Now let me live!

The cry of a single first-time mum

She is no longer the neighbourhood virgin. She is neither married nor employed. But now she has a baby. She wants no favours, but she wants to live! Will you let her?

Why on earth would a man who courted you, seduced you and made you pregnant suddenly ask, ‘what do you think we should do?’ I am pondering on this as I lie in the labour ward. I am in pain, but not as much as I am in torment, thinking about this man—my boyfriend—with whom quarrels over my pregnancy have become the routine.

‘Madam, please let me examine you.’ says the nurse. I think. ‘Okay, you go ahead and examine his baby.’ I swallow bitterly and the contractions return with the force of a vengeful warrior, as though the baby has heard my silent curses and is giving me a piece of his mind.

As the contraction reaches its excruciating peak I blurt out. ‘Your daddy is a fool!’ Much to the bewilderment of the nurse attending to me. Maybe she has never had a baby, I think to myself. That is why she’s surprised by my behaviour. ‘Have you ever had a baby?’ I ask her. ‘What?’ she almost collapses. ’Do you have a baby?’ I repeat, this time a bit louder. Some of the mothers in the ward look towards me in disbelief. The nurse smiles, wryly I think, and says. ‘Not at all’.

They are merciless and shameless

That’s the difference, I tell myself. Each one of us is different and unique in our own ways. My tribulations are mine and are only trapped within my very self. If I were to die now no one would know what I am thinking about. And it would matter no more. Even when I share my troubles with others, they are still mine. Hear what a friend told me when I narrated to her how the father of my baby bolted after I got pregnant. ‘What will you do now?’ she asked me. It’s that simple: it’s my problem and I must provide myself with the solution! She just listened: that’s what friends are for — learning from you and leaving you alone to do something about your issues! ‘What will I do?!’ I shouted at the nurse.

‘Calm down,’ she said. ‘You are progressing well; you are now four centimetres dilated’. I guess she thought I was talking about my labour. ‘You know,’ I told her, ‘this world is full of monsters.’ She looked pensively at me as if drilling into my tired brain for details. These monsters maul and destroy others. They are merciless and shameless. Oh, the pain!’ Another contraction was coming to tear me apart.

I felt like I was pushing out my boyfriend from my system

One hour later, the nurse pushed my bed into the delivery room. She wore a grim face as if fearing for my wellbeing. Soon I was being urged to push. Suddenly I saw the face of my boyfriend blocking my mind. His captivating smile. His agile posture. A beautiful camouflage to his real, hostile self. I felt revolted and thought for the umpteenth time: THIS IS HIS BABY. With all my might I pushed the baby out. I felt like I was pushing my boyfriend out of my system and did not spare any energy. ‘Congratulations, that was fast!’ commented the doctor at the speed with which the baby was expelled from my body.

When I agreed to get intimate with my boyfriend, I never dreamt I would end up with a fatherless baby on my lap. I had not planned to have a baby in the first place, but he reassured me that if it happened ‘we would know what to do about that.’ The mistake I made was not seeking the details, and assuming that he loved me—nay, he actually made me believe so—and would be my future husband. Now I see clearly that he had actually never said such a thing!

The baby was a bit lighter than the father and me

As I held my new baby in my arms I think to myself. ‘You light-skinned little angel!’ Yes, the baby was a bit lighter than the father and me. He reminded me of a friend who gave birth to a light-skinned baby boy a while ago. The boyfriend simply said. ‘This baby is too light-skinned, he cannot be mine!’ He left her. I can bet from the depression she ended up in, and from my private conversations with her that she had never been with another man. ‘Whose son are you?’ I mused with a smile at my own baby.

I was moved to the maternity ward. It was four in the morning. By lunch time the next day. I was looking out in earnest for visitors. My mum arrived first as I expected. She found me trying to breastfeed the baby. She was clutching a paper bag, from which she removed a thermos flask and some bananas. ‘Did you have any problems?’ she asked me, looking down directly into my eyes in a pitiful glare.

I burst into tears! ‘Now why are you crying you silly girl?’ I asked myself. ‘Mum, the baby won’t suckle,’ I explained to her. ‘I want to go home!’ But that was not it. I knew deep in my heart where the tears were coming from. He did not come to see his baby. All along I had been hoping he would show up. I had sent him a text message at around nine in the morning saying. ‘We have a beautiful baby boy.’ He had replied. ’Ok.’ Just imagine! What exactly are some men made of?

‘How did you get pregnant?’

My two sisters came to see me that evening. I could see the curiosity on my kid sister’s face. She was thirteen and must have been wondering, ‘how did you get pregnant?’

The next day a few more visitors came. But this was nothing compared to the lady next to me who seemed to have summoned her entire clan! Maybe it is the in-laws. I said to myself. Who gets more excited about a newborn than your in-laws? Without in-laws who else would visit you besides your mum and a few close relatives? Let’s not talk about Dad. He is a very pissed off man after his daughter got a baby out of wedlock. Or my elder brother who must be thinking. ’Now she is stuck with us and will probably want some inheritance.’

That was not my pre-occupation however. I was by now wondering to myself: where will bread come from? Where will I live? Who will ever marry me?

As I was discharged from hospital. I knew the one thing I needed most—fewer questions and frowns, more peace and lots of love, and assistance from my friends and family. As my uncle dropped me off at my mother’s house, I uttered aloud; ‘Please, friends and family, I have made my mistakes. Now let me live!’

END: PG 05/48-49