A LONG OVERDUE SALUTE TO THE MALE CHILD

 

The human is blessed (or cursed) with numerous abilities and talents. One of such is an almost effortless ability to knowingly or unknowingly belittle another’s struggles.

It will appear strangely that the poster child for belittlement is the male child.

Seated on the client’s end of our little medical transaction desk was a man in his late 30s. Obviously ill (distressfully so) and requiring some attention. It didn’t take long before I whipped up a management plan for this client and enthusiastically insisted on a bed rest.

While struggling to present a weary smile, my subject raised a point of objection to my offer of a bed rest. He was polite.

He carefully explained his protest by subtly suggesting that getting back to work at that very moment represented his best chance at putting food on his family’s table.

The message was crystal clear. He either boarded the hustle train or his kids starved.

We discussed a little further and I found out that he was as a matter of fact a driver- and no, not some Taxify Chauffeur cruising around town having a pseudo-karaoke moment with Naira Marley’s music under the seductive protection of a functioning air conditioning system. This man was responsible for piloting an 18-wheeler truck bearing packs of soda destined for Port-Harcourt, Rivers State THAT VERY DAY.

He was also scheduled to return the same week.

For proper context, this episode happened in Ibadan, Oyo State.

I didn’t bother to persuade him otherwise, afterall, he “is the man of his house”. The money and food for the house must come from somewhere.

An unwritten code. Universally understood by anyone who shares the same genitalia design as my subject.

It’s almost instinctive.

As instinctive as understanding perfectly that when the Titanic Ship (as per the movie) was about to go down, the job was cut out: “Orchestrate the rescue of the women and children then stay back on the ship to fight like hell to survive”.

No one needs a manual for this. Everyone just seemingly understands their roles however chaotic the scenery is.

The male child ventures into adulthood accepting his position as the least important in his own budget. Some informal rules are so basic their existence is taken for granted.

The male child is now an adult. He probably has tales of molestation from his childhood that he’s not allowed to talk about (To be fair, do you really want to know? Would you believe him anyway?). It’s part of him now. You might not even find the scar.

He’s now in a race he has no choice but to run. A stormy long-distance event to make something reasonable out of himself.

He has made peace with the ice-cold piece of truth that he doesn’t have all the time in the world. Life expectancy statistics ensure there is no ambiguity surrounding that. He may also realize that a myriad of diseases finds his gender particularly very attractive.

He picks up the gauntlet, there are those who have gone before him and they “survived” so sympathy is in short supply for him. He has to be a man.

Sometimes on the side-lines of the race, he’s first encouraged then has pressure piled on him to start a family. He’s often mistaken to be unserious for not yielding to such pressure.

But he understands that his ability to produce semen is not a greenlight to begin building the dynasty that will bear his name.

The more he earns, the more destinations for the funds other than his own well-being. He works both godly and ungodly often times dehumanizing hours just so a few things can make some sense.

It’s tough but he resolves to reinforce his spine with some steel. He’s persuaded “men never break” so he scolds himself out of genuine exhaustion.

His mental health begins to take a cruel pummelling.

On the lighter end of things, his struggles regardless, he might get a court-martial of some sort if his girlfriend is not swept off her feet on the day of our Lord, February 14^th.

He attempts to employ some personal austerity measures but funds can’t stop sprinting out of his bank account.

He is exhausted and wants (absolutely needs) rest but is told the only brand of that available is a peaceful long-term arrangement in the grave.

If you’re looking in his eyes to find tears, you’re searching in the wrong place. The universe issued a stern warning to him from childhood not to cry and he is faithful to the creed.

His sweat is probably the only visible evidence of a rugged struggle.

At some point, he begins considering the only brand of rest available to him. Suicide, dressed in a smoking hot lingerie seductively approaches.

We have on our hands a desperately frustrated figure but he keeps going. His fraternal family encourages him mostly by revealing the extent of their own struggles too. They laugh/drink/mock it off.

The words of Marshal Ferdinand Foch their battle cry;

“My Centre is giving way, my right is retreating, situation excellent, I am attacking”

This born warrior will not lose. He keeps going and seeks solace in his friends’ epiphany; “Las las we go dey alright”

 There’s every good chance you have someone in mind (maybe yourself), whose true and current story is as of this warrior who simply will not be defeated. Today, I think we should laud the courage and determination to stay on.

I salute our brave boys in khakis. Largely unmotivated and under-equipped but in the trenches raising unholy hell for the terror elements in Nigeria’s North Eastern region.

I salute the boys whose daily bread depend on working the rocks to dig up precious stones they’d never be able to afford in a lifetime and a half.

Those who out of almost complete despair, make up their minds to undertake the profoundly risky crossing of the Mediterranean just to make something out of their lives. (We remember those who never did make it to the other side).

The construction workers who endure the fury of the scotching sun to build houses they’d be permanently uninvited to once completed.

Our brothers who leave the comfort of their homes for the nation’s Centre of Excellence with the sole aim of never returning home as church mice. Putting in almost inhumane shifts for meagre remunerations. You have my respect.

For every guy who has sought out and embraced legitimate earning means, sometimes divorcing their most basic comfort in the process, be reminded that you’re the country’s finest, the tip of the sword!

To those the law-enforcement agents claimed, those who died at work and those who surrendered to the cold hands of suicide, “you belong with the ages now”. Rest with the greatest of men. We remember you fondly.

For those boys who could not continue with life's race, please rest with the greatest of men. 

Today, courage is celebrated.

For those of us (this writer is a guy if you haven’t figured out yet) still left, it might go against the masculine instinct but we must seek help when we need to. Be not ashamed to be rescued.

Folks, we cannot give up now. Hang in there buddy. Hold on tight pal. We shan’t lose to the fiery tempest of discouragement and frustration.

Bless your soul dear Male child.