From Boyhood to Manhood: Pursuing fatherhood as manhood

THE past year had been dry and hunger was harassing every country dweller. Cattle were thin and malnourished. Wells were slowly drying up and pools muddy. Winds swept across the parched fields lifting dust into the air, forming clouds that choked the freshness of air. As the winds subsided, a serene environment replaced the chaos left by the trail of wind.

Suddenly, white, wispy and fluffy webs adorned the bright sky. Soon they formed a dense blanket that began to darken and frown at the ground. As they moved close to each other, a blaze of forked lightning replaced the covering of darkness. Thunder bellowed across the village sending vibrations of hope to the villagers who were eagerly waiting for the rain.

Boys quickly drove cattle to their kraals, pigs to their pens as women in the dry fields sprinted towards their homes. The booze parties were closed as the smell of rain gave the hope for renewed life. The bullfrog croaked in anticipation of the refreshing season. The rain bird had been filling the air with the “wip-wip-weeu” song in the past few days. As the thunder rumbled, the hearts of villagers were overjoyed.

As every being and beast waited in expectancy, an easterly wind stole their hope. It violently swept away the promising wet blanket above them throwing it into the western horizon, leaving them exposed to the infuriated sun. What might have been was now a dream.

When I got married, I had the hope that I would be a father. However, according to societal standards, my marriage became clouds with no rain. The pursuit of fatherhood became four things to me.

The harrowing halt

I was excited that I was married. My wife and I made a possible list of names for our children. However, seeing myself in front of a doctor who broke the news of the impracticality of having a child broke my heart. A tonne of boulders fell on the progress of my life. I describe that eventuality as a harrowing halt. I am pleased that while it was meant to break me, it built me into a lone male voice in the African desert that says, “marriage is complete even without children.”

The worthless walk

The mirage effect that hits the thirsty desert traveller is an undeniable experience in my journey. The inconclusiveness of the infertility restoration exercise makes it a worthless walk. What others have tried with minimal energy seems to demand more energy on my part. Looking at the whole thing, the pursuit of being a father becomes a worthless walk that not only drains financially but socially, psychologically and emotionally.

The pain that pastors

In my work as a pastor, I encounter a series of loss reminders. The most disturbing is the child dedication ceremony. This is a service when newly born children are brought to the church and I am supposed to pronounce a blessing. Conducting it is not only a serious trigger that eats into my inner core, ringing a bell that I am not a father, but makes me to pastor in pain. While lost in liturgy, hidden soreness would be continuously stinging me. Having discovered that I would have to live with such tokens of lost manliness in my work, I have chosen Henri Nouwen’s classical image of pastoral care called the wounded healer. I must bandage my wounds by dressing the lacerations of others.

The shame of sharing

Going public about my situation as a childless man has not gone without scorn and ridicule. So sensitive is the issue of infertility that men are not expected to be talking about it. The taboo, humiliation, the stigma and shame associated with it makes it “holy ground.” To further compound the problem, as a pastor, it is expected that I should not have problems. Among the questions I have received, these are common, “How can you lead the sheep to God when you are wounded?”; “If you as a pastor are crying, what do we do as your members?”; “You are a man of God, why do you reduce yourself like that?”.

If you are reading this and have challenges in your life that make you feel less of a man, remember you are not defined by what you don’t have. You can use what you don’t have as a tool for bettering the lives of others passing through similar situations.

Sikhumbuzo Dube is a pastor, chaplain, counsellor and founder of Shunem Care, a ministry to the involuntarily childless and emotionally wounded people. He has published several articles on spiritual care, mental health, chaplaincy and involuntary childlessness.