Agnes Mwangi: ‘I pledge on my honour, that I will do my best…’

I used to admire the Rangers in high school. I would drool over their immaculate and unique uniforms at their articulate parading when raising the flag, and at their tactfully rolled sleeping bags placed besides their well stuffed bags, waiting for the school van to drop them at the camping site.

But that was something I could only covet. The air around this club was too sophisticated for people like me who hailed from unknown villages.’

It was the ‘who’s who’ club for the ‘super confident’ and the drop-dead gorgeous. But barely a year after my A levels in 1984, I was living my desire. I joined the Girl-guide team in the school I was posted to teach. Since then, there has been no looking back.

Making it better, I got married to James, a man who supported me to the knuckles. We stayed in separate towns. At one time he came over and found that I was out camping.

He found his way to the campsite. Hubby-wifey affair was left at the entrance of the grounds. It became a boy-scout-girl-guide scenario, him and the boys, the girls and 1. By the time we were riding back to our other life, our bodies were slouched on the van’s seats beaten with healthy fatigue; and the air alive with Lord Baden Powell’s jargon.

I got pregnant soon after that, I was shocked, almost beyond composure. I was only 22 and earning KES 1, 110/-before tax. My hubby’s salary was not any different from mine. So I was preparing to go back to school to be in a position to earn something that would comfortably accommodate a third party. And then this.

I sadly broke the unsettling news to my husband, whose response I found quite bizarre. He punched a ‘Yes!’ into the air, totally oblivious of my panic. The rest of our family members echoed his reaction and dished out more support than we expected. My confusion gently began diffusing into thin air, and soon I was a blissfully pregnant woman.

Oh potatoes…
I could not do without potatoes. Just seeing them displayed in the market would have my digestive juices running. Not even the doctor’s reprimanding against my big starch intake would keep me away from these tubers. Another interesting thing is that my appetite never dropped, even when I had morning sickness. No wonder my babies weighed 4kg, 3.7kg and 3.5kg respectively.

72 hours of labour
The routine was: I get the spasms, my hubby and I grab the layette bag and dash to hospital, and we pace up and down the corridors with other expectant women. I then hopelessly watch my fellow labourers get into the delivery room and wobble to their ward beds, envying how their eyes hardly leave their cherubic newborns. My admiration is then cut short by another spasm. You would see me time and again shuffling to the delivery room begging to be ridden of my situation. But the dear nurses would wave me away saying, ‘Hasa! Netigetie netigetie. Coka na othie na bere gothie.’ (No. Not yet, not yet. Go back and keep walking.) Until day three, when the doctors would be convinced that induction was the only way out.

The third time this happened, my husband said he had had it with the crazy anxiety that came of our endless pacing, and the agony I was going through. He said no more babies if that was going to cost him ME.

First born
The first sight of my awesome baby boy, James, shoved the rigorous labour experience from my mind. And I went about the usual motherhood ritual of breast-feeding, bathing, feeding, playing, clinic and all, until some time in his sixth month, when my neighbour told me that my baby was not fine. We took the next matatu to the health center, where my baby was given a bottle of water and I was told to continuously feed him on it as he was severely dehydrated. He was coming down with pneumonia too, a situation too complicated for them, thus having them refer us to the divisional hospital.

The case was again beyond the divisional hospital and off we were to the district hospital. But our journey was decelerated when my friend realised we had a bigger issue because the baby looked so still. When we got checking, the worst stared us back in the face, and saw us heading for the morgue instead of the casualty wing. It was very traumatizing to say the least. Our families came around us until we regained composure. I then tacked myself back in school and, very slowly, life became normal again.

Second born
Eight years later, I was again heavy with child, this time with all my guards up. I was not going to allow sheer ignorance take another of my assets. My pre-natals were followed to the letter and I was all over my baby, Dennis, thereafter. What with warm clothing, being at his attention when he made the slightest tweak in the night, giving him his daily water portion and the like. My mother-in-law took it to another level. When she came over, the first thing she would do was take off all of his clothes and closely study him. That done she would make sure that the supply of goat-head soup with bitter herbs never ran out. My house was alive with Dos and Don’ts. And when she had to be away, she appointed someone to make sure that I downed the awful soup filled in a 2kgs tin she left beside my bed by close of day. I must have hated her guts, right? Wrong. With my prior loss, you can be sure I LOVED every bit of it. Any effort to erase the grim repercussions of ignorance was more than welcome.

Last born
Aquilline was the whistle blower. Like I said, her showing up was not very different from the other two crazy labour that made my hubby say, ‘ENOUGH.’’ However, this time there was less tension, making raising her generally easier.

House-helps
It was a ‘trial-and-error-and-God-help-me’ affair. Being based in the rural areas, I could only get young ayahs below 12 years to help out. The mature ones liked to work in big towns. This meant I had another child. One time I found my baby and my ‘other child’ playing with mud and, unbelievable as it may sound, giggling away, as the older one fed the younger one with the un-mentionable—the mud. Such episodes would make me fish for an older house-help. But, more-often-than-not, this one would fall prey to the young male teachers in the compound and my babies would be left lonely.

Another time I came home at 5pm to find no one. When it reached 7pm and my house-help was still at large, the school organised for search parties to no avail. My house-help and son casually walked in at 9pm happily giving greetings from a relative they were from visiting 10kms away. Honestly, she had no idea about the horror she had caused, since her responsibility—my child, was ‘well taken care of’.

These explain why I had to keep dashing to the house in between class periods to fix things. You can imagine the quality of learning my students were sometimes getting. Many times things at home would go so awry that I had to assign my students exercises to work on, while I was away putting my house back to order.

Dreams
This is a new concept. We lived in the ‘here and now’. In the event that the baby added weight, teethed, took the first step, we shouted about it and simply waited for the next milestone. But I am a blessed woman to have Dennis and Aquilline, who have taken up after the joy of serving the people; the baseline for the Scouting movement. And the motto ‘Be prepared’ is an active principle in our home, which seems to be making our days more and more comfortable.

For the young woman
I have a few young friends who have vowed never to give birth. One, because they are hesitant of getting trapped in uneventful marriages, and two, they can’t see themselves going through the unpleasant details of pregnancy. I promise that pregnancy is a unique process which brings out the exceptionality of womanhood. Come labour, the pain is forgotten as soon as you hear that first sweet wail.

Concern
The tight clothes I see young expectant women in. If you picture your child’s little arm being hindered to make that graceful back-stroke by your trousers waist-band, you will have that outfit go sailing out of your wardrobe. Let your wardrobe say, ‘I love my baby’s swimming!’

Last but most important, may you not be caught in the ignorance that cost me so much. If you are a first time mum, have a ‘Been There’ woman close by, attend your clinics religiously, eat well and breast-feed like there’s a gun on your head. Then monitor the baby’s temperature— among others. Talk about your pregnancy, it will make you feel nice. Go ahead and look good. And say ‘I pledge on my honour, that I will do my best, to do my duty as a mother…’

END: PG24/12-14