Perhaps I am biased, but I believe that African women have the best child rearing skills on the planet. Period.
There is so much unrecognized and under-appreciated wisdom that our women employ in the running of their households. It starts with compartmentalizing relationships. In Africa, children are children; elders are elders and husbands husbands. On the rare occasion, one may cross into the realm of “friend”, but for the most part, children in African society are not thought of as their mother’s friend until they are MUCH older. The thought that you are not your child’s friend is shocking, almost a dirty sin, in the West and I am ashamed to say that I have forsaken my culture to adhere to America’s asinine theories on child rearing. Here’s why:
Why I was growing up, you didn’t go into my parent’s room until you were sent, and you certainly didn’t feel free to just walk in on a whim. Going into your parent’s room when they were out of the house made you feel like a criminal, because it was damn near forbidden. Well, there’s a reason why. You could walk in on your parents having sex, or worse, watching a “blue film”. It would just be uncomfortable for all involved. My shame comes from the fact that my kids can walk into my room willy-nilly, day or night without fear of reprise, and worse, without reverence for my sanctum.
A few nights ago, my husband I were in the throes of passion after a few weeks of a sex drought. It was the perfect evening. The moon was full, there was a slight drizzle outside and my man was basically putting it down. In the midst of our love making I felt an extra limb on my left leg and thought to myself “Wow, he’s really all over the place tonight. It’s like he has a third leg”. Simultaneously, I was about to reach my…romantic peak…when he suddenly withdrew in horror and shouted “What are you doing?!?!?”
“I’m trying to cum”, is what I fixed my mouth to say in reply, but as I followed his gaze and tilted my head to the left, I saw two beady eyes staring into mine in the moonlight.
“Yahhh!!!” I screamed.
My eldest daughter had climbed into bed with us during our love making and was just hanging out. My husband tersely commanded her to go back to bed, looked me in the eye and shook his head. After I had gotten over the initial fright, I shook my head too and laughed. By the time it was all over, I was left with a pair of blue balls and a flaccid penis: Having a four year old watch you humping in the sack kind of takes the fire out of things. And though I was left unsatisfied for the evening, I was left with a valuable lesson about parenting and boundaries.