The Pencil ✏️

A girl in Rudairo's class stole her pencil the day before yesterday. Rudairo saw her using it and confronted her, but staying true to her brand, that girl - I'll call her Rose - stubbornly refused to hand back the pencil. She said, "Everyone knows I bite my pencils , so here..." and she proceeded to bite our pencil so it would look like the rest of her stash, probably also pinched from unfortunate fellow pupils. The teacher wasn't there when all of this was happening. Rudairo let Rose be, and yesterday showed up with a receipt from a month ago when she bought the pencil.

I had no idea she still had it. She reported the thieving classmate to the teacher and presented her receipt as evidence that the pencil belonged to her. The classmate could only present the bite mark as evidence. In the end, we got our pencil back, which Rudairo proceeded to dip in sanitizer as it had been in Rose's mouth. I'm really proud of her for being so resourceful. We would have lost all of the R8.99 we used to buy the pencil, and money doesn't grow on trees, you know. When she told me she had been reunited with our pencil, I told her Rose should thank her lucky stars because I'd already ironed my bum shorts, ready to go and kick up some dust🥊🥊. Rudairo said I should remember to take off my earrings too if an opportunity presents itself again for me to start a fight. I believe it sure will, because that child wasn't punished, after all it was just an R8.99 pencil. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how hard-core criminals are created. They start small, with pencils, then next time it will be a jersey, money, and eventually a car and even a life as they get more brazen after getting away with "little offences". Before you know it, you're visiting them in jail and looking for lawyers. I'm not saying she should have been nailed on the cross, but she definitely needed to be reprimanded or get a demerit at the very least, to nip the bad behaviour in the bud.

Skye needs her beauty sleep

My father says Skye is the ugliest dog he's ever seen. I disagree, but because the bible in Exodus says we should honour our fathers and mothers so that our lives on earth can be lengthened, I chose not to argue and let him be. It's starting to get warmer now in Joburg, with Spring Day just hours away. It was bitterly cold in winter and Skye, who usually likes to sleep outside, was amenable to sleeping in the house. She would drag her bed to Rudairo's room, which is now pretty much hers too. Rudairo doesn't mind sharing her room, but Skye sometimes prances a lot and barks late at night, as dogs do. Tonight I heard Rudairo shouting at her saying, "This is why some people say you're ugly. How do you get cute when you hardly get any of your beauty sleep?😆😆

The Harsh World of Autism Parenting

The story of Patricia Ripley, the Florida woman accused of killing her 9-year-old severely autistic son, Alejandro, is doing the rounds in the autism community around the globe. I am a part of that community, as my 14-year-old son is autistic. When I read that story, I had chills down my spine, wondering how things had gone so bad that Patricia allegedly shoved her son into a canal, not once, but twice until she accomplished her mission. Her husband is standing firmly by her, saying she is a good mother and a wonderful human being, who cannot have murdered her son. I will be following that story with keen interest, but as with many court stories, we might never really know the absolute truth. As I was reflecting on this story, Facebook just sent me a reminder to a 2010 post I wrote, the day I almost became another Patricia Ripley. On one particularly bad day, I posted the message on the screenshot on Facebook. 

Normally I never post intimate issues on social media, but I did on that day, and up to now I have no idea what had come over me.I was feeling very lost because Victor was extremely difficult, with endless meltdowns, probably caused by the inability to speak. I was terrified of going out of the house as there was no telling when his spectacular tantrums would surface. He would attack me -scratch and pull out my hair, or roll on the ground, sometimes on busy roads or in supermarkets. On many occasions, I deserted my groceries at the till and dashed out of supermarkets when his meltdowns started. This, no doubt, drew a lot of unwanted attention to ourselves, and with that a lot of unsolicited advice from those who felt my parenting skills were wanting. Neighbours from our apartment building constantly complained about his loud screams, and one even came to my door to tell me she would report me to the police for child abuse, why was my son always wailing like that, that wasn't what happy kids with good parents did! I was always on the verge of tears and always had a quick apology at the tip of my tongue. 

At that time, I had no support whatsoever, as I had just relocated to South Africa. I made efforts to tell loved ones that I was really not coping, some said there was absolutely nothing wrong with Victor, while others reminded me to be grateful God had blessed me with a child. "There are many out there who would give anything to have the child you're complaining about," they said. All I had were ugly scratch marks all over my hands and neck, some of them oozing pus because they were deep. My son was the only autistic person I knew, and I wallowed in self-pity and despair, seeing no hope for him and myself. I tried to find a crèche for him to go to, so I could have a few hours to myself for recovery. The first three I approached said they couldn’t take him in if he was non-verbal. Yes, they had baby classes, but my son was 4 and they didn’t accept kids that age who didn’t speak. 

The general practitioner who we consulted, thinking Victor just needed to be referred to a speech therapist, was the first person to mention autism before referring us to a specialist paediatrician. He said he was not qualified to make an autism diagnosis, but highly suspected it. He, however, felt qualified enough to tell me that because my son was autistic, he didn't even know I was his mom, and would never be able to learn. That proclamation sent me off the rails. I struggled to live with the fact that my son would always be screaming like this and attacking me like he was possessed. It strongly felt like the death sentence had been handed to me.

I remember telling someone that I was convinced I'd die at the hands of my son. He had the strongest punch, even though he was only four years old; what would happen when he was 14? And what chance did a person with the intellectual disability described by the doctor stand in this harsh world where people are judged by their academic, or other, accomplishments? I was in emotional and psychological quicksand. The paediatrician we had been referred to had placed us on a long waiting list, and while we waited, life continued. Badly. I would be taking care of my son during the day, and at night I'd stay awake crying and reflecting on my predicament. Eventually, I went back to the GP so that I could get assistance for my stress and insomnia. He wasn't there, and his partner attended to me. I explained everything I was going through, and he said, "So is this autism curable?" I immediately realised this doctor was of no use to me. All he did was give me sleeping tablets to take at night.

