I delivered him, there was nothing more I wanted
than to hold him and say “That’s my baby.”
He was in my mother’s arms. She looked at him
lovingly and said, “He looks like a girl,” and then
she smiled. Her smiles warmed my heart knowing
she had finally come to accept the fact that her
seventeen-year-old girl now has a baby.
It wasn’t easy with my mom when she found out
that I was pregnant. I was in senior high school
and about to complete. My boyfriend, the one who
got me pregnant had completed senior high a year
before. We were young, wild and free.
We thought we were on top of the world until that
moment when the world came down on me. My
mom sacked me from the house and asked me to
go and live with whoever got me pregnant. It made
matters worse when I refused to mention the
name of the one responsible for the pregnancy. I
loved him and wanted to protect him from my
mother’s fury.
Hard as she tried, I didn’t mention his name. She
threw me out. I went to live with an aunt who took
me in on humanitarian grounds.
I don’t know what happened but in my fourth
months of pregnancy, my mother came for me and
took me home. She treated me very well and
didn’t even ask who the father was again.
My mother made it clear to me from day one of
delivery that though I was the one who birthed the
child, she was the one going to own the child. She
said, “I’m going to be the mother of this boy so
you can continue your education. From now on,
he’s your junior brother until you complete your
education and can afford to live together with him
as a mother and child.”
More than everything, I wanted to go back to
school and complete. My dream was to become a
lawyer and I didn’t allow childbirth to come
between me and my dreams. My mom kept my
child, sorry, my ‘brother’ and I went back to
school. She even relocated to a far off place just
to have freedom of mind to raise her grandchild
and also be able to keep people’s nose out of our
business.
The father of the boy cut ties with me. He was
scared I was going to mention his name at some
point to put his future in jeopardy. Later, he got
the opportunity to visit his uncle in the United
States and decided to stay for good. We lost
touch.
That didn’t get to me. My child was in great hands
and I had a peaceful mind to study.
After senior high, I had an admission to the
university. I couldn’t get the chance to read law
but that was ok for me. Anytime I went back
home, the boy had grown some inches taller.
By the time I completed university, he was almost
a little man. He was six going to seven. Anytime
he referred to me as a sister and called my mom
mother, I died a little. I wanted him to know I’m
the mother. I was dying to let him know but I had
to respect the agreement with my mom.
After my national service, I had a job, rented a
place and started living on my own. Just about the
time I was making arrangement to bring the boy in
to live with me, mom died.
Two things got me broken about my mom’s
demise. One, I’d lost a companion who had been
with me through thick and thin. Two, I needed my
mom to break the news to the boy. I needed her
to be the one to say it. That would have made
things easier.
But she died with the message and I had to live
with a son who referred to me as a sister. I
wanted to tell him but I lacked the courage to do
it. One day he asked me, “How come we don’t
have a father. All my friends have one except us.”
If I had the courage, that day should have been the
day I told him everything but I didn’t. I was so
embarrassed and didn’t know where to start. I
only hugged him and said, “We have a father but
he traveled. One day he will come for us.” I cried
a little. Silent tears that dried up quickly. I
regretted everything.
Recently, I found the father on Facebook. He’s
quite a man now. He sounded happy to have
found me. I was thankful he was alive. After a
long conversation, he asked, “So how’s our son
doing?”
I answered, “We don’t have a son. I lost him.” He
responded, “Ahh! That’s why your parents didn’t
bother to look for me, right?”
I guess he was happy to know he didn’t have a
son after all. But that didn’t bother me. My only
problem was how I would gather the courage one
day and tell this boy the truth. I’m waiting until
he’s fifteen or sixteen or seventeen or…
Well, let’s see how it goes. One day, definitely I
would tell him the truth. I hope he will forgive me,
I hope he will understand. I hope he will finