#longingforthemdays

My three-year old niece is reading a book called 'Not Now Bernard'
In that book, Bernard’s Mum and Dad never have time for him. Whenever Bernard asks a question, or seems like he is about to ask a question, his parents say, “Not now Bernard.” His mother is cleaning, cooking and washing dishes. His father is lounging in front of the TV. Eventually, Bernard walks out into the back garden and the Monster, who is waiting there, gobbles him up. Then the Monster walks into the house, and the minute Bernard’s father hears footsteps come into the living room, he shouts, “Not now Bernard!”, without even turning his head to see who's there.

That story got me thinking. First and foremost, this is not like the story books we write in Africa. The book tells the story of a society where parents no longer have time for their children and the important things in their lives. These parents never have time for their only child- they are too busy doing the things they felt matter to them. Washing dishes and watching TV.

Today we have all sorts of digital equipment- phones, iPads, iPods, computers- and the Internet. Jokes have been told, cartoons have been drawn about how children are 'manufactured' today. Mum on computer, Dad on phone. Both gadgets are connected to a printer from where the baby comes. No conversations at the dinner table. Kids feel it is their inherent right to own these gadgets, even if they don’t have the money to maintain them. And because the parents do not have time for them, then the whole fabric of the family unit is lost. And it has crept into Africa, making us lose that tight bond that we have always had. The proverbial bond that made us sit around the fire telling stories, and singing folk songs like "Nsangi, Nsangi mwana wange." Oh!

That is the reason I long for so many things, even the ones I see in the videos, because the world has changed so much.

I long for the days when our mothers told us stories about Waguleddene and Wakayima and Wanjovu.

I long for the days when the air was clean, when no buveeras clogged the drains and when there was so much space to play and having a compound in your home meant having a HUGE COMPOUND.

I long for the days when my parents took us out for dinner, when every Sunday afternoon meant we would jump into Daddy's Mini Minor and drive miles, out into the countryside, to the hills where the air was so clean and fresh, and he carried us high up on his shoulders and the strong winds threatened to blow us off.

I long for the days when the Kabaka ruled and women wore busuutis, and men wore kanzus. When women knelt down in humility to greet, when nobody worried about mini skirts, and trousers that hung around the knees.

I long for the days when weddings were cheap and fun. When you didn't have to be forced to contribute to someone’s union, when there were no endless messages about boring meetings. When getting married meant choosing a partner for life, when you could entertain your guests with popcorn and cups of tea, and didn't have to break the bank to give them things they would never appreciate anyway.

I long for the days when the cars in town were few and people didn't have to sit for hours in traffic jams looking worried about reaching work late, and about bosses who would send them packing. When the fuel was cheap, and when having a car didn't mean having the latest model, but as long as it could get you to your destination was all that mattered.

I long for the days when you could wear your hair natural and look so amazing, and not have to look for money to braid it, and not have to worry about spending hours and hours chemicalizing, moisturizing and not have anyone criticizing because you were all the same.

I long for the days when food was food, and not genetically modified organisms; when you ate chicken and tasted chicken, when ice-cream and chocolate did not make women worry that they would grow fat, and when soda was drunk only on Christmas and New Year's Day.

I long for the days when Christmas meant new clothes and shoes, when the day started with a grand church service and hymns of old were sung; when you skipped back home and Mummy let you wear your new clothes for the rest of the day; when steamed matooke never smelt so good, and when you are till your stomach felt like a tight drum.

I long for the days when music was music, when Abba and Boney M ruled the airwaves and we sang along to everything as we jumped and danced on the dining table holding a wooden cooking spoon for a microphone; when we had exercise books filled with lyrics of all Michael Jackson's and Lionel Richie's songs, when going to the club meant being on your feet the whole night.

But I can only long for those days. Those days were so good.