I remember the sense of calm that engulfed me when I got home and took out the sleeping tablets from my handbag. Now I’d be able to sleep. I could even sleep forever. With my son. If I slept and never woke up, what would become of him? Who would look be able to put up with his incessant meltdowns, when his own mom couldn’t? Would they feed him? We would go to sleep together. I thought of my parents and how they would be devastated by my decision, but I felt this was my problem. I was the one that knew where the shoe pinched most, and I was the only one that could solve that problem. I felt trapped. Then I wrote that post.  Some people laughed, some cracked jokes about that post, not knowing I had my weapon of self-destruction by my side. Others said I needed to pray, like I hadn’t tried and discovered the futility of doing so. The doctor had categorically stated autism was a lifelong condition, and that my son could never learn a thing in his life. How would prayer change that? At the age of 4, he had never said “mom” because he couldn’t speak. I felt I had been dealt a bad hand, and the sleeping tablets increasing looked like an attractive solution. To cut a long story short, immediately after my post went online, my aunt sent a fervent prayer to my inbox, even though she didn’t even know what was dragging me down. A high school friend I hadn’t spoken to in years also reached out, and went on to have several long conversations about what I was going through, and how she had also overcome some serious struggles. I flushed the sleeping tablets down the toilet. When I see suicidal posts on my timeline, I don't dismiss the authors as attention-seekers. Seeking attention for a big problem you have is not a bad thing. It beats quietly taking drastic measures, any day. 

I condemn what Patricia Ripley did to her son. (I also condemn that she lied that two black men had abducted Alejandro, but that's a discussion for another day.) She might have been able to walk away from the canal she drowned her son in, but will she ever walk away from the distressed cries of her dying son? I will never understand how a mom would choose such a horrible way to get rid of her son. I will never understand because I don’t know what made her snap. Alejandro was non-verbal and was still wearing diapers at 9. That cannot have been easy for Patricia. Other moms are running around going for soccer practice and having conversations with their kids of the same age, and all she had to do was change soiled nappies. What hope was there that one day he would be toilet-trained? If he lived to be 40, would his mom have continued changing his diapers? Keyboard warriors are baying for her blood. She should burn in hell. Whatever the circumstances, she had no right to play God. She could have sought help from social workers. The US has a stronger support system than Africa, so she should have known where to go for assistance. Easy to say when you’re hitting keys on your laptop, without an inkling of her daily struggles. I don’t know her journey with Alejandro, but I know what autism can do to a mum's psyche. Something must have snapped. I wish she hadn’t gone that route. I’m dreadfully sorry that Alejandro’s last minutes on earth were so horrific and lonely.

I shuddered and cried a little when the Facebook reminder popped up, a reminder of how at some point I also almost made a terrible judgment call. At 14, Victor is now a strapping young lad, and the aggression and meltdowns are a thing of the past. Now he talks like his life depends on it, probably making up for lost time. I always playfully threaten to sew his lips together to stop him from talking, but deep down, I’m grateful he can speak now. He has amazing manners – always says, "Thank you, mom, for the food," jumps to clear the table after meals and even sometimes does the dishes (which I redo when he’s not watching). After I’ve worked hard to clean the house, he comes to say, “High five, mom, good job cleaning the house!” I’m never short of compliments when he’s around. “Nice weave, mom. Nice blue dress, mom.” When I sneeze, he dashes with the speed of lightning to fetch tissue, even if I don't need it. As he grows, new challenges crop up. But I'm in a better frame of mind now, and will fight on.  Regardless of his condition, he has his place under the sun, and no-one, except God, should take that away from him.  I’m that mom teachers never forget. When Victor comes home with unexplained injuries, I go to the school to get explanations. When the school calls for parent-teacher meetings, I’m there like a bear. I've heard some dejected mums say, “What’s the point? There aren’t any new improvements to discuss.” But I will show up all the time. I take an avid interest in everything that concerns him. The doctor had it  all wrong.Victor can learn! He types, spells and reads well, and has spent the whole of lockdown teaching himself to write. And what strides he has made! I wish I had been able to meet Patricia Ripley before the tragedy. I'd have wanted to tell her it won't always be this bad. Hang on! There is no assurance she would have listened to me.

I don’t wear the autism mom tag like it’s a badge of honour. If anything, it’s the biggest heartbreak of my life. I’ve heard people say, “Oh, God gives special kids to special parents.” All I want to tell them is, “You know what, you could have just kept quiet.” As far as I’m concerned, that statement is a crock of bull. There’s nothing special about being an autism mom, except that tragedy befell us. What makes the condition tragic is the non-availability or inadequacy of resources to help our children, and the constant feeling that we are failing our children. Every mom wants to provide solutions to her children’s problems, but we can’t solve autism, regardless of how much we might pull out all the stops. It’s the story of many parents walking this journey, especially in Africa. But Alejandro’s story shows this is a universal problem. Being an autism parent is a cross some of us have to carry. For life. And we are human beings who sometimes buckle under pressure. As did Patricia Ripley. I don’t, in any way, condone the route she took, even though she believes her son is now in a better place. But I will not be standing with those baying for her blood and screaming, "Nail her on the cross.!" It’s one case where I’d recuse myself from if I were a judge.

Daddies' girls and mummies' boys

I have been quiet for too long and am even embarrassed to be back. There are so many things happening in my life, good thingsJ, that I’m struggling to keep my head above water. I shall be writing all about these things, but need a little more research and a little more time to put them together. What got me to write at this very moment is my nagging cousin. She follows this blog (I’m grateful that she does), and is frustrated at my long hiatus. Trust me cousin, it frustrated me too!

The topic for today was motivated by a conversation I just had with some friends regarding children and how sometimes they tend to favour one parent over the other. When I was a child, well I’m still my parents’ child so let me say as a younger child, I can’t say I really favoured one parent over the other. I, however, somehow chose one parent over the other depending on what I wanted from them. If I wanted a good conversation, I’d go to my father who has amazing story-telling skills. I hope he can still write his first book at close to 69 years of age. If I wanted money, I’d go to my mother. She didn’t tell too many stories because she was busy thinking about making money or just being practical with her crafts. I even helped her with her crafts, and that’s one of the things that bonded us. When I look back at my childhood, I remember conversations I had with my father, and things I did with my mother. I think Rudairo will craft too because she always asks me to teach her. I’ll post my crafts here someday soon.

