Children are the future because they not only propagate generational lines but also improve on our legacy. Their simplistic view of the world combined with their unending well of curiosity, results in an incessant battery of questions.
During my children’s first visit to Nigeria, they oohed, aahed, and ouched because everything was new. Growing up in Nigeria had given me some immunity to the culture shock they experienced. Yet, they challenged me to pause and look where I had previously thrown a careless glance because my eyes were glazed over with a heavy coating of the familiar.
Innocent and inquisitive, they kept asking questions. Even though I fielded their questions with the expertise of a savvy politician, I pondered these same questions long after I tucked them in bed and kissed them goodnight.
They asked about the madman who ate and slept naked under an abandoned trailer parked on a busy street. They asked, eyes round with amazement, about the paraplegic who was the unofficial traffic warden. He controlled traffic from his foot chair—so called by my children because he “sat” on what looked like a footstool with wheels underneath that gave him bullet-speed mobility. It was very useful as it enabled him to quickly collect the largesse from patrons without being crushed under the giant wheels of jeeps.
It seems as if everything is different and yet everything is the same. Our progress resembles a swinging pendulum—back and forth but still on the clock. So yes, this future generation asks simple questions about our beloved Nigeria.
“Are we in a war?” my eldest one asked.
“No, of course not, does it look like we are?” I queried, wondering if he was confusing Nigeria with another country he’d seen on TV.
“Then why are there policemen armed with assault rifles everywhere? Why do they hold up their guns and stop cars?” He demonstrated with his hands.
“Why indeed?” I replied playing for time, as I crafted my reply.
“Are there many bad people in Nigeria?” my youngest interrupted my train of thought.
“No not really, like anywhere else in the world, we have good people and bad people,” Annoyance swirled in my stomach and I inwardly blamed those foreign TV shows that depict Nigerians as a bunch of rogues.
“Then why are there so many prisons walls?”
“Where are the prison walls?” I asked because her serious tone belied any evidence of a joke.
“See that one over there, and another one over here,” she responded matter-of-factly, as she pointed to nearly every house on the street.
I said nothing but nodded in understanding.
I explained that crime and instability informed the manning of checkpoints, and necessitated the conspicuous display of guns by policemen. It also meant that people had to protect themselves hence the fences. I tried to remember a time when checkpoints were not a feature on our roads and high fences topped with barbed wire were not the norm. It was quite a long stroll down memory lane. I also tried to imagine a time when their presence would be unnecessary, it was rather hard to do.
Looking through their eyes, I perceived their reality. With my added insight, I saw a nation at war with different uniformed guerrillas fighting for supremacy while the rest of us walled ourselves in, in prisons of inertia letting the bad guys roam free.
Day after day, the questions continued but a simple incident caused me to laugh with hope.
“Look mummy!” my youngest one excitedly cried, waking me up from afternoon traffic siesta.
“Look at what?” I asked groggily forcing myself awake, and willing my eyes to focus.
“Look, over there!” She hit the window emphatically and pointed.
I followed her slim fingers and captivated gaze. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, certainly nothing to get excited about on this run of the mill day.
“I don’t see anything,” I yawned.
“There, there, over there … a banana hat!”
“A what?”
“A banana hat. It’s so cute and clever mummy!”
Finally, I saw it, through her eyes. A street hawker was carrying bananas on a tray on his head—a bonafide banana hat in green-yellow glory! He strode towards us at the prospect of a quick sale; a rather common sight I had become accustomed to.
It is my hope that this generation that sees what we do not see, will achieve what we have so far been unable to accomplish. A banana hat indeed, it was a very welcome respite from simple questions.
© Timi Yeseibo 2009
Photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/people/72092071@N00″>Ferdinand Reus</a> / <a href=”http://foter.com”>Foter.com</a> / <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/”>CC BY-SA</a>
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It is small things we overlook that children see, where we see despair, sometimes it is the hope that they see, the other time when we see progress, trying hard to mask the reality by highlighting – flash cars, they see, “mummy, why do you have so much rubbish on road sides?”
Long way to go but steadily, we will get there.
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They definitely offer another perspective, often times, a sorely needed one.
I hope we will get there too.
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Profound thoughts, wonderful articulated. Yes, these are so true, we discover magic through the eyes of children.
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Unclouded by cynicism, yes, children help us see magic- the curiosity, the constant questions why . . . Thanks Nihar.
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‘Banana hat’ made me smile a smile of optimism. I will start to see Nigeria through the rose colored glasses of children, it makes everything seem… so much better.
Thank you 🙂
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Yes, sometimes it takes a child to restore hope . . .
When we have power failures and adults are grumpy, the children will invent games and ways to pass time. Perhaps we can apply this resourcefulness to fixing things. Thanks for being here.
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Still Rolling on the floor @ Banana Hat…..Children…..*Shakes head*
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🙂 but there’s plenty food for thought in that.
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children are amazing,your kids make me laugh:)
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Yes Omoladeori, children are; their innocent questions & comments make us laugh & think!
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Thanks for dropping by! Feel so honored 🙂
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:), the honour is mine, thank you. You are welcome!
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Really Timi! A banana cap LOL!!! Reading all your blogs girl, you’re fantastic!! So very proud!! Well done dearie
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Yes Ehimen, a child’s perspective! I couldn’t have come up with that… my eyes are “desensitized” :). Thank you for your kind words and for reading everything 🙂
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Now, you got me there Timi… Banana Hat. i could never have given such a description. Come to think of it, a hat shields your face from the sun, right?
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Adaora, through the eyes of a child! Yes, a hat shields your face from the sun… it’s so cute & clever! 🙂
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Oh! So funny! You really are a good writer and your kids are so cute too!
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Thank you Patience. Children give us a refreshing perspective don’t they?
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Lol….a banana hat. Oh dear! I never thought of it like that. Very aptly put though…lol.
Hmmmm….love this one. 😊
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Afi, I know. They see what we don’t! Thank you for loving this one 🙂
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Lovely write up. You always were a good writer. This will go places remain blessed.
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Thank you Peretimi!
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