We had a work retreat recently, the first of its kind since I joined my work place. Among the speakers was a gentleman by the name of Mr. Kgwarae who unraveled some painful truths in a very unfamiliar way. I say this because of the commentaries from the audience, of which I was part, that his unconventional form of motivation made the audience uncomfortable. You would mistake him for a prophet of doom if you were not attentive enough. That aside, he shared some profound truths, albeit painful but at the same time what we needed to hear. They say truth hurts so why not? The hurt will set us free.

Now to the main issue, the man shared a passage of scripture from Proverbs 22:6 that says “train up a child in the way he should go and when he’s old he will not depart from it”. Most of the time this scripture is used to guide parents on how to raise their kids. Mr. Kgwarae, however, introduced a new angle. He revealed that the behaviour of every adult is attributable to the experiences they went through as children. Shocking, right? Right. I imagine I am not the only one at that point who went digging through childhood episodes to explain their current character. Indeed that was confirmed when the comments started rolling in.

A colleague and friend of mine, who like me, is not your average body size shared how she was never her age because of her size. Well, I have paraphrased her as it appeared as if she was speaking on my behalf. As a child, I was taller and heavier than my age mates. For the record, I still am. In a society that is full of stereotypes, I became a subject of ridicule. I have a host of childhood memories in this regard, right from standard one when I overhead other kids in the bathrooms saying they had an old woman for a class mate, to the older men hitting on me when I was about age 10. Now, this was the most traumatic, note I say men and not boys. They would ask my age and when I told them they would openly tell me I was lying. I must have had thick skin because that did not put me down but the thoughts that would follow when I was alone, an innocent child who had no idea what it meant to be asked out. How I would beat myself up thinking I had done something wrong. The pain of having no one to confide in. Wait, I know you are thinking I should have told my mother. You are mistaken because she would have whipped that foolishness out of me without thinking twice. As I said, I survived that and the only way was to devise defensive mechanisms. Mr. Kgwarae was abosuletly right and as he kept chanting ‘train up a…’

One of the defense mechanisms was to lie about my age to my classmates. When I transferred from Gaborone to the rural Serowe, the ridicule worsened. There was a boy who made it his business to correct my age everyday until I adopted his version for the sake of peace, the choice I had to make even before I was a teenager. This boy was two years my senior. I will never know why he started school late. That was probably the reason he was hellbent on making me his age. He needed a mate. I adopted his age right through to senior school. I was tired of people crying ‘liar’ when they couldn’t swallow the truth because of their narrow mindedness. As if in their wisdom they had the right specifications of God’s creation.

It was not just the classmates, once in a while a teacher or some elderly person would remark that I was doing something unexpected of me, yes, because I was ‘older.’ Now I see why, unlike my peers, I did not quite enjoy mantwane. I was ‘older’. I would be a prefect, a head girl at school, I am not too sure if that was on account of my leadership qualities or body size. I’m beginning to suspect it was the latter. Why? I was that child who made noise in class and who wasn’t very on the rules-abiding side of things. I’m that child who would read a novel in a not-so-interesting class and I was often caught. Now does that sound like head girl/role model material? You be the judge.

All this dealt a great blow on my confidence. Not only that, my dress sense was affected as well. I wasn’t challenged in the looks department so I had to ward off men by dressing in the most unattractive of ways. I would also almost always successfully refuse to be sent on errands out of fear of these predators. Thus I had a somewhat skewed perception of men. Those who saw me during my days at university would tell you that I was a lone ranger, I preferred my space, my business. In any case, what was the use of hanging out with people who would pass time by labelling you.

It was until I had an encounter with God in my teens that a new perception was formed. I met a great woman in Dr. Wutawunashe who taught me there was dignity in being a woman. However, the child in me is still very much defensive at any trace of ridicule. I do not tolerate people who boost their self esteem by pulling others down, I experienced enough of that as a child. I am very conscious of that as I raise my beautiful oversized children. Did I mention I hate oppression or any semblance of oppression? That I celebrate my uniqueness? That I have defied peer pressure mostly because society taught me I was different? Therefore do not blame me when I speak my mind or refuse to conform. It is not my fault.

Mr. Kgwarae is right. The Holy book is right. The adult today is just a manifestation of childhood experiences. It could be a heartless leader, a criminal, a bully etc, there is a child in there crying for help. Parents, teachers, leaders, this is an encouragement to ‘train up a..’ How wonderful it would be when as a society the child we raised makes us proud.