Back to the events that led to this post. I allowed my 4-year-old daughter to buy a can of Coca Cola (coke), against my better judgment. We never buy soft drinks for home because my children have enough sugar in their system to last them a lifetime; they don’t need to add more. Since it’s a weekend, coupled with the fact that she hasn’t had a soft drink since Christmas, I indulged her.  She slept all afternoon, and when she woke up around 5pm, she wanted to drink her coke. I told her she could only drink it tomorrow because supper was almost ready. Around 8 she drank her coke. Because she was high on the coke, she couldn’t go to sleep, even though her system was telling her it’s past bed time. I made coffee to help me stay awake and do some work. I used my cup (everyone has their own cup here). My daughter said, “Mum, you must never use daddy’s cup. You should always use your own.” I don’t know why she had to say that because I was using mine anyway. I said, “I’ll use your daddy’s cup if I want to.” Immediately the floodgates opened. She wailed loudly and continued remonstrating   about how I shouldn’t use her dad’s cup. When she got tired of crying, she went to sleep.  At some point tonight I had to snap at her after she cut my conversation with her dad short saying, “Mom, you need to be quiet when I’m talking to dad!” The audacity! If I had said that to my mom, she would have slapped that smart mouth.

As a small baby of about 6 months, she would come to me for milk, cuddles and to dance to Trace Urban beats. When the father came home, she suddenly became this chatterbox she never was in the absence of her dad. She would blabber away for several minutes without stopping until I started to feel sorry for her, thinking gosh her little lungs must be struggling with that long speech.

I was chatting to some friends about how my 12-year-old son is more attached to me rather than his dad. It was during that conversation that I began to appreciate just how affectionate he is. When I’m in the kitchen cooking, he comes to sit there and keep me company. Because he has autism, he struggles to come up with interesting topics for discussion, but he will be present, repeating the same stories he has told me before and rerunning plans for his April, August and December holidays for the umpteenth time. Even when I’m in the bathroom, he sits just outside the door, or he’ll go to the window outside so that we can continue our conversations. When I was pregnant with the sister, I had severe morning sickness and would throw up every morning without fail. As soon as I woke up, I’d go and sit in the bathroom until the bout was over. Victor would sit with me without ever getting revolted by the throwing up business. The father would quickly make himself scarce to avoid even hearing me vomit. Victor would even look in the bowl and say, “Mummy there’s a green vegetable that just came out.”

Rudairo loves trinkets, she is a very girly girl. Each time I buy her something, the first thing she says after the thank yous is, "Daddy is going to be so happy for me."

When I have to travel for some time, my son gets quite miserable while my daughter really couldn’t care less. She only starts to cry when I actually depart, but Victor worries as soon as he hears I shall leave at some point. I thought daughters were supposed to be mums’ best friends. That hasn’t been witnessed here! She has her moments when she’s extremely affectionate to me, but that’s usually when the dad isn’t around or when she just feels girls should do things together. I’m quite fascinated by that. I’m particularly thrilled when she goes to the bathroom for Number 2. She always shouts, “Daddy, come and wipe me!” that always somehow happens during meal times. The dad, at those moments, doesn’t look so proud to be the chosen one. And at those moments, my cheeks hurt from smiling.  But when she has a nightmare or needs food, she calls me. So essentially I’m the beast of burden as far as she is concerned.

I’m sure if one went to my parents, they would separately have things to say about how I related with them as a small child, maybe even now. One day someone repeated slander about me, and the first person I thought of calling was my father. Maybe my daughter takes after me after all.

So what do you think your parents would say, or would have said (if they are no longer with us)? How do you feel you related with them as a kid?

Miscarriages are heavy losses too!

 Happy Mother’s Day to all moms reading this today. I’ve had a good one, though it was a day of mixed emotions; I’m grateful to God for the gift of motherhood which others do not have, and I’m a little low because this would have been the day when my second child would have arrived, according to scan results, had I not miscarried in October 2012. It’s not like heart-wrenching pain I felt when it happened, but it just is a sad memory that can wipe a smile off your face when you remember. I have never really spoken at length about it, and will only do it now.

A few people in my circle had miscarriages before me, but I never got to speak to them to find out how exactly it felt to lose your unborn child. I just thought it would be quite disappointing. It’s way bigger and deeper than a mere disappointment. . It involves a lot more than just bleeding on a pad and moving on with life. As I was writing this, I asked myself whether I was just over-sensitive about something that I should just let go of. I spoke to two people close to me about their experiences trying to move forward. One said, “I try so hard not to think about it anymore.” The other said, “It is impossible to forget all the hopes and dreams that would have been crushed by that event. I guess I get by by pretending it never happened sometimes.” Clearly those that have been through it also have to make a concerted effort not to think about it.

When it happened to me, it was such an incredibly crushing blow. My first child is autistic and was 6 when the miscarriage happened. I had been up to the ears in pressure from all directions to have a second one for quite a few years. One cousin was always coming to me with tales of how my mother was pushing her to push me to have another child. No-one cared to ask why I was taking my time. They just wanted me to have another. That’s actually a discussion for another day.

So I had the second pregnancy when I felt I was emotionally prepared for it following the trauma that had come from the autism diagnosis. Losing that baby was among the worst things that ever happened in my life. When you discover that you are pregnant with a child you’re ready for, you obviously get excited. You calculate dates, you start looking at cute baby things in the shops and make mental notes about what to buy and where to get it from when the time is right. You see and feel your body changing and you know it’s because you are carrying another human being inside you. It’s a beautiful feeling. If you have a child with special needs, it is even more exciting because you feel you have got another shot at experiencing normal motherhood.

