The screeching of doors, a leaking
roof, a bushy fence, faulty bulbs and poor TV signal reception in a house
narrow down to one simple query- isn't there a son in that house?
As early as a toddler has a young
boy engaged himself in doing repair works to his toys. Sometimes he
deliberately unhinges different parts of a thing to give him a challenge of
reassembling. From their actions, young boys have gained nicknames as Fundi, Engineer, Tailor and others.
A tool case rest at his reach. At
least there were small nails, wood and minor iron bars that the parent regarded
safe for the child. Primary School mathematical sets were a thing for the boys.
It had a few small pencils among other necessary tools as razors, half piece of
a divider and a ruler whose measuring digits were long erased and broken. He
used the ruler to cut fractions on the desk and enjoyed the friction smoke. To
risk, because his hands are weak for a panga, he stole a knife and before the
wood was in half, the handle had broken. The home knew who to ask.
With ones growth so does his
involvement with home matters. A walk into a few homesteads (there are few or no
homesteads in town) would leave one admiring the cypress fence whose tops have
been decoratively beautified and creatively criss-crossed that the hens must be
stubborn enough to find a way through.
But many a kitchen ways has the
boy been tamed by the family and experiences that he has become a crook. He
lives in a house whose main switch he doesn’t know where it is located. Tamed
by syllabus, he waits for the electrician to repair his faulty spot after a
week. He fears and hates cats like his sisters. He does not have a tool case
and therefore can’t know what a tester, pliers, a screw driver or file homonyms
are.
It started by losing the pastoral
life that taught one how to use wood to perfect his marksmanship when handling
cattle. The break away from extended family made the boy without a father
figure or an elder brother see nothing but the kitchen and whining efforts to
what became faulty in the house. When the boy mishandled a thing, considered so
expensive in the house, he would be punished because it would need a cost to
fix it. The paranoid parent considers it insolence. He therefore takes his
minor bicycle punctures to an expert who does much less of exposing the tube to
some water, find the faulty spot and using glue and a patch, he pays. He thinks that by doing so, the man will have
something to eat. Stupid son.
The son is no longer at home nor
does he desire to live there. In search for autonomy has he rebelled in many a
ways. Walls and rooms have become monotonous. Sitting on a couch is not the
haven that would make him grow into a responsible adult. He needs to be under
the sun- that it shines on me in the morning, afternoon and at the evening. The
soft and cool sittings in the schools and workplaces continue to make him a
machine- a crooked machine. A feminized man.
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