Dear Editor,
In times of sadness or adversity, we find comfort in many things: a word of encouragement; treasured memories, promises, loving arms; whatever it is that provides hope. Acts of terrorism in various parts of the world; natural disasters in diverse places; carnage on our roads; senseless domestic violence; and violence against our children make us yearn for better days. Instinctively, those of us of a particular age range revert to the good old days when the village raised the child. We believe in those days and yearn for them to return.
This extensively used Igbo and Yoruba proverb, “It takes a village to raise the child”, acknowledges the importance of the members of a village in the upbringing of the child. Information on its origin suggests that the proverb ascribes rural connotation. Notwithstanding it postures of a world view in principle, the practical application sits at the heart of the issue of our local context. For if it is no longer relevant to our situation, the repeated calls for the good old days when the village raised the child will remain in memory, elusive, good and old.
Where is the village? Unless we have the village, the village cannot raise the child. I have had the real experience of my village, the rural community of Barracks River in St. Mary, raising us as children. Our welfare was understood to be the prerogative of all the adults. We felt safe, secured and accountable to adults for how we conducted ourselves.
Neighbours knew each other and could easily detect any slight or sudden change in the operation of each household. It was the unwritten rule that no one could leave the village without telling the nearest neighbour where he/she was going and the expected time of return. This also meant that any reason for migration whether because of educational pursuits or job opportunities was known; even if restricted in some instances to the ‘confidential’ few. Making your ‘business’ widely known before fruition was guarded with secrecy.
Males played a major role in the village. Almost every household was headed by a male with a female companion. As a mark of respect we placed “Maas” before the first name of the males and “Miss” before the females, married or unmarried. The household operated with structure and clearly defined roles. There was no need to tell children what to do before or after school and on weekends. Holiday from school meant freedom to go to the river and mango bush. We went in groups, not because of fear but because we learned the value of friendship and relationship; the norm of the village.
Although the male was expected to defend the family and quell any major dispute, the female was the disciplinarian who drove fear with, the ‘wait till you father come home’ weapon. Many of us realized that there was not much to the threat as father seemed preoccupied with other things. By our judgement though, it was necessary to keep within the limits. A stare was enough and silence meant trouble. Such was the consistency and predictability of adult behaviour. From this we drew conclusions and made inferences.
Relationships were in the main, clearly established and void of the confusion that now exists. Aunties were sisters of our mothers and fathers. Conversely, uncles were the brothers of our mothers and fathers. We were never confused. Auntie was not expected to be in a compromising situation with daddy and uncle, with mommy. Admittedly, the contemporary use of these titles has created friendships and bonds with children and respected friends of parents. However, it is also an avenue for confusion in relationships.
Every adult could reprimand and give any child a fine thrashing for being rude or disrespectful. With equal fervour we were protected. An unwell child was the heart throb of every adult. Much care was needed to sift through the volume of remedies for different ailments but prayer was regarded as the best remedy.
I am,
Ina Hunter