Chapter Two
(The Urge)
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| What was more disturbing to note is the fact that my dad treated me as one with a plague. |
Puberty brought with it certain daily demands, sexual arousal was
one of the daily rites. I was afraid to walk the streets during the day without
tight underwear we referred to as "Paiint"
in the Nigerian Pigin language, because of the bulge inside my
shorts due to an erection. Other times I had to hold down my erected male organ
through one of my pockets to weigh down the bulge.
I was scared of what people
may say, I was trying to avoid a scene or be laughed at, many times the penile
erection defied my thoughts and reasoning, the only answer would then be the
brute force of my hands pinching it (self-inflicted pain) to restore it back to
equilibrium. This crisis was not necessarily aided by the input of my thoughts;
it just happens without my permission leaving me to solve the puzzle of how to
turn “It” off.
Why doesn't my private part respond to me as all other parts of my
body? I would walk through the often crowded streets sweating, streams that run
down my armpit down my pocketed hand, while I pray, “God make it stop.”
Sunny days was quite an
ordeal, I try not to allow blood flow down to my penis, which I discovered was the
mystery behind an erection in my biology class years later. Sunny days had a
pact with my genital; I believed that a metaphysical force was behind my
erection on sunny days. Frankly, I neither know there was a price in turning an
adult nor the stage I was currently undergoing is called Puberty. Nobody
prepared me for the challenges of puberty, for the bodily changes and the
feelings that nested in my heart.
None of my siblings knew of my plight, maybe because I was the
first male child, the third in the family tree. My mum, she was supposed
to know everything. Once upon a time she could sense emotions of any of us with
precision but during my journey into adult she went numb, like she meant to say,
"Here on, you've got to figure it on your own." It was not only
absurd but ridiculous that on my own I would discuss my erection palaver with mom, so I didn’t consider approaching her not even once.
Though, I wished in my
silence she would by her wisdom figure out what was going on within me but she
never did and I stopped hoping she would. Those days I knew loneliness in our
one room apartment and loneliness knew me too well. Those were the days the
brownish white ceiling of our one room apartment was my companion, friend and
confidant.
Years into my adult I later discovered that Mom was depressed
during those years, in the early stages of my puberty mom wanted to give up on
her marriage.
She was tired of contending with the two demons that hung over our
Ghetto neighbourhood and her marriage, Poverty and dad’s Infidelity.
But she hid her inner struggles so well we never knew back then.
Sigh… Humph!
How do you explain having an erection when you are sleeping on the
mat amongst your siblings, among three females and my brother?
When we all woke up same time in the morning and dad hurried us out
of the room or face his wrath, only to discover, as the norm with males in the
morning that you woke up with an erection.
It was such mornings that I looked into the sky and wonder why God
decided to make me male. For years, I wished I was born female.
One morning, I woke up with whitish stains on the pelvic region of
my trousers, right below the location of my zip. I couldn't explain how it got
there. I trembled to be frank as I walked from the room to embrace the early
morning sun.
I came face to face with a neighbour (male), he looked down on my
trousers with the whitish spots obvious. It was too late to hide. I guess it
was something familiar to him because of the way he stared below my waist
region.
Like a felon before the judge I stopped walking, blocking his
path. I greeted him and paused. My heart beat had increased almost immediately
when he also stopped directly opposite me, he was observing the whitish spots
on my trousers from where he stood. A few steps tore us apart as a referee
separates opponents in the boxing ring. Suddenly, he spoke,
"What stained your trousers down there?"
I answered with a bit of indifference and a shyness that might
have been in admittance of guilt,
"I don't know! Maybe stains while eating, I drank pap
yesterday." I lied.
But almost immediately he refuted my claim, "This is not
pap!" The next phrase from his lips was the first time I would hear it,
yet the words possessed a force that nearly knocked me down for reasons I
cannot tell.
"This is Sperm!" he asserted.
His face carried an expression to something extremely disgusting
like the uncertainty of the word itself.
I frowned at his look almost immediately; I felt a mix of anger
and resentment towards him because sperm or whatever came out of my body could
disgust him so much he carried such facial expression.
I walked away from him
without a reply carrying a look of indifference, he watched me go, and he
forged ahead without uttering any more word. But that word he spoke lay
retentive in my mind.
I took great courage to approach and explain to my parents about the
short encounter with the neighbour.
My dad examined the spots as though I was a lab rat housing
dangerous antigens. My mum stood next to him like a rookie beside a detective
at a crime scene. I was motionless and speechless, shy and anxious.
I moved about a fixed point only when the strong and firm hands of
my hands ordered me to turn.
After five to eight minutes, both (dad and mum) didn't give any
explanation or a suggestion after their examination. No! Not a single word from
my parents.
"Mr Kazeem said it is sperm." I said, to break the
silence and to get my parents to speak to me.
If by some means I could hear my parents tell me, “You are not
abnormal, its OK son. It is natural. You are going through puberty that’s all. We
will guide you through it and help you find answers, the courage and strength
you’ll need.”
Rather Mum burst out, "Don't mind that ‘Yeye’ man, he talks
dirty."
I felt her annoyance at the neighbour, probably because he had broken
the truth to me bluntly.
"Go take your bath and wash your trousers" dad dismissed
me.
“But get me a bowl of water and a bar of soap to wash my hands
first.”
His last statement made my intestine burn as though someone
spilled molten lava on it.
“He didn’t even touch the spot, for heaven’s sake why did he need
to wash his hands? Washing his hands with water is one thing, but using soap…
do I disgust him that much?”
I screamed out loud somewhere in the private space of my mind. I
left the room banging the door a little too hard on my exit.
I got angry with my mum but especially with my dad who obviously
had a clue but wasn't going to be swayed to say a thing.
Perhaps the neighbour was kind to me and even did me a favour in
approaching me than the cruel of my dad's deliberate silence.
What was more disturbing to note is the fact that my dad treated me
as one with a plague. A plague so dangerous it requires the help of a bar soap
to be safe after close contact.
What caused the whitish stains on my trousers? Why should I wash
my trousers and why was the neighbour disgusted? Why did dad wash his hands
because he touched me? Does dad intend to trick me into believing nothing
happened by remaining silent?
What is a sperm? How does it come from one's genitals? What does
it look like? What is its importance? Does it have anything to do with my constant
erection? Is it connected with the dream I had overnight?
My anger turned into frustration and my frustration turned into curiosity;
I intend from then to know whatever is wrong or happening to me.
My parents were hiding something from me and I want to know what
it is.
But beyond that I had an unquenchable craving to give expression
to that urge that pumps blood into very of my veins, which made my heart beat
ten times faster, especially after yester night’s dream that feeling had
intensified. I later got to know dear diary that what I felt
had a name… My new friends told me, it is known as libido.
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