We stand a big risk of our kids losing a very ghanamanosyncractic trait which has been passed on to us from generation to generation. An attribute so inbuilt it is like our skin. A key aspect of our upbringing, one that is not necessarily taught but which young ones pick up from adults by the most natural and effective ways of learning: observation.
Growing up, one would see an older brother or sister take time, like a professional surgeon, to evaluate the best ways to approach it, and then to step-by-step execute it with surgical precision. The tools for the job were always available, and when they were not, we improved.
I watch these days as my children ignore this and I ask myself if I have failed as a parent, as an elder, as a trainer.
I go to the kitchen and I find that my kids have left the bones uncracked, the marrow intact and the flesh in all the crevices to go to waste. And I shout ‘Buei! Adieɛ ayɛ me o!’
That joy of picking a tapoli when the teeth have failed to crack the stubborn walls surrounding the bone marrow…or, when a tapoli is not available, picking up a stone and getting to work, sometimes sitting on the floor, oblivious of all that was taking place around you, cracking that bone carefully, so not to disturb the microscopic lattice of the bone marrow and then….and then…when all the laid bare, to sit back and suck that marrow in…
This epitome of joy, this love-affair with a juicy bone, this happiness, must not be allowed to go into the dustbin of history.
Nsempiisms, my mouth has fallen.