My GP was worried when my blood pressure got extremely low. He asked if I was in any form of pain, I wasn’t. Another Dr had also noticed the low blood pressure a few days earlier and had dismissed it and said maybe the machine was defective. My GP said I should quickly make an appointment with a gynaecologist, but before I got round to that, the miscarriage happened. I knew something was wrong when I saw the look on the Dr who examined me after I had started bleeding. I don’t quite remember what it was but I just knew. Then he said, “There’s no heartbeat. I’m afraid you’ve lost your baby.” He said from the look of it, the heartbeat had stopped a week before the bleeding started. He said I had to go home and process the bad news, then come back within 48 hours for dilation and curettage (D&C), a surgical procedure often performed after miscarriage to stop bleeding and prevent infection. I was quite numb at first. I just said OK and went back home with very dry eyes. When I got home that’s when I cried buckets. My stomach was already showing, and I could not believe I was carrying a dead baby in it. The next morning while making arrangements to go for D&C, I started having excruciating stomach ache. We rushed to the Life Brenthurst Clinic in Parktown. At some point I couldn’t see anything and couldn’t walk because of the pain. I had to be pushed in a wheelchair.

I will skip the other gruesome details, but all I can say is a miscarriage is not something to be taken lightly. You don't say, “Oops shame, don't worry you can try again,” to someone who had lost their unborn child. This is not like you're discussing a game of chase. Others would say, "At least it's not like losing a real baby. You hadn't met this one yet."
I was told that in my culture, condolences should not be expressed or accepted following a miscarriage. And why not? It is a heavy loss. I was told not to respond when people said sorry because it would bring bad luck. I was also advised not to cry because people who had suffered miscarriages were not supposed to cry. I cried a lot! For many, many days. Some family members didn't say anything and just acted like nothing happened. It was a very difficult time.

At the hospital I was treated by renowned gynaecologist and fertility specialist, Dr Herman Netshidzivani, a man with an impeccable bedside manner. I was, however, taken aback when he kept referring to the baby as "product of conception". I know it’s probably the medical technology for it, but because I was bitter and confused, I felt he was making light of my misery, even though he was, still is, among the most wonderful and warm doctors I’ve met in my life. The other staff members weren’t very nice.

Reality set in after the D&C that I had really lost my baby, they had cleaned my womb, there was nothing anymore, and I woke up wailing for my baby. A theatre nurse said I should go for counselling, which I never did. Afterwards I’d find myself grinding my teeth a lot. I should have gone for counselling.

I didn’t really look around me when I was admitted, but I was placed in a ward where I could hear newborn babies cry. Even when I was waiting to be attended to, new mothers passed by with nurses wheeling their babies in trolleys. It was such a stab in the heart.  When I went for checkup a few weeks later, pregnant women were visiting the same Dr for their own issues, my stomach was still distended, and excited, chatty mothers-to-be would ask, "So how far along are you?" Then I’d say I lost the baby.

Coming back home babyless was very painful. My son only noticed that my nail polish was gone. They had removed it before I went into theatre. All I could think was, this child is worried that my nail polish has been removed. A baby has also been removed and he doesn’t know that. Nothing prepares you for the pain that you feel having to explain to people close to you that you suffered a miscarriage. I won’t even start on the sore breasts when the milk starts drying out because there’s no baby to take it. But you do recover from it; your heart doesn’t bleed about it forever, even though you can’t erase it from your mind.  

A day after the procedure I was back in class, catching up with my final year project, even though the Dr said I was to take two weeks off.  I just wanted to bury myself in something that wasn’t sorrow.

Suddenly every woman I saw on the street was pregnant, everyone on Facebook was popping babies left, right and centre, like they were trying to rub it in my face and say, "see, easy peasy, this is what you failed to do". I would see beggars on the Joburg streets with two babies and would ask myself, how could I fail to carry a baby when I eat good food, have access to healthcare, and live comfortably? How can I be beaten by this person who eats bad food on the street (if they eat at all), and probably only goes to hospital to give birth, with no prenatal visits in-between? My friend, Mary, likened it to what happens when you’ve just had a break-up. It will look like everyone is in love, people holding hands everywhere and at every street corner you will see a kissing couple, and wedding pictures all over Facebook. All you want to do is go home, hide and lick your wounds. I became so sensitive to certain expressions. I was doing my end-of-year project, and interviewed a disgruntled father who felt the justice system had failed him and his miscreant son. He liked the phrase, “miscarriage of justice” a lot, and the word miscarriage is what jumped at me and kept ringing in my ears. I almost asked him not to say that.  

Since I didn’t get counselling, I tried joining some online community for people who had suffered miscarriages, but ended up unsubscribing because the group was one big endless pity party, and I didn’t see how I would move forward if I was constantly around such raw emotion and negativity. I decided to just do it my way, one step at a time. Baby steps.

In a cruel turn of fate, my favourite South African soapies Scandal! and Muvhango were running with miscarriage themes at the time of my loss. When the affected characters cried, I cried with them.

After a miscarriage, you wonder what the child would have looked like, what kind of personality they were going to have. I felt so ashamed of myself, I felt like a loser, which I was because a loser is someone that has lost. I thought maybe God was telling me something; that maybe procreation is not for everyone.

I was worried what I would do with myself on the EDD. I bought candles to light on the day in a special little ritual I planned to observe every year.  That happened to be my busiest day at work and I only realised after midnight that I’d forgotten to light the candles, and felt really crappy, like a bad mom who forgot her child.

I’m still very aware of the loss but no longer cry about it. I think I only cried last week, which was the first time in the past three years, when someone asked for details of what happened. I have conflicting emotions. On one hand I’m so grateful that I got another child afterwards. I want to count the garden by the flowers, not the leaves that fall. I was already pregnant on the EDD of the one I lost. Others find they can’t conceive after a miscarriage, so I am indeed blessed. On the other hand, I sometimes feel that by trying to forget, I’m trivializing the loss. I wish it were possible to cry with one eye, or smile with half your mouth. This was going to be a human being but didn’t get a chance.

