Sparing the rod (1)
My sister-in-law left her two sons in my custody last weekend to attend to some pressing family demands in Abetifi. The boys needed a haircut. Their mother had packed as part of their stuff, their barbering kit. So in the afternoon on Saturday, I sent them to the barber’s.
Advertisement
Three men, a woman, and three romping boys, all toddlers, were in the air-conditioned 20 footer container turned salon when we took our seat in the unoccupied plastic chairs in there. With both ceiling fan and air-conditioner running, the ambience was a cool hide-out from the angry sun. Two men sat before the huge mirror, which span the entire breath of the barber and his assistant’s work point. They were having their turn.
My nephews sat quietly, watching the tattooed hiphop artistes on the music video which was showing, but the three boys? Kai! They were having a field day. And I mention their names and guessed ages in order of ascendancy: King (20months), Junior (4 years) and Samson (6 years).
Samson and Junior were skating in the hairs floating on the floor. I don’t know how many other clients had been there before us, but the unswept hair was quite a lot on the ceramic tiled floor. Junior would call out to Samson, “Sam, I can skate better than you”. Then Sam would slide a bit and respond, “you are a liar. See what I just did”. I felt so disgusted because they were whipping up the hair, some of which were bunched up on the floor.
Their mother sat unperturbed, playing with her phone. As for King, he was busily playing with the giant size barbering catalogue/calendar which occupied about a quarter of one side of the plastic T&G panelled walls of the shop.
In less than no time we heard gbra! King had pulled down the giant catalogue; it had torn mercilessly at it upper sides, rendering it unattractive. The barber turned to see what was going on. So did his assistant. “Oh”, said them both, with a look of surprise. “Madam, you will pay oo. See what your boy has done”.
A grin was all the woman gave. She uttered no word as the barber’s assistant rushed to roll into a scroll, the defaced catalogue. As he tucked it away behind the sofa on which the woman sat she said, “if you don’t push it behind the chair properly he will tear it again oo”. At that moment, I wished I had the right words to say to the mother of three. How could any parent condone such rascality?
Junior and Samson didn’t seem to even notice that their little brother had done anything to earn them (they and their mother), a bad image. Still skating, Junior paused to start dancing to a music video of Chris Brown. Their mother sang along as Samson joined in the break dancing. As she “flowed fans” to her sons, she urged Samson to put in a bit more skills and earn two candies which she brought out of her breast pocket. She felt so proud her toddlers knew and danced to such a song.
I was so astounded at this woman. An expression on the face of the man sitting nearby showed same. We looked on with abhorrence as the boys started spinning on the hair-carpeted floor; every little while, they would somersault. The excited boys made so much noise, I kept wondering why they were so unbridled. And their mother sat unconcerned!
I began to get livid but said nothing. I simply didn’t comprehend why their mother was being so nonchalant. The angry-looking barber said nothing too. Perhaps he didn’t want to lose the cash he would make from them if he drove them away – there are quite a number of barbering shops where I live, and that makes selection from alternatives quite easy.
As the duo “displayed”, King walked and run around the length and breadth of the shop, waving an apron he had pulled from the lined-up hooks on which three other aprons hung. With every wave, he would kind of whip of some hair off the floor.
One of my nephews began to cough. Before I knew, the apron had swept onto the floor, our barbering kit which we had carefully placed on the barber’s table. The whole scenario got me turning into an adrenalin junkie. I snapped! Standing to my feet, I yelled in their direction with a stern “Hey, you lot, come on, find somewhere to sit! What’s wrong with you? Does this place look like a playground to you?”
With fear and trepidation did they quickly find seats to pin down their little butts. They all became steady. But was their mother happy with me? “Hey, hey, hey! Madam, where from this too? Is that why your kids are sitting quietly like stooges? Kids must be allowed to play else they lose their confidence”.
Everyone in there, except she and her kids, were amazed at her reaction. One man whose hairlines were being cleaned with foam dipped in alcohol said sternly to the woman, “if you fail to correct them now, you will regret your actions soon. These are boys, you know?”
“Please, please, please, as I’m sitting here, I am minding my business. I don’t want any trouble with any of you”. Then she lifted her handbag as if to leave the shop.
Little did we know King had climbed onto a swivel chair in the left side corner of the shop. I can’t tell whether he wanted to sit or stand in the chair whose leather upholstery was ripped. Before anyone could say “Jack Robinson”, this little boy in diapers was on the floor, his lips cracked with blood oozing out. It was so pathetic as we all chorused, “oh!”
My instincts, I guess were working in overdrive. Rushing to his side, I lifted him up and handed him over to his mother who was shaking like a leaf. Junior and Samson rushed to be with their mother too and started crying with their brother. The whole development was so distressing. How could a mother sit and watch her sons drive themselves into soreness? In the name of confidence? Agh, I spite her idea of confidence. Why spare the rod to spoil the child?
As she rushed out of the shop with all three, we saw her speed off, through the shop’s glass door, in a black four wheel drive.