My friend, Mr. Okuchu Kuchu, a Nigerian Diaspora, is a very wise man. And I have drunk a lot from his deep well of wisdom and knowledge.
Many moons ago, Mr. Okuchu Kuchuâ€™s son, who had turned 17, began going south, behavior-wise. The lad would come home in the wee hours of the night and did not want to be asked to account for his long absence.
The lad was so daring he would bring home his girlfriend and the two randy teens would be heard in the boyâ€™s bedroom giggling in a manner likely to suggest they were in the process of knowing each other, euphemistically speaking.
You could have seen the boy walking with all the majesty of a King in another manâ€™s kingdom; that of his father.
The young lad did not even care that his mother was ailing from chronic arthritis that needed constant care. Besides, there were other younger siblings who looked up on their elder brother to show them the way.
Talking to the boy did not yield any mangoes. Smacking him was out of the question. He had already called the police on his father when he was 13 years after a little kichapo.
After that episode, social workers would visit the house unannounced to find out if the father was abusing the boy. They would open the fridge to see if the family had enough stock. They would visit the school and inquire from the teachers if they noticed anything amiss with the boy or his siblings.
It was life in hell for two years for the family. One would be forgiven for thinking that the system is responsible for the unruliness of children huku majuu. But that is debate for another day.
Mr. Okuchu Kuchu tried all he could, he even called in an elder from his home town to talk some sense to the boy. But all the words fell on deaf ears. He aptly and on their faces told them off, that they were old fashioned traditional men from Africa who had no idea how the modern life wanted.
My friend Mr. Okuchu Kuchu hatched a plan with his wife. The best option was to ship the young lad back to Africa and leave him in one of the most orderly and no-nonsense Catholic schools in Nigeria.
And so one summer the whole family boarded the plane to Abuja. Three weeks later, the rest of the family came back to the States minus the indisciplined 17 year old.
Suffice to say, that decision probably save the son. Today, he is a high-flying Civil Engineer who traverses the globe working in the Oil industry.
That brings me back to the original issue, would you as a parent of an indisciplined teen, boy or girl, gather enough courage to send them to Kenya?
I have a few friends who have done exactly that. And no one should say that it is cruel. A casual look at the juvenile system in the USA will show you a disproportionate population of black kids languishing in jail.
It is said that the American jails and prisons have more black men than the total population of black men in colleges and universities.
Need I tell you of the news about police profiling of young black men across the land? Cases abound of young black men who have been killed by trigger-happy policemen in different places.
If sending the indisciplined young man back to Kenya will be the only option left, go ahead. Send them to Murangâ€™a High School, or Pioneer School. Ten years from today, the young man, or girl, will thank you.
By Mzee Moja | firstname.lastname@example.org