Here’s the perfect gift for men in your life this month of love
Happy family. Vulnerability in men is often concealed in exclusive, shadowed corners.
What you need to know:
- The day before my father passed away, I sat by his bedside in hospital, listening to his frail voice insisting he was fine, that he wasn't even sick.
- As I reflected on his death recently, I realised the depth of his suffering went unacknowledged; I had never really asked him about how he felt.
The day before my father passed away, I sat by his bedside in hospital, listening to his frail voice insisting he was fine, that he wasn't even sick.
Despite the evidence of his failing health, I nodded along, determined to hold back my tears.
At 19, I had enough wisdom to understand that his desire to project strength outweighed anything else at that moment. Hours later, he was gone.
Also read: The gift that counts
As I reflected on his death recently, I realised the depth of his suffering went unacknowledged. I had never really asked him about how he felt.
What we mistook for stubbornness when he resisted hospitalisation was, in retrospect, a struggle against vulnerability—an admission of frailty society deemed unacceptable in men.
I couldn't help but wonder about the conversations we might have had if I had encouraged him to open up about his pain.
It dawned on me that men often bury their pain and struggles deep within, only allowing them to surface under the influence of alcohol or when pushed to breaking point, perhaps because they are so conditioned to hide their “weakness” that they struggle to let their guard down when needed to.
Reading renowned columnist Jackson Biko’s work of fiction, Let Me Call You Back, triggered some of these thoughts.
In Kenya, the phrase "let me call you back" may not always be a commitment but a subtle way to sidestep an unwanted conversation, perhaps one involving owed money.
In the book, the protagonist, Samora, grapples with a significant secret from his wife and a growing list of debtors, making the likelihood of him returning a call seem quite slim.
Samora's downward spiral begins with losing his cushy engineering job, a significant blow to a man balancing fatherhood and marriage to a corporate-type wife.
In Biko's portrayal, the news of Samora's layoff squats between him and the incompetent human resources manager like a naked sumo wrestler.
He compares Samora's job search to fishing in a rock quarry and describes his unravelling marriage as going "tits up".
While fictional, Samora embodies a familiar archetype in his choice to hide his struggles from his wife—our fathers, brothers, bosses, husbands, and, sometimes, ourselves.
The distinction between those who rebound and those who falter often boils down to communication—engaging not only in surface-level chatter (about football, for example) but delving into the vulnerable recesses of their hearts and minds.
Also read: To gift or not to gift?
In a world where vulnerability in men is often concealed in exclusive, shadowed corners, perhaps the most precious gift women can give the men in their lives this month of love is the opportunity to express themselves openly.
It could be as simple as asking how they are and then attentively listening not only to their words but also to what remains unspoken. This, to me, seems to be a meaningful place to begin.
The writer comments on social and gender topics (@FaithOneya; [email protected]).
