African Parents Do Not Apologize
In the heart of Africa, there’s a timeless truth that every African child will regale you with – African parents, they say, are masters at never uttering the word ‘sorry.’ It’s not about pride; it’s a cultural quirk. In their eyes, admitting fault to a child is akin to losing their revered authority.
Yet, beneath this seemingly stern exterior, there lies an unparalleled love for their children. African parents, they’ll scale mountains, endure hunger, or tread the most perilous paths to secure their children’s well-being – a love so profound, words become superfluous.
This enduring belief has been handed down through generations. Even as times change, nearly half of African parents, my father included, remain faithful to this tradition.
Once, my mother broke this unwritten rule. In a moment of anger, she accidentally shattered my power bank. As I attempted to piece it together, she uttered those elusive words: “I’m sorry.” It sent a curious mix of warmth and awkwardness through me.
Interestingly, this trait has passed on to us, the children. Apologies often come veiled in sarcasm. that habit has been passed on to the children. Many Africans cover their apology with sarcasm. What I call a sarcastic apology. One day, I teased my sister about her flat bum. It was the center of all the jokes in the house and she usually laughed in return. That day however, she went to her room silently. I followed her and found her crying. I was stunned, not because she was crying but because I didn’t know what to do.
“Is that really why you’re upset? You take things too seriously,” I teased. Yes, I am an evil person but that just seemed like the right thing to say. After I left, I realized that I didn’t even apologize. But funnily, what I said made her feel better.
However, I have moved past that dynamic and am learning to apologize.
Now, my father, the unapologetic champion, would sooner face a firing squad than apologize. The one time he did say sorry to my mother, she was genuinely alarmed, fearing something dire must be afoot.
Once, after visiting a grieving friend, I returned home late, my parents were already back. Her house was a long distance from ours so even though I left by 6pm, I arrived home late in the night and my parents were already back. In a typical African home, there’s no real curfew. Just come home before your parents and make sure no one reports seeing you in a suspicious place. Even when I tried to explain where I was, he didn’t listen. He accused me of being a prostitute and beat me with a belt. During the process, the buckle detached from the belt and for spoiling his belt, he beat me with a stick.
I am not going to justify his actions nor am I going to call him a monster. In his ignorance, he sought to discipline me.
The next morning when I greeted him, he didn’t even reply. I guess he was angry at me for making him beat me. When he returned, I decided to keep my greetings to myself so as not to piss him off.
The next morning, my father’s silence spoke volumes. To avoid further conflict, I greeted him with caution.
“You won’t greet me?” he questioned sternly.
“Good evening, sir,” I replied tentatively.
“Have you eaten?” he inquired, and I nodded.
“Go boil some water for me and lose that frown,” he ordered.
Believe it or not, in its own peculiar way, that was his apology.
So, in this intricate dance of love and tradition, African parents may never utter those two words, but they’ve woven their devotion into every unspoken gesture, every silent act of care. In the end, it’s a unique and profound way of expressing a love that defies words.
