Birth of Naija Baby

I think I remember when it all started, don’t ask me how because I don’t know. To give you a clue, I’m talking of the acts of …hmmm that the old man and old lady perpetrated. They will later blame God for being the only being involved in bringing good old me to earth and forcing me into mum’s belly.

Hey don’t even go there, don’t go all moralistic on me now, that’s what produced you and them grown ups over there who think so well of themselves that they’re too blind to see; really stupid of them. Well that’s it for them, that’s all I can give them; they are not part of this esteemed discussion of future book-wrecked minds.

Before that unsavoury interlude, we were really talking about the nine month’s prelude to the moment when we all come out screaming in our first fear. Another unsavoury topic for some people but delightful to those involved.

Now back to that precarious moment- sudden bright lights, cold air, then I had squeezed my eyes shut denying the unknown my cries increasing in intensity as another being’s cries died down. I realised I had come out from in between that being’s legs and that I was supposed to call her mum in the future. Someone gripped the pipe-like connection to her with some metallic clamps. Ouch! A pair of scissors came in between us and pronto, I was I her arms.

hmmm...popsy, momsy think am....this na shortcut to american citizenship. adopt me!!!!

Well that was straightforward and I was lucky; the silent limp ones had to end up being suctioned with a tube down their nose, and also had to endure the harsh pummels and thumps of the midwives to knock off the dancing baron cemetery’s sickle that hugged their chest. For some it starts and ends there, for others you would finally hear a cry of mixed with anger and relief. I grabbed my mother, opened my eyes and cooed, grateful that I wasn’t in the WWE (world wrestling) stuff with the deadbeat matrons. She smiled, I grinned back like I meant it. A reciprocating nipple was shoved into my mouth and it squirted fluid nectar. I think that was the precise moment I fell in love for the first time and really meant my smiles. I sucked, grabbed and grappled with what was not mine. The old man standing by her side, peering into my face didn’t seem too happy so I relaxed a bit. ‘Easy boy’ I said to myself, ‘for the future you won’t want to start making enemies this early’.

But aren’t I supposed to be special for now? Damn it, I continued sucking greedily despite the pained look on his face.

I was hungry, the man should relax, he should be glad that he has a son not girl that will walk away with other men and still carry more babies. Ugh! God, I nearly choked, the man’s wicked thump was supposed to be an affectionate pat. The disgruntled element was using delay tactics and political acts of calumny on me. It was then I learnt to politick. I just opened my mouth and wailed like a really upset baby. It worked because she frowned and shooed him away. I happily returned to my feeding. He he he (laughter)…

mum! see dad staring. he jealous!

Suddenly someone with a gloved hand in blue hospital scrubs took me away and told my mother to rest. I cried and cried but she just leaned back and smiled. ‘Mum can’t you see? It’s a coup d’état’ I wailed.  I tried to grab her and missed. I was dropped in a cot, looking up at the most furrowed and crumpled female face I have ever seen in my short existence and come to think of it she was only intent on wearing on a diaper for me and dressing me. Guess the night traffic was heavy and she wanted to get her job done. That not withstanding she was a stupid moron, hadn’t she heard of mother and child bonding in her whole medical career. Jeez, my feelings were hurt, I was being marginalized.

hey nurse! yeah, i'm talking to you...where the heck is my vodka?

Come to think of it (considering how I ended up emotionally retarded and mentally pitiless), if I could, I would have sued for damages. He he he (laughter)… it’s all politics.

But on a serious note I loved my mother… and I’ll end with a poem dedicated to all women.

 The Rebirth

My molded clay trashes

through it every day, soaking

in its every way, taking

in wisdom’s liquid viscous gray.

Suddenly its mystical bubble’s ready to be bust,

Squishy-squashy goo the colour of rust,

when it ruptures which it must,

Truth will then rush in with a gust.

Now down through that tunnel of sublime care,

must withstand the muscle spasms at my rear,

pains that made Mother push something dear

to come out crying with her, my first and last tears for fear.

Rud Frost, December 2010.