I watched them run to and fro, looking for means to power the generator. There was power failure and She was in the throes of labour. I could hear her gasp and breathe, moan and cry, I could hear everything. There was nothing I could do even though I wanted nothing but to help, to be there, to hold her hands, tell her she could do it and that everything would be fine. Mum hurried passed me, holding a comfit pad in one hand and mucus extractor in the other. She suddenly stopped when she noticed me standing, unsure of what to do, of what role to play.
"Why don't you go inside?" She said, shooting me a look which indicated that she knew what I was thinking.
"Please can I watch? Maybe from the window or through a crack on the door?" I asked knowing it was a futile attempt.
"You can't. Just go to your room and sleep"
She stepped into the maternity as we call it over here and shut the door behind her. She had been in the business of helping women bring life to the world for so many years and now, she was the head midwife at the maternity. She was really good at it, my mother.
I traced my steps back to my room, the sound of pain and the soothing voice of my mother slowly receding with every step. I removed my wrapper and crawled under the mosquito net which did not only shield me from the mosquitoes but also partially shielded me from the harmattan cold.
Just as sleep placed gentle fingers on my eyelids, her voice claimed by pain, filled my ears—my room was right next to the maternity. I heard the midwives' muffled voices as her wails reverberated throughout the small structure. I shivered on my bed, my skin suddenly clammy with sweat, flushed with heat, tiny hairs standing on their toes all over my body. My heart wrenched, my palm clenched and unclenched as she groaned and grunted, moaned and breathed like it was dying not birthing that was going on.
I held my throbbing head and said an incoherent prayer on our behalf. My hand went to my throbbing heart and lingered there for a moment. I shut my eyes tight, and then for no reason, my restless hand slide down to my aching nipple and touched it, causing memories of him to cruise through my mind. My mind scrolled through my memories as it poured open in torrential waves.
I lingered on those warm nights when he had squeezed my breasts and made me moan in uncontrollable pleasure. I clung to those afternoons when he had wet these aching, longing nipples with his tongue, teased them with his teeth and suckled them hungrily with his lips. I caressed the memories of those times when I held on to his head, pressing them further into my bosom as he made waves and waves of pleasure course through my being—those times... So this is what loneliness and heartache means?
I was jerked out of my inner roamings with a strong kick from the little one. Oh I forgot to tell you. One of those warm nights, he had sown his seed inside me.
On that bed, I listened to my own voice, my own wails coming out of her lips even as she grunted endlessly, trying to usher a life into this world. I felt the kick again, this time stronger, making me wince in pain.
"Hey little one..." I heard myself saying. "Are you as nervous as I am right now? Should I read you a story?" I paused like one waiting for a reply but it only kicked with added vigour. "Honey, don't worry, you will be fine okay? We will both be fine" I reassured myself, robbing my abdomen gently and smiling as it somersaulted over and over again in its little haven.
How I wished he was here too. How I wished I could roll over into his arms like I used to, back then. How I wished he would kiss my forehead and tell me I was going to do fine and that he would never by me through it all. Wishes were never going to be horses anyway, so I shifted away from those thoughts before I washed my face in tears yet again.
"Praise God!" I heard a sudden outburst of joy from the other room followed by the crying of a baby.
"Alleluia" I couldn't stop myself from replying. I was overjoyed at the voice of that new born. I was strengthened. Yes! We were going to be fine. Someday, I would no longer be alone, I will have a little one in my arms. My own, my very own who will place me first and look up to me. Someday, we will step out into the world again but will there be a place for us? Will there be someone waiting for us? What will be our fate?
About the author:
Amaka Ophelia is a creative writer, blogger and a teacher from the Eastern part of Nigeria. Due to financial difficulties, she had been forced to quit writing but it still remains her passion.
Photo Credit: Amaka's photo was taken from her facebook account
EMPOWERMENT PLAN:
As a writer, Amaka needs a computer, a phone as well as internet connection. All her contributions' sbd payout will be gathered and sent to her at the end of the month of June. With that she can start on her journey to independence as well as find a home on steemit.
I will open am account for her in the middle of the next month and gradually bring her on the platform. I beg you to support her with upvotes, resteems and comments. Thank you.