There are always subtle reminders. In my case it’s my friend’s baby who was born the same week mine was supposed to arrive. When I wanted to try, I was joking with my friend Faith and said let’s do it together. She said, “Yes, let’s do it!” and we conceived at the same time. So every time her son’s birthday comes, I can’t help thinking, “Oh…L”.

When I discovered I was pregnant again, there wasn’t much excitement. I just looked at the two red lines on the pregnancy test kit, showed it to my husband and we both didn’t say anything about it. We had been so excited with the other one and he had bought a nice little potted flower to celebrate. A few days after the miscarriage, the flower also died and I cried my eyes out some more.  I did not get to enjoy the third pregnancy as other moms get to do. Every funny sensation was enough to send me scurrying off to the loo to check. I was always on tenterhooks.

When the loss happened, I wondered if there’s something I’d done wrong, like taking medication or bad food. Did I overwork? Now I’ve accepted that it wasn’t something I did. Even if it was, it wouldn’t have been deliberate. It just happened.

In the end you just tell yourself God knows best. There must have been a good reason for that to happen. If you don’t think that way, your thoughts will just drive you crazy. Now I feel a little better after getting things off my chest. Miscarriages are a hush hush affair in my culture, but I think people should talk in order to heal. It’s archaic to tell people not to grieve after they lose their unborn baby, to force them to just internalize the pain. Way back in time twins and albinos used to be killed at birth in some parts of Africa, but that is not done anymore. A few beliefs should change along with that. 

The lost generation

Thousands of school children in Swaziland dropped out of school this year because of pregnancy. This is a very disturbing development that will see the country having a sizeable number of unemployable people from that generation. The issue of teenage pregnancy is not one unique to Swaziland alone but the world over, but more prevalent in African and some Asian countries. In some countries, it is a result of forced marriage, but in sub-Saharan Africa, children are just having wanton sex like there is no tomorrow.

In my opinion, a number of factors play a role in teenage pregnancy. I think most of it is experiments gone wrong, then there are girls that date outside their age groups and have no power to negotiate for safe sex. I’ve seen stories of 14 –year-old girls being involved with 30-year-olds. How does a child like that even try to stand her ground? The issue of poverty has also thrown young girls to the wolves. A rumbling stomach can push a young girl to do things she would otherwise not have thought of doing if circumstances were different.

It is, however, not just children from disadvantaged backgrounds that indulge in premature sex. Many parents are not comfortable discussing sex with their children. They don’t even know where to start.  No-one spoke to me about the dangers of teenage sex, but back then, there were minimal influences. The closest my father got to talk about the birds and the bees to me and my sisters was always reiterating that if anyone of us fell pregnant, he would not want us to abort. He never spoke about how people got pregnant or tried to talk us into not doing things that would make us fall pregnant in the first place. It was always an awkward speech. It was fortunate that I didn’t have a cellphone with internet to access social networking and other adult sites and, and I was at a Catholic girls-only school. My parents were also very strict and it was never easy to go against their regulations.

Have parents become softer or have teenagers become foxier? There was never a moment when my absence at home was never accounted for. How are primary school children managing to hoodwink their parents, juggling being young kids at home while having sex like adults out there? I see many young girls on street corners, necking with big boys at weird hours, sometimes in their school uniforms, and I just wonder where their parents think their babies are. Parents need to get over their issues and actually talk to their children about the consequences of teenage sex. Tell children that if they fall pregnant as teenagers, their lives are as good as doomed. They will never enjoy wholesome dating and will be tied down to raising a child before they are ready for it, they are likely to contract HIV and other venereal diseases, and they will have to settle for menial labour to look after their children, or they would be reduced to prostitution. Instead, parents prefer to wail and shout at their children after the deed is done – “how could you do this to yourself? How are you going to look after a child when you are also only a child?  Now you will never get a job! Your child will grow in poverty and will most likely follow the same path as you”

Parents also need to sit down with the boy child. Too much pressure, traditionally, has been on the girl child  - don’t sleep with men, be careful, value your virginity, while nobody speaks to boys, yet they are also an integral part of the equation. The media hasn’t done well to shape into the sexually responsible individuals we want them to be. Children are bombarded by news of scandalous celebrities who lead sexually flagrant lives, and they are made to look glamorous.  Young people like Nobel Peace Prize winner, Malala Yousafzai are not celebrated much, no-one wants to know what she’s been up to lately. People like Amber Rose, who recently excited everyone when she wrote How to be a bad bitch, and those who make sex tapes pervade media space as if they are to be emulated. There are many young people doing great things but they are not given enough space in the media.

Instead of intensifying engagement with children, people have washed their hands off them and said, “OK, kids. You win. Just come and get condoms and have your sex!” I don’t think this is a solution. I think we should talk and talk and talk to our kids until our voices are hoarse and we are foaming at the mouth. We haven’t even started talking yet. Condoms are not the answer. Adults are failing to use them consistently and we are expecting a 13-year-old to be more responsible? Give.me.a.break!

As with most of the social issues I write about, I went to my friends to find out about this issue. These were their guiding questions:

What do you think should be done to curb teenage pregnancy, apart from contraceptive distribution? Do you think sexual health education will help? What should sexual health education encompass?

Joyie: openness between parents/guardians and children, good communication parents must talk to their children regardless of gender. Sexual health education I think in high school is fine, but at primary level, no. Kids like experimenting. They should be taught about the consequences of indulging early, e.g. pregnancy, STIs, side effects of using contraceptives at an early age, condoms breaking, and the like. How early pregnancy before finishing school will affect their future (types of jobs they end up doing in order to take care of the baby if not educated). I think teachers and parents should also be good role models. Media must promote good role models not people like Khanyi Mbau. Encourage children to abstain rather than promoting. Right now I think the government promotes early sex by letting kids get contraceptives and legalizing abortion. Churches should also take part.

