I wished I was white.

Warning: This blog post contains stereotypes, read at own discretion.

When I was a kid, I wished I was white. Especially when I was in trouble. All the white kids I saw on TV, had it good. They set the dog on fire and all the mother does is send them to their room, “Kyle, you’ve been a very bad boy. Very bad, go to your room and think about what you’ve done.” 

In a black African household, you don’t want to get sent to your room. You don’t want to go to the sitting room, the living room, the bathroom, any room. You don’t want to go into a structure with four walls, and a door, a door that can be locked. Heck no! Are you trying to commit suicide?

You don’t want to go to your room. You want to go outside. Go outside, stand next to the fence, and say hi to the neighbours. Greet Mr Nekundi, Mrs Nekundi, their daughter Iyaloo and your best friend Shapata, you’ll even greet the dog. If your mom wants to smack you, she’ll have to come and get you. But not before she greets Mr Nekundi, and Mrs Nekundi, and their kids, and their dog. Before long she and Mrs Nekundi will be discussing Tupperware, and church. Once her attention shifts, that’s your perfect opportunity to slip away to safety.

In an African household, especially a household of the Aawambo, you don’t want to get sent to your room. You’ll be making things easy. Wambo parents will beat you, they will beat to what seems to be an inch of your life, until the disciplining stops and you realise, and you’re still alive. A Wambo mother will use the fact that she brought you into this world, to make you realise that she can also take you out of it, with just one beating. The great thing with Wambo parents is that they like closed doors affairs, you’ll rarely be smacked in public. You can throw a tantrum in the shop, the mother won’t mind, because she knows she’ll get you at home. Also because publicly smacking a kid is child abuse, but smacking the kid at home is discipline.

When I was a kid, I wished I was white, until I grew up. I then realised that white people grow up and have life problems. OCD, ADD, PhD, anxiety, insomnia, and all sorts of funny disorders. They get depressed, then they go to therapy, and have to talk about their feelings. That doesn’t happen in a Wambo household, warso? 

“Kuuvite nawa. Kanona ngweye, ino lunduka tuu!” Depressed. You child, don’t throw tantrums! Toughen up!

Do I still want to be white? No. I am okay being light brown. Sure, I didn’t get a car for my 21^st birthday, and my parents didn’t get me a flat for my graduation present. But I’m okay with that.