Wambui Otieno Mbugua – ‘I am a woman in all respects’

The beauty is still evident. Her fair complexion has an indication of maturity. The hair is coloured and trimmed to a subtle elderly fashion. The bling-bling on her ears and neck says this woman cares about her looks. The cold is kept away by a burgundy jersey. Then there is the respectful dress that goes under her knees, but not too low to cover her brown comfortable-looking trendy shoes. Wambui talks about motherhood in her time…

No sooner does she get into the room where the young expectant ladies are adorning make-up for the Pregnant photo-shoot, than she can hardly take her eyes off them. There is a silent knowing of what the girls are feeling. And having a recap of her experience would be very ecstatic.

It is humbling to see that her political ardour has not replaced her motherhood mystic. So, ‘I love babies,’ is her favorite punctuation in a voice edged with familiarity, as she narrates her episodes to the women coming aboard.

Her first time was euphoric. Feeling the baby move inside was something she closely associated to heaven. That was in 1955 when she was only 20. And the last of that awesome experience was in 1970. She tells more.

Detention

‘Being the political big mouth that I have been saw me thrown into Lamu Island for confinement with my first three children. It was crazy—to say the least. My husband was away in India pursuing some political education. And here I was stashed into incarceration with a bunch of women who vowed that they were ready to die and leave a boy and a girl who would regenerate Kenya—just as long as the white man got his foot off our heads. So, grappling with missing my gentlemanly sweetheart, not knowing whether I would ever see my other beloved family members, recuperating from a rape incident in the camp, and making do with poor nutrition. I made an effort to give my babies the superlative in the somewhat-hazardous campsite. My women folk came in handy—I still appreciate. Otherwise, my first born, then 4-years-old was my right hand person.

As if that was not enough…

My fourth delivery was a breech. It happened in Pumwani, the only Maternity hospital then. For some reason, there was neither a doctor nor a qualified nurse at the time of admission, save for a trainee, Naomi. After hours and hours of vain labouring, it was a relief to learn that my baby was finally making her way out. But the concern shot to another level when her pretty feet showed up first!

This, surely, was not fair. Life had just become better. I mean, I was finally home from ‘hell’, and hubby was back. I was glad to have fallen pregnant—the landmark of my ‘second life’ and had played with lovely movements of the other soul in me—and then the breech!’

Breech birth

According to www.wikipedia.org. if oxygen deprivation is prolonged, it may cause permanent neurological damage or death, a condition common with breech births. Injury to the brain and skull may occur due to the rapid passage of the baby’s head through the mother’s pelvis. This causes rapid decompression of the baby’s head. This sudden compression and decompression in what is a breech birth may cause no problems at all. but it can injure the brain.

She continues. ‘Now, you know I am tenacious in my political ventures. That is the same spirit that ran through my veins even as I was faced with this anomaly. I have no apology for my relentless attitude. Otherwise, I may have lost my fourth child,’ she states, ‘my mind is packed with possibilities. It either works out or it works out! So. that, coupled with the fervent prayer of Naomi, the trainee nurse, my 12 pound baby was out—legs first. My baby did not cry. and that almost gave my heart a break. But bless the incubator invention. After my fatigued angel was settled in the device and infused with oxygen, she let out the most beautiful cry.

I eventually began sinking into a depression

But going over the probabilities of breeches (explained above). I became overly sensitive to her whereabouts. For some reason, every condition she went through was magnified to power a million. And I eventually began sinking into a depression. The thought of putting food into my mouth would send tears gushing down my face.

It is interesting that I am an iron woman, an Amazon, and definite die hard when it comes to tough and elaborate issues like politics: but a hopeless wreck when it comes to people close to my heart. I never understand where tons of tears come from. Funny. Even giants cry.

Husband

Nothing was more reassuring than a supporting husband— especially when I was an emotional pile. S.M. was a good man. When my world with the babies became a dark hole, like after my fourth baby, he made all the difference. “Just tell me what you want. If it is within my power, you will have it right here by evening.” he soothed.

My baby is now an all grown, fiddle-fit woman. She is married, given me awesome grandchildren and is a key contributor to the development of this nation.

The seventh

By the time I did my seventh, I was a veteran. I had just realized that two of my children were coming down with smallpox fever, when my labour began. I rushed them to hospital and back home, where I arranged my baby-layette and set for the maternity. My bouncing baby girl came 30 minutes thereafter.

The two deliveries that followed this one were effortless as well.

Back then

Childbearing seemed easier. The expectant mothers worked so hard that there was no need for Lamaze or a gym.
Most of them were home-makers and thus did not need nannies.
And the woman next door was always available. The women would pool into the new-born’s home and make sure that the new mother was well attended to: chores, soup, njahi and the like would be availed.

Breast Feeding

It was a joy. There was no question about it. We breastfed our babies, exclusively, for six months. It was after this that we would introduce the baby to tinned milk. Then the brand was Cow&Gate. It was so good: I used to eat it.

Fashion

It was the big frocks. Flowers all over and a ribbon at the chest completed the attire. The more the freedom within, the better.

I do not have pictures of the same because then it was not prestigious to be expectant. Pregnancy was purely for the baby. I actually like the way it is now. There is no shame about the bump. If anything, pregnancy tells everyone you are feminine. Hiding it is simply overworking yourself.

However, you cannot have your cake and eat it. I see lots of fastened breasts to emphasize a cleavage. My concern is the medical implication. What I know is that tight tops tamper with the breast tissues thus exposing the mother to health risks that may in turn deny the baby ideal nutrition.

Counsel
My days were definitely easier, but I find it in order to embrace evolution. Current young mothers have a lot in their hands—work, school, traffic, business trips among others. This explains why the nanny issue is very important.

The least I can say is please please please, employ a nanny above 18 and if you can afford it, one with proper training. It has been quite heart-rending to see mothers leave their babies with young teenagers, and come back to find what I cannot afford to mention. True, our third world country’s bigger fraction is still wallowing in poverty and ignorance, but your baby deserves the best.

I see that day-care centres are bound to be on the rise. May the Government see to it, that they are safe havens for the sake of the posterity.

Projections

I did not make any over my children. I simply grew with them. Sometimes it amazes me who they are today. It has always been one day after another—right from day one. Feed, clean, nurse, play, talk, discipline, sleep and wake up to the routine.

Currently

My children are all independent individuals, practical in the true sense of the word. They love their mother, each in their own way.

Parting Shot

You are the genius of your own body and soul. Take motherhood in your stride.

My mother did it 16 times. She is still strong at 108 years: the same old strict mother who scolds when I am negligent, and who is also my bosom buddy—we talk for hours on end.’

Winding Up

It is a bit difficult to leave. It has been real bonding with the girls and the bidding is crowded with endless ‘so longs’. I believe the departure is strained mainly by what was not said. The beauty of pregnancy is beyond words.

Back in the car, Wambui smiles, mumbling, ‘I wish I could get a baby now…’ Mbugua, her husband, who Wambui says is etched from the material of goodness, cannot help but smile at that.

END: PG 16/15-17