Za: sex education is an ideal solution and it is important to first reach out to parents and make them aware of the importance of being open about sex to their children from a tender age. Most people think that it’s taboo to talk to their children about sex, but they are leaving a blank space in the children’s mind that will be filled with info acquired mostly from peers and the social media. I have observed children who discuss such topics with their parents proving to handle sexual issues better than the others and they are rarely victims of teenage pregnancy. Actually, a person’s background influences their choices and decisions in life. It is therefore vital to show parents first of the importance of correct information dissemination to their children before they are teenagers and underscore the importance of a stable family environment for every child. Most teenagers who become victims either come from broken down families or very strict families where such behaviour can be seen as a child’s attempt at freedom.

Parents should make sure that their children grow up in stable homes, if a child is brought up by a single parent, e.g. a single mum, it is important for the child to have a strong male person in her life that will fill the void left by an absent dad. It can be an uncle, grandfather, etc., so she can learn to relate to the opposite sex.

Coming to sexual health education, it is effective to penetrate through the social media because it has now become their Number 1 influence. They view a lot of pornographic material on the internet from their laptops and mobile phones and what they circulate on whatsapp is mostly X-rated material. It goes back to the parents who avail such gadgets to teenagers.

Teenage pregnancy can be curbed through production of movies whose theme is ‘negative effects of teenage pregnancy’, soaps screened on television should dedicate some episodes to this issue and there should be awareness campaigns on TVs, radios, fliers and street marches. There should be billboards erected at strategic points saying something about teenage pregnancy…it might save some teenagers from the experience. What is sad about the issue of teenage pregnancy is that too often, lip service is given to prevention strategies without investing in them at the necessary levels to make them effective. There should be effective partnerships among families, schools, social service systems, churches to create the socialization experiences that will give the teenagers a chance to develop along positive lines.

Sihle: I strongly believe in biblical principles of abstaining until one gets married. I feel that giving children condoms tells them it is absolutely fine to have sexual relations even when you’re in school. Unfortunately, the society we are living in right now somehow makes it ok. I am old school on this issue and very conservative.

Susan: freedom, exposure, culture of openness especially in the African context. Parents should openly discuss sex with their kids to tell them that there is nothing to rush for. At the same time, allow kids to go out and mingle with boys, with the faith that they are not going to rush into sex.

Ngoni: our students don’t drop out because our school has a policy of expelling pregnant pupils. It is unconstitutional but it has been a deterrent. Sexual health education does help. Nurses come to our school to talk to learners about the dangers of indulging early. And they scare learners with those frightening HIV statistics because their age group is the most infected.  Sexual health education should demystify the myths or so called knowledge they have e.g. male prowess is seen by the number of girls he sleeps with, being a virgin is old fashioned.

Angie: condom distribution should be stopped. It actually encourages sex in kids. Now these kids will happily do it thinking they are safe. We need to rewind and go back to the days when sex was a sacred word to the youngsters. Abstinence should be the key word, not prevention. It’s all about re-teaching morals to our kids.

The Parent I would like to be

Headlines like this one are a common sight all over the world

Daily reports of violent crime show that we now live in a highly dysfunctional society full of angry people.  A lot of the aggression in the world is usually attributed to the background of the perpetrators. While I feel that a person should choose his own path, carve his own niche in life, without perpetually blaming his rough childhood, it’s probably easier said than done. David Holmes supported this theory while commenting on the case of William Bonin, the first man in California to bring execution by lethal injection after sexually abusing and killing 21 boys between the ages of 12 and 19. Holmes said a child’s dark side can flourish in an abusive environment. This essentially means that every child might have his good and bad sides, but his upbringing has the power to determine which side becomes more prominent.

I strive to be the best mother in the world. If they ever offer a medal for it on the world stage, I want people to feel they would have done the universe a disservice if they didn’t give it to me. My children didn’t choose me as their mother; I created them, with God’s blessings and a little help from their dad. I willfully brought them on this planet; they were not a mistake or an accident. For that reason, I should always be looking out for their best interest because they are my responsibility. For various reasons, our spouses or partners can walk away from us and get somebody else. Our kids, however, cannot replace us even if they wanted to. They are stuck with us for life, so I should make sure that my presence in my children’s lives is as painless as possible. As long as I’m here, my children should never have to turn to strangers for something that I can provide. I want to be the kind of parent that won’t give a snake to my children when they ask for fish.

My children should be free to create their own paths

God is our spiritual parent, and I’m the earthly one for my children. My deeds should clearly show that I’m His representative to my children. Before I react to anything they do, I should first ask myself how I would feel if God, being my father, reacted to me the same way.

In his book, Daddy, come home, actor Zane Meas laments the absence of fathers in their children’s lives and the impact that has on the latter. There is a line in the book that says, “Boys join gangs because they don’t belong to a gang called family led by a leader called a father.” As an avid viewer of the programme Khumbulekhaya on SABC 1, I’m always overcome with sadness upon realizing that there are also mothers that dump their babies in their infancy, never to come back for them again. This just makes me more determined to cushion my children from the pain in this world by always being present when they need me. Under no circumstances will they ever feel orphaned or rejected while I’m still alive.

I want to be exemplary to my children, when I’m wrong, I will apologise, even to them. I will teach them that being pig-headed especially when wrong, is in no way a sign of strength; it’s actually idiotic. I will not show any partiality to my children. None of them should ever be made to feel better or worse than the other based on their endeavors or gifts in life. I will do as I would be done by.

In the society I come from, if children point out the mistakes of their parents, they are threatened with all sorts of bad things like getting disowned or avenging spirits coming to haunt them once the parent dies. Some children, upon being charged and convicted of the crime of insulting their parents, are condemned to recompense their parents with an ox or goat; just for standing up for what they believe in. All this is simply because a parent won’t say sorry and is trying to teach his child a lesson never to accuse them of wrong-doing ever again. In other words, keep your pain to yourself. If I do wrong, don’t you dare speak about it or you’ll pay, literally! By refusing to just say sorry dysfunctional families are created and dysfunctional families make a dysfunctional society. Those children will also grow up to be spouses and parents who also do not apologise for their wrongdoing, because it was never part of their vocabulary. In this kind of scenario, from an early age, parent to child conversation is never fostered and children are taught to bottle up their pain and not speak out when they should. Putting a lid on emotions can be catastrophic because one day they will boil over. Asking a child not to speak out is blocking communication channels between him and the parent. And we act surprised when people commit suicide because they feel all alone in a burdensome world, and children zip their mouths about things they should speak about, like sexual abuse. I will keep communication channels open so that my kids never have to feel they are alone with no-one to turn to. . Home should be a safe haven, that place a child knows he’s cushioned from the big bad world. If we fail to make a child feel safe at home, then we have totally failed as parents.

