Yesterday, I was playing the game of Jenga with my niece, and boy did I beat her! Well, there's no reason why I'd allow a ten-year-old child to beat me because I want her to feel good. She had earlier said she'd win the game effortlessly as she was calm and thought on her feet. I did not argue with her but proceeded to win at every slight opportunity.
The first tower, I built myself and the game proceeded to last about two minutes before it came crashing down as she tried to pull a block from the side of the tower. I let out a satisfying scream while she began sulking, I could see the tears streaming down her face. Then she started shouting like a sore loser, telling everyone how I built the tower myself and only knew the firm blocks from loose/wavering blocks. I decided to indulge her further by allowing her to build the next tower for our next round. Just as I envisioned it, it took less than a minute for the tower to crash. More satisfying? it fell on her turn, I could not hide my excitement. She surrendered, went to the dining to eat lunch, and never spoke about our game. Today my niece asked me in a calm voice over breakfast, "Why did the tower keep falling in my turn?". In my head, I thought miscalculation since she was still very young. However, I did not know an outright answer but it made me think about what happened one year ago today.
December 28 was a wonderful day, with the harmattan wind blowing through the window, and my mom packing her bags for travel. Then a fracas developed in the master's bedroom just as I was about to start doing dishes in the kitchen. I decided to intervene since they were quarreling noisily and I did not want the neighbors to find out about their quarrel. However, the quarrel soon turned into a fight and I was disgusted that adults would fight over a bathing soap. I spoke to them in my calm but firm voice, while rallying around my siblings to speak to both parties. My cousin walked into the room, informing me that all the doors were locked, including the gate. At this point, my mom's bags are in the living room, she's confused about whether to unpack or continue the travel - the gate is still locked. I called both parties, still smiling about the possibility of a fracas because of bathing soap. I asked who owned the soap and that it be returned to the owner. I was met with both parties claiming ownership - I guess this is the point Solomon was considered full of knowledge because I did not know how to navigate this, especially as I knew who the soap belonged to.
When I asked calmly that the soap be returned, it turned into a full fight. Never have I seen an individual so full of rage. Armed with a machete, he proceeded to swing the cutlass so I ran as fast as I could. I stopped to realize that I wasn't the reason he swung the machete because he continued chasing his prey until she fell. Then came my brother with a stick to form a wedge against the blow of the machete and it became a sword fight. I remember it just like yesterday as the machete hit his knee and fingers as it smashed his bone revealing his knee bone and tendon as blood gushed from his visibly open wounds. My life reflected before me and I immediately froze, only to be awakened by screams and finally, he opened the gate. I ran to call for help and thus began a long journey of pain, suffering, and healing.
Now, I understand why my niece's turn kept falling from the tower. She did not keep stability in mind when pulling the blocks. This was how my blocks fell too. In Jenga, if you eliminate a block from the left side, place it at the top of the tower on the right side. Likewise, a block from the bottom right should go to the top left. Your goal should not be to build the tallest Jenga tower, but instead the most stable tower. If you see it leaning, place your block on the opposite side to regain balance.
Who is supposed to make sure a family is "stable"? How do you arrange blocks (family members), to keep a stable tower (family)? Where's your family's center of gravity? This is one year of anger, resentment, and hopelessness but I'm fine, big girls don't cry.