of him the demon from the Garden of Eden that had possessed him – you know, that demon from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, that also fucked up the relationship between Jehovah and His firstborn children.
As I am chuckling and walking out of the compound, I know from the boy’s anguished screams and the mother’s outraged cries and the conciliatory murmurs of the other parents that that demon has fucked up another parent-child relationship.
Who wants Big Dick?
Hey, don’t look at me please. I most certainly do not!
Written by Walter