I am not against censorship for children. I think parents must be careful about what their children are exposed to especially in this time and age when sexuality ooze from all orifices—and the media does not help matters much. The contents of the Media which, is often solicited, as slowly morphed into home-delivered pornography in the guise of liberty of expression. Now radios blare lewd and explicit innuendoes and picture that best cuts the result is that a five year old singing to her uncle, with appropriate body wiggles, Tu-face’s Flex, it’s time to have sex, flex…
There are no two ways to say pathetic. And sympathy would not cure the danger the child is exposed to, for the child is not only endangered, he or she becomes a danger to him or herself. Much as parents review what their children are exposed too, at a critical stage their efforts are thwarted especially when a child gets into school, or any similar arrangement of its kind.
When my nephew was enrolled at a day-care, he started bringing abusive phrases like “bitch”, ambiguous cuss words like Oloriburuku—Just imagine!—home to the utmost surprise of his parents. But little could be done about this because much as some parents try hard to censor what their children are exposed too, some parents are lax in their (in)actions and the school, a meeting place, un-achieves parental efforts by and by.
At this stage very little can be done. Sex education could be employed but with extreme tactics and care. The parents would have to ensure a painstaking re-education of their children at regular intervals to purge them of both peer and societal mis-education. This might thrive in the early ages but the divide teenage years herald can be disastrous. The confidence of parents at this age becomes dubious to the young adolescents who are wont to lean on peers in his quest for propriety and social acceptance.
The adolescent, in defiance to his parent’s instructions, does exactly the opposite of what he or she is told at home. He listens to what the media proffers him; he thinks that rap music is hip; that it’s cool to “sag” his trousers below his gluteal cleft; that it’s absolutely cool to make female friends, in spite the parents’ admonitions in the favour of his academics. Terry-G with his dyed air and his habitual love for marijuana adopts the adolescent has a nephew with televised ease. And his avuncular instructions are obtainable from the lewd lyrics the adolescent pitches in the bathroom, in the unabashed company of his nakedness. And the impact, the sexually awakening that result could leave dire consequences.
It’s not that I don’t like Terry-G. I find his music and production skills top-notch perhaps that is why his status is an enviable one in the Nigeria Hip-pop Scene where he governs and churn out his brand of music to meet unsolicited record sales and massive radio play. Terry-G is easily Nigeria’s Lil Wayne in acoustic delivery and, I think, the only person that stumps his chances as Nigeria’s Producer Laureate is Don “Baba” Jay.
His art is impressive, and replete with the controversy that distinguishes any proponent of an art form. Artists have the tendency to become social dissenters, breaking norms and crossing mores with the liberty that their fame affords them, but I, as an individual, can separate the man and his works. I can assess his music without being perturbed by his life-style, love for extravagance and exuberance. I can enjoy his music, strip it of all authorial labels and relish it as an art form, even though it does not particularly fall in the category of higher arts.
But my little nephew cannot. He is not aware of the marked difference between the honeyed voice that brands a typical Nigeria girl, “Tile-Tile” and the reprobate who bears a bohemian haircut and basks in fumes of cannabis. So he would think calling a girl “Tile” or “Omo-Ele” is cool amongst many other sexually- implicit innuendoes obtainable from Terry-G’s, nay most Nigerian musicians lyrics. Soon he would ask his peers what Terry-G is smoking, and when they call it Mary. J, he would be obliged to attempt it. Like all inquisitive individuals, he is inclined to experiment. Now what I ask myself is who is to be blamed? The Bible says teach your child in a way of the lord so that he would depart from it. But I think again: the didactic role of parent is inherently inadequate, in the light of several opinions posited earlier. However I have resolved that whenever I am around my nephew and am urged to sing AY.com’s pass me your love, I would stifle the desire, hide my tongue under my palate and in my best tenor lisp the first few words of Panam Percy Paul’s Bring down your Glory—Lord, we are sorry.
