The clear balloon

Reflecting into a childhood tale that later turned a life lesson

By Siyabonga Sayi

I have a couple of things I can vividly recall from childhood. This one memory I am about share with you is one that I probably am not proud of and yet I still feel the need to share it.

Bad manners in childhood barely go unpunished, that’s part of being groomed in an African setting. I think this existed even in Europe back then but died a sudden death I don’t know how. Proverbs 20:30 ascertains my claims!

Corporal punishment, or should I use the harsh word, ‘lashing;’ I always wonder which school our parents went to train for this one odd course, it also seems all of them do passed with distinction!

                                                                                            

In our family my dad was the chief whip, any offence that called for a beating was handed over to him whether it was committed in his absence. You would sometimes beg mum to deal with you and not pass you over to dad because you knew mum’s beating was lighter and easy to deal with. If you were lucky that request would be granted and your sins would have been attorned for.

When mum would refuse to hand you the beating and telling you that your father will deal with you, you knew you were in deep trouble. Though my mother would report issues to my dad, she would most of the times be the one to save you when she felt you have received enough punishment.

Hey, don’t get me wrong, I cherish these buddies amid the descriptions in progress!

However, am double sure these pals understood Proverbs 23:13 so well. I am glad to say their methods made me the person I am today. I would say they did a pretty good job if you ask me haha. 

On this day events did not unfold as they normally do. I came home with a small clear balloon, I inflated it, and made a very nice ball that I enjoyed playing. I actually had a couple of these balloons and kept others in a safe place so that I could replace this ball in the future. I remember that was a Friday, my father was not around, as a Pastor he would return home on Sundays having travelled to visit some of his congregations that were widely dispersed.

Usually you would get warnings or cues that something is wrong, but on this day my mum didn’t say anything to me, she didn’t even warn me that I was doing something wrong, it all went well and we were talking normally to each other. Until today I still wonder why I didn’t notice anything unusual that could have prepared me for the tragedy I faced on that weekend.

He came back on Sunday morning, we spent the day normally and nothing was amiss.

On the evening on that very Sunday, a call to the main admin, my parents’ bedroom in this case came to which I swiftly responded.

I found them seated on the bed, I sat on the floor in front of them and again nothing told me there was something unusual. I think I let myself down on that day, haha.

What is this, my father asked, rolling out the remainder of my well reserved balloons. I remained quiet, and still, my heart beat fast and it dawned to me that I was in trouble. I obviously knew what it was, because I could read on the packaging, and there were also illustrations on it that showed what this was and how it’s used.  He repeated the same question at least three times, his voice also growing thick each time he asked until the next question came; where did you get them?

I chose to answer the easier questions, as they further developed, also becoming more difficult, ‘…so you now go around picking stuff you don’t know?’ he further asked.

What really drove them angry was that I was putting this thing in mouth inflating it though knowing what it was.

You probably have already figured out that he was asking me about a condom.

Without further ado ladies and gentlemen, his belt was already on duty once again and it was not for holding his trousers up this time but my manners. Mum was holding my feet to the floor as I lay on my belly. On this day, they became a perfect tag team, it seemed as if they had rehearsed my punishment.

The beating continued for what I felt was like 4 days. It was so painful as you know that the guys who were making these belts back then meant serious business.

When the 4 days of this lashing were ended, my dad took a huge sigh and released me, but my mum wouldn’t let go of me. I thought what, why? She then exclaims and says why are you letting him go? Are you done? Hearing this, my dad did not say a word but resumed the session as directed by his partner.

I will not go ahead and explain how painful the whole experience was from then on as I am already feeling that pain as I am writing this.

Like always, we broke into prayer after the many lashes had been delivered to me. As if reporting to God, he said he had done his part and it was His time to takeover.

It made me feel like the heavens would throw more lashes on me.

Unbelievably, it seems my mom was crying. She was damn worried?

What my siblings or companions felt about my punishment I don’t know but reflections have also taught me that if he who breaks the law is not punished, he who obeys it is cheated. This, and this alone, is why lawbreakers ought to be punished: to authenticate as good, and encourage as useful, law-abiding behaviour.

Reflecting, my parents were scared over my exposure to the world. An eleven-year-old bringing condoms home!

Besides the innocence, what would the boy have learnt when he got to know what he had brought home, worse going without a punishment? Surely, men are not hanged for stealing horses, but that horses may not be stolen. If you know, you know!

No parent wishes bad for their kids and likewise, there should be no hard feelings on restrictions, guidance and punishment from the elderly.

Hate it or like it, in its function, the power to punish is not essentially different from that of curing or educating.

Until you join me at the reflections stage, it’s goodbye for now.