Showing posts with label Boarding house. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boarding house. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

I Miss My Girl.

My father used to say; “To a parent, a child will always be a child, no matter how much the child has grown.”

Ifeoluwa as an SSII student of Queen's College

Back then, when Ifeoluwa (above) was in  Queens' College, a high school with boarding facility, I was stressing on how she would cope with all those strict  school prefects and “senior” students because of her very young age and fragile frame.

As a college undergraduate (below) my fear was how she would “survive” in the midst of the much older, “street-wise” students on campus.

Ifeoluwa_UNILAG

Now the young lady is all grown and matured with established personal principles…

Shouldn’t a parent calm down and relax? Not me!

Since she relocated to Washington DC last weekend (see the following pictures) to start a new life as a graduate student, I can’t help feeling “somehow” because…I miss my girl…and a lot more than I did during her past academic pursuits.

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From left (above) Titilola (my wonderful wife) Me and my girl, Ifeoluwa.

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From right (above) Ifeoluwa, Ebunoluwa (a.ka. last born) and Titilola (the proud mom).

 

 

 

Saturday, July 28, 2012

The Dilemma of African Parents in America.

Parenting, in the African society can be illustrated by the work of a blacksmith. Seeing the potentials in a crude iron, a blacksmith resolves to make something good out of it. To achieve this, he subjects the crude iron to a painstaking process that ultimately ends in its transformation into a useful implement or tool. If only the crude iron could talk while the torment lasts!

Africans see parenting as a labor of love, a bitter-sweet task that must be done in the interest of the child’s future. I remember growing up in a home where the kids were subjected to a high regimentation. Outside the home was not better as my actions and movements were also under the watchful eyes of the other parents in the neighborhood. The situation was so tough that I couldn’t wait to get into a high school that was equipped with a boarding house where I expected to be “free”. When my parents heard about my expectation, they simply shook their heads in pity at my abject ignorance.

My subsequent attendance of a high school that had a boarding facility was like “jumping from a frying pan into fire”. In the Nigeria of the 1970s, a high school boarding house was a sort of boot camp where students were made to respect every constituted authority. The very first lesson I learned was that one year seniority was enough for a fellow student to earn “sir” or “ma’am” from me. And so till this moment, it has never been a problem for me to address a boss, subordinate, colleague or even a total stranger as “sir” or “ma’am”.

There were so many aspects of my boarding house experience that shaped my life and still guide me till date. Among them was the rule of “punctuality at all calls”. Since my graduation from high school, I find it rather easy to be punctual at every appointment, personal or official. And till now, I have never had to depend on an alarm clock to wake up. It’s normal for most Nigerian parents to relax the regimentation after a child graduates from high school because they know the child has “been made” into an adult. 

It’s however a different “ball game” for Nigerian, nay African parents in the United States. Statistics show that in the advent of relocation to the United States, most African kids in their formative years experience a culture shock at the unbridled freedom thrust into their hands. As for the parents, it’s often an understatement to describe the challenges with which they are soon confronted as horrific.

Raising kids in Africa is completely different from achieving the same task in God's own country. A typical African parent knows that raising kids in America is like having a tooth pulled without the benefits of anesthesia. The practical side of this situation can be demonstrated in the following letter written by one Kathy Carpenter of Newark, Delaware as published in The News Journal of May 12, 2006. Titled “Defiant Children and Outside Interference Thwart Mother”, the letter goes this way:

I would like to respond to a letter about parenting.
If my 14-year-old son stays out late, I cannot legally grab him by the hair
and force him into my house or tie him up to keep him home.
He can leave whenever he chooses and the state and schools
make sure he is aware of it.

At age 12, my daughter asked me to put her on the pill.
I gave her my reasons for not doing so.
A woman from Family Services (contracted by the school)
came to my home, listened to my reasons and proceeded to
tell my daughter that she did not need to get my permission
or even inform me that she is going on the pill.
I immediately showed her the door.

If my 16-year-old son does not want to go to school,
he can’t withdraw until age 18 without my permission.
However, if he just doesn’t go, there are no consequences.
Truancy laws and courts are for children 15 and below


To raise a child under this type of circumstance can be quite daunting for an African parent who was brought up with the notion that total freedom is like a red, hot charcoal. It takes maturity to effectively figure out a way to handle a hot charcoal. It’s no wonder therefore that too many teenagers and young adults with unregulated freedom are “getting their fingers burnt”. And there are several correctional facilities (both for adults and juveniles—filled to the capacity) to show for this situation.

A rigid imposition of African values (even as great as they are deemed) on a child raised in the United States can lead to complicating, if not fatal consequences. It's therefore imperative for African parents to find an effective yet legal avenue to blend the core African values with the prevailing cultures in their adopted homeland.

This was a lesson that came rather too late in August, 2005 for New York-based Dr. Joseph Kazigo, who worked at Nassau University Medical Center as an emergency room physician. This brilliant African went through “thick and thin” to train as a medical doctor. And in the true African tradition, he must have envisaged his kids achieving equal or greater feats. But what did he get? A son who was just starting out in college at the age of 26 when most young people at that age would have obtained their Masters, if not Doctorate degrees.

Kazigo’s son accused his father of applying corporal punishments on his children when they were “growing” up. The same father was accused of insisting that his household participated in regular work-outs in a bid to avoid the danger of cholesterol and other consequences of a sedentary lifestyle. To his son however, these were grievous crimes and for which the hardworking father must pay dearly.

For an African child, parents are next to God in reverence. For instance, it’s considered a sacrilege for a child to slap his or her parent. In Kazigo’s case however, his son did not just slap him around. The young man waited till his father, tired from the day’s job, was fast asleep and he bludgeoned him to death! Afterward, the corpse was dumped in a shallow grave. 

That was the price Dr. Joseph Kazigo paid for trying to prepare a better future for his children in America. In another case which was far less tragic, a Nigerian professor in New Jersey knew his two children were doing well in a Nigerian high school. He however went ahead to bring them over to the United States with the hope of a better education and, of course, to pursue the American dream. Unfortunately, the kids got neither. They had barely arrived their new environment when they changed from good to bad.

All of a sudden, they began to question the rights of their parents to tell them what to do. And worse, they developed an “entitlement attitude”, expecting every one of their demands to be met. They realized that they didn’t have to go to schools if it didn’t suit their fancy and their parents had no rights to force them. And they also realized that they didn’t need their parents’ permissions to associate with whomsoever they desired—irrespective of the other persons’ negative tendencies. Whenever the parents attempted to “put their foot down”, the kids would cite the American constitution and threatened to call the police. One day, their father called their bluffs but the response he got was grossly chilling. Smiling mischievously, the older child threatened to lie to the authorities that the man was abusing his daughter. And that put paid to the constant bickering. 

Soon, the girl was lured away from home and into prostitution by a pimp while the boy got involved with a drug gang. The girl has since been in and out of correctional facilities while the boy now has a permanent home in jail after committing a capital offense.

The educational and economic opportunities available to a child in the United States are vast. But there are a lot of moral, social and legal factors that should be considered by every African parent who desires to bring those of their kids who are still in their formative years.

Friday, July 20, 2012

My Boarding House Experience

The first order in the Rules & Regulations pamphlet given to us upon admission into OBHS in the early 1970s was: Be punctual at all calls.

Back then, our day would usually start at about 5:45AM or thereabouts with the Morning Devotion. The male students used to gather for this activity inside the compound of Hostel "A" (by the groundnut seller's place). And I hated being woken up so early.

Most times, at the Morning Devotion, I would be among the still-dozing students. And whenever the leading prefect asked "someone to give us a song", I would quickly raise up my hand to say "It's me...it's me...It's me, Oh' Lord..." I loved that song even though I never knew the actual words until just two years ago (2010). I loved it because it was so slow and boring, thereby allowing me to doze a little more.

One particular Saturday morning, senior Ilori (the time keeper) rang the bell as usual and I murmured to myself "does this senior ever sleep...ah...ah?" And, of course, my room captain (senior Shola Adeoti a.k.a. Elenu Razor) started his own little drama by yelling "get up everybody or else I'll buckle your head!..."

To buckle someone's head those days meant using the iron portion of a belt to beat the person's head. Only few seniors did this but it did happen to some hapless "boys". Fortunately for us, senior Adeoti was all mouth and no action. As I was the junior student sleeping on the top bunk above his, the man had a crazy way of harassing me all the time just as I had a nasty way of behaving like "Dennis the menace" to him.

That fateful morning, he kicked the underneath of my bunk as he yelled, "get up, Lagos boy...do you think you're still in your parents' house where you'd sleep forever...lazy boy!"

Later that morning, I decided to "mess him up". By the wall beside his bunk, senior Shola Adeoti had fondly written his nickname in capital letters: SOSCO ADE. 
Since he used a thick colorful chalk to do the writing, I decided to get a different chalk and wrote letter "I" between the letters "S" and "C" and thereby turning the nickname to "SOSICO ADE".

Up till the afternoon of that day, the man did not notice that something was wrong with his nickname. And then came the Hostel "A" house prefect (senior Olalere) who
playfully walked into the room during "Quiet Time" when it was mandatory for us juniors to lay in our bunks. As the two started to chat, senior Olalere suddenly looked
closely at the big handwriting on the wall and pointed at it while he laughed. He went out to call some other prefects and they all laughed at senior Adeoti.

Furiously, senior Adeoti ordered "all the juniors, get down now!"

Everyone and especially the fragile Gbadebo Oyegbami were already shivering and pleading their innocence to the pranks. In the meantime, the angry man was
searching everywhere for his belt which I had earlier hidden for fear of reprisals. The man kept searching everywhere and roaring "where is my belt...I am going to kill all of you today!"

At this time, senior Olalere who was still laughing, pleaded with the other prefects to leave the room while he tried to calm down the raging man. Senior Adeoti finally agreed to calm down but he insisted on knowing the culprit "or else...I'll really kill somebody today..."

As he and senior Olalere looked from one junior to the other, I quietly stepped forward to raise my hand.

This time, senior Olalere was really getting hysterical with his laughter. "So, it's Femi Olawole that's trying to give Shola Adeoti hypertension?"

For a few seconds, senior Adeoti and I stared at each other without a word.

Then he looked at me closely and very slowly asked me "Femi...you know I can kill you right now?"

I nodded my head without a word.

Now, senior Olalere laughed harder at the two of us while he said "Shola, are you sure this boy will not kill you first before you can kill him?..."

Again, senior Adeoti stared hard at me as if thinking of the right thing to do. Then, he looked at senior Olalere to say: "Do you know sometimes, I'm too scared to sleep
in the night because I'll be thinking this crazy boy may come down to strangle me to death?..."

"Ah...ah...are you sure?" the other man asked.

"Yes now...don't you see his face...he is always looking like he is mad...as if he wants to commit some mischief..."

After another bout of laughter, senior Olalere said "You think I don't know him...for instance, he is the last person I'll send to go get me water to drink because the other day, he was heard saying any senior that sent him to go get a cup of water would end up drinking his saliva with the water...this boy!"

Shortly afterward, senior Adeoti ordered me to get back on my bunk while he thought of an appropriate punishment to give me. Incidentally, till he left the school,
senior Adeoti never gave me the punishment. It's been over three decades since I graduated from high school and I wonder where he is now?