Cool mummy by Michelle Mudekunye

I want to be a cool mummy, one that my children will be proud of. I think it is a misconception that if you get too close to them, your children will walk all over you. Children do need a firm hand, but there is a notoriously thin line between that and an iron fist. I want to be a pal, without ever letting them forget who’s boss. Most parents believe that to be a parent worth his salt is to always be ready to crack the whip at the drop of a hat and make your children quake in their boots all the time. I would like my children to fear irresponsible behaviour as it can irrevocably impact their lives, but under no circumstances should they fear me.  I’ll ensure that they know the door is always open if they want to discuss anything under the sun. I will teach them never to let things fester in their heart because that is corrosive to relationships, and consequently, life itself.

I would like to teach my kids to fear God, to respect themselves, and others so that they can also be worthy of respect. Our accomplishment as parents is measured by the deeds of our offspring, more often than not. For example, when a child behaves badly out there, people are known to ask whose child is that, didn’t your mother teach you to knock first before you enter? Didn’t your mother teach you not to stare? When people encounter my children, I want them to say, “Wow, your mother raised you well!” even if they have never met me. It would break my heart if anyone ever called my child, “son of a b&*$h!”

My favourite channels on TV are Investigation Discovery and Crime Investigation (CI). This afternoon I watched a documentary on CI about the murder of 12 year-old Autumn Pasquale in Clayton, New Jersey by 15 year-old Justin Robinson. Robinson, apparently had grown up seeing his father strangle his mother, and that was how he also killed Pasquale. After the conviction, Autumn’s father started a petition for Autumn’s Law. Under this law, abusive or neglectful parents were to be held accountable for their children’s wrongdoing. At the time of writing, more than 13 000 people had signed, but others didn’t agree with him, especially considering that Anita Saunders, the killer’s mother was the one that turned her son in after noticing his suspicious comment on Facebook. I agreed with one blogger who said,

 “Sadly, some kids are just psychopaths and sociopaths by nature. You can raise them right and if it is genetically in them, there’s no kind of parenting than can deprogram that.” 

Obviously some things will not be in my power to change, but where I can, I’ll show up.

I want to raise my children to be strong individuals who don’t run a mile with their tails between their legs and find unhealthy escape routes when problems come. They should sit down and work out solutions. It is also perfectly OK to ask for help from the right people when one is really stuck, but being self-sufficient is more ideal.

From my own conduct, my children will learn not to allow a person, particularly a spouse, to take over their whole life.  They should never lose their sense of self because they invited someone into their life. If their marriages or relationships fail, they should be aware that they always have a place in my house, beneath my protective wings if they want a place to lick their wounds from. I’ll also lick their wounds with them like Mother Dog.  They should never endure miserable marriages on my account, just to boost my street cred.  (There is a lot of street cred commanded from marrying off your kids in the society I come from.) I will tell my children that sometimes people make poor life choices, but it doesn’t mean they should be enslaved by them for the rest of their lives.  They can’t replace their parents, but they can definitely replace an abusive spouse.

Love should ooze in everything I do for my children

One day I will have to loosen the apron strings. I have no intention to sever them completely. When my children are older and have flown out of the nest, getting a call from me should be the highlight of their day. They must never tremble or wish to run into the wilderness in trepidation upon seeing my name on their phones, fearing I’ll make unreasonable demands and threats. I’ll never use emotional blackmail to guilt-trip my children.  Words like one day when I’m gone you’ll wish you had treated me better will never escape my lips. My children should never have to wonder if I love them or not. Love should be oozing from the words that I say to them and the things that I do to or for them.  Even if I spank them or lash out at their offences, they should know it’s coming from a place of love and it’s all for their own good and not my desire to inflict pain. And, yes, I will spank. I believe in not sparing the rod to spoil the child. I don’t care much for the hogwash that corporal punishment has been outlawed.  I didn’t turn out to be this awesome parent by getting away with murder haha!

The pain of childlessness

In most African cultures, for a marriage to subsist, children have to be produced. No sooner has a young couple said I do, than immense pressure begins to mount for them to start procreating. This pressure usually comes from the family the woman married into, but can also stem from the woman’s desire to have children. While some women have no qualms strangling their newborns and flushing them down toilets, millions have sleepless nights yearning for the joy that a baby brings. Susan** finds herself in this desperate situation 12 years into her marriage. Some of the things she shared were very heartbreaking. People are too quick to pass judgement on matters they don’t know about. In her own words, here is the story of her more-than-a-decade long journey trying to conceive: 

“Two and a half years into our marriage and trying hard to conceive, doctors discovered we could never ever have children. According to medical tests, I could fall pregnant, but an urologist dropped the bomb when he declared my husband sterile. There was no sperm whatsoever in his semen and we were told that it would take a miracle for us to have children in our marriage naturally or medically. Regardless of what the urologist said, we have been trying for 12 years, visiting gynaecologists, urologists and homeopathic doctors.

Fortunately, the family has not been a problem. My husband lost his mother long before we got married. Mothers-in-law are known for not being understanding when it comes to these issues. However, his father was very understanding and never had a problem at all. My family has always been supportive and encourages us to continue loving each other and live life. They also encourage us to seek more medical assistance in order to have children one day. They do not even want to hear about divorce or separation over this. 

There are many problems associated with childlessness, such as how you are treated in society and insensitive remarks being thrown at you. When you are childless, the family thinks you have lots of money stashed somewhere in the house or bank. They even say, "What do you use your money for when you do not have children?"  It seems to them those who have children are the only ones with expenses and plans while the childless don't.

