Growing Up African: The Slippers Chronicle

Growing up in an African home was not just childhood; it was an extreme sport. Not the Olympic kind with gold medals and cheering crowds, but the kind where the only trophy was survival, and the game started the moment you took your first breath.

The rule was simple: don’t trigger your parents. But somehow, as kids, we were born experts at hitting all the buttons we were told not to even look at. Whether by accident or sheer curiosity, we were always one wrong move away from an “episode.”

 

So, what better way to start this nostalgic series than with the legendary Slippers Chronicle? If you grew up in an African household, you already know: the humble slipper was more than footwear. It was a disciplinary device, a homing missile, a badge of parental authority, and above all, it was the symbol of justice. 

I still remember how my mom used to launch her slipper at my brothers without flinching, and with zero warning. Most times, the accuracy with which that slipper would find its target would seem like it had Bluetooth connection and/or facial recognition.

And the moment it hit? She would ask them to bring it back.

Now that part was a trap. A point where obedience and disobedience have the same grave consequences because, If you refuse, you are “adding insult to injury.”  But if you bring it back? Oh, you just volunteered yourself for the next round of beating. Either way, you weren’t escaping that day’s disciplinary sermon.

But let’s be honest, it was never just about the slippers. Our parents didn’t believe in limits, as anything within reach had the potential to become a correctional tool -  the spatula, the belt, the cane, even a nearby plastic chair if the situation called for it, and they wielded each with the speed and precision of a black samurai. If you missed, you just dodged a bullet, even though there will be consequences.

 

What Got You in Trouble? Literally Everything.

➢ Growing up, it was alarmingly easy to offend our parents, oftentimes, unintentionally. Asking “how?” or “why?” after being told to do something was not about getting clarity but a clear act of insubordination. Forgetting to do what you’re asked? Damn! It’s over for you!

➢ African parents didn’t play. And as siblings, you dared not plead on behalf of the offender. That was a guaranteed way of receiving an unsolicited and unwarranted slap. 

➢ The purposeless and regrettable activism of talking back or mumbling or even looking like you were thinking about it, even when your right is denied earns you an episode  (Some parents could punish a thought before it fully matures.)

➢ Sneaking out to play with the neighbors your parents had blacklisted for spiritual or behavioral reasons was a life risking mission. If you're caught, just start saying your last prayers, and if anything happened to you while there, just know you planned your funeral yourself.

➢ Coming back late from errands because you stopped to play. Or worse, your parents got home from work and you weren’t back yet. Just don’t bother coming home. Join a new family.

➢ Attempting to dodge a slap or slipper, or holding the belt/cane they’re using to flog you meant you had been initiated into cultism, and that must be beaten out of you.

➢ If you cry after getting flogged, you'll hear something like, “Oh, so you’re crying? If I hear pim, I’ll give you something to cry about”. Arghhhh, who beats a child and expects him or her not to cry? African parents are geniuses abeg.

 

Now Let’s Talk About the Weapons of Mass Correction

➢ The Slippers - Lightweight, fast, multi-functional, and deadly. With an aerodynamic curve that defied Newton’s laws, slippers were the most trusted tool of domestic justice. They could be launched from the kitchen and hit you in the backyard. (Okay, maybe that’s a bit too much for an exaggeration, but you get the gist.)

➢ The Belt - The classic. Usually leather, and sometimes inherited. It didn’t have to land before you started confessing your sins, even the sins you hadn’t committed yet and of course, apologize in tongues.

➢ The Spatula (a.k.a. Turning Garri/Stick) - Particularly effective when hot, and usually used mid-cooking. You’d think the heat from the eba gave it super speed. I remember the day my mom was making garri and questioning one of my brothers at the same time. He said the wrong thing, and she flung the spatula at him. He was still talking when she followed it up with the kettle. I was too stunned to speak because that was a GBV case but who cares?

➢ The Hand - The most personal tool. A slap so well-timed it could reboot your memory, clear your vision and give you a sense of purpose. Rubbing your face afterwards was a bonus offence. Congratulations on your second slap!

➢ The Eyes - Not a physical weapon, but highly effective. The look from across the church pew could silence a whole choir. You don’t need interpretation, you’ll just get the message. Till today, my mom still has the most elite side-eyes. Different looks for different crimes - she is a professional.

For every offence, our parents had different weapons in their arsenal, and they wielded these weapons with alarming creativity. If the goal isn't to injure you, even if they knock you down with a Mack truck, you will get no bruises

 

Now, the Escape Plans That Never Worked…

We had tactics. They had counter-tactics.

➢ You'd think that crying before they even touched you would evoke pity. They already know it's crocodile tears, which added fuel to the fire. You’d end up crying till you couldn’t breathe.

➢ Pretending to sleep: Cute idea. Until they entered your room at midnight with a slap that says “You think I’ve forgotten?” If you doubt, ask my brothers. Lol

➢ Shouting so the neighbors would intervene: Yes, the neighbors heard. But the doors were locked. Your parents would boldly say, “No worry, I no go kill am. I just wan teach am lesson.”

➢ Apologizing in advance: “Mummy I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again.” Sweet. But justice must still be served. Forgiveness? Yes. Escape? No.

Looking Back Now… We Survived

Now that we’ve grown older and survived the Great Slipper Wars, and the slippers have been retired or downgraded to actual footwear, we can finally laugh and laugh hard.

The things that once made us cry are now the stories we tell at family gatherings. Those dramatic chases, those epic one-liners like, “When you get to your own house, you can do that nonsense,” and those group spankings with cousins or neighbours will remain eternally nostalgic.

Sure, some methods were harsh, and nowadays we’re learning better, healthier ways to raise children. But back then, it was all part of a parenting style forged from love, stress, and sheer vibes. Our parents weren’t trying to scar us. They were trying to raise decent human beings, by any (slipper) means necessary.

 

So here’s to 

The flying slippers.
The gospel according to cane.
The side-eyes that could melt granite.
And the love that came wrapped in shouts, slaps, and surprise lectures.

We lived. We learned. And now?
We laugh. Loudly.

With love, laughter, and healed memories, cheers to all African parents!

 

...Sweet Lilian