Here and there you meet people who think it's your fault as a woman that you do not have children. At some point a lady asked if I had aborted many pregnancies before. According to her, those who abort are always punished by barrenness later in life! She thought she was being sincere, but it broke my heart! Some Christians ask if I pray fervently. According to them no one must suffer such misfortune if they REALLY pray. To them it means the longer we stayed childless, the more it showed we did not pray enough. That is one of the challenges we face when we come face to face with Christians. People say a lot of ignorant stuff. I just answer them, as politely as possible, that the situation is not what they think it is without even going into detail. To my fellow Christians I say, “Let the will of God happen”. You can't really change a made up mind of a person. If a person chooses to judge a situation just five minutes into a conversation, sometimes it's a waste of time to explain the situation. The best is to give a short answer and change the subject very fast. People have a problem of wanting to throw their beliefs and experiences into other people's problems without taking time to understand what is really going on, which in most cases does not help but creates a divide! 

There is an element of being looked down upon when one has no children. You are judged for not having child-rearing experience, so your opinion or feelings on matters relating to children is totally disregarded. Those who have been blessed enough with this gift think it's not your area so stay out!

My relationship with my husband, for the most part, has been wonderful but sometimes we have verbally fought about our situation. Since my husband is the one who is sterile, I have felt he sometimes does not understand my pain of not being a mother. Though I understand he feels the same way also about not being a father, he has made peace with his condition, and I haven’t, and that causes and increases my frustration. Because of the hidden pain and frustration of failing to have our own children, we have resorted to not talking about the situation. We rather carry on as if nothing is happening in order to cope. So we hardly talk about our situation, we have chosen to put a plaster bandage to cover a boil hoping all will be ok. We have suffered moments of resentment towards each other too. We have our fair share of highs and lows because of this problem. I do love my husband so much but there are moments I resent him much. I silently blame him for this entire problem. I wish he could do more to make the pain I feel sometimes go away! I know he feels the pain too but somehow I concentrate on my own pain!

Some cultures encourage secretly conceiving with the husband’s brother. Given that option, I would not agree at all. It would give me a child, yes, but no peace, so I would rather choose peace over a selfish desire. I don't think the brother solution will make things easier at all. It may hurt a lot of people down the road.

Social media makes the situation difficult. We have friends and family giving birth left, right and centre. And rightly so, share their happy moments with us. We are happy for them but it also makes us relive our pain and longing.  It's tough but we pull through. What hurts most more than a new baby picture is that photo showing the joy on my friends’ and family's faces as they take their children to their first day at school. Why? Because you start thinking that if you had conceived around that time (in our 20s) when most of your friends did, you could be enjoying the moment with them too. It's like watching life slip away and have no control whatsoever of what is going on. It feels like you have really lost out in life, a great loss. That hurts! 

Unfortunately we haven't sought counselling because my husband does not believe in bringing outside help into our marriage. Pushing for it makes him shut down so I do not bring family or any professional help. I tried suggesting counselling in order to cope but my husband has some African men traits – they do not believe in counseling, so one tends to suffer in silence.

Currently we are at a deadlock when it comes to artificial insemination and adoption. He does not believe in it and feels taking care of another person’s child is not proper or easy. Even if I desperately want a baby, I have no choice but to continue to live childless for the rest of my life. My husband has told me many times that he no longer wants to try for a baby. He says he does not see a future with children and we must close the chapter and live life but that's too painful to me, I haven't quite actually accepted this whole unfortunate situation. There is also pressure from our tradition; a woman cannot leave her husband because he’s sterile. Women are not even given as much understanding as given to men who marry infertile women and are encouraged to plant their seeds somewhere and not die without children. That can never happen when it comes to women. So most times we "accept" the situation, bury ourselves in prayer or religion in order to cope – well, that is if you do not have the courage like some women to let someone out there be secretly the father of your children. But if discovered, it then becomes a scandal. 

I suffer from depression because of this. I have never been diagnosed but there are those moments when I do not want to do anything, I'm down, sad, not motivated to do anything. I have moments that I close my door and cry till I'm tired. I have moments when I have lost hope and faith. I just slip into a sad depression. It takes everything I have to come out of it. Most times I can't share it with my husband nor show him that I'm going through a tough time. I deal with these moments on my own. I found out that my husband is incapable of compassion, not because that is what he prefers, but it's just not in his nature. He thinks just saying "rest" or "it's the blues, it will get better soon" will make everything alright. 

This situation is not easy at all. It takes everything from you. Sometimes when I really go through my sad moments, I think of having a child with someone else out there, hoping it will finally make me a mother. But having a child with someone out there means cheating on my husband, which is bad on its own.  It also means I have to invest in another relationship apart from this one, maintain them so that they do not cross each other's paths, and that will give me so much work, work I'm not ready to go through at the moment. But truly speaking, that idea comes to my mind sometimes. The fear of being judged as a loose woman, should I choose that route, also comes to mind. Some of these ideas come out of pain but I have managed to stay grounded despite all the craziness.

I'm glad I'm sharing my story in its rawness. I keep on praying for a miracle, if it’s not to be, I pray for peace. Thinking a lot and stressing a lot leads to trouble, so peace within the storm is what I pray for most. When people abort, all I feel is sadness. Coming from a Christian background, of course I look at it as really evil. I wish they could not take that path but at the end of the day it's their choice. But I feel hurt and ask God why he gives to those who do not even want the blessing while I fail to get it.

When one goes through an adversity, a lot of things happen. You do not know how to cope, there is no manual on how to live the situation, all you have is everyday reality that is supposed to be lived and experienced. Sometimes you can't cope and start thinking of ways (good or bad) to numb the pain. Ninety percent of the time I do not tell people that my husband is the one who has the problem. I feel if I tell the whole world the truth, I will emasculate him. I mostly just say nothing or lean towards myself as the one who has the problem.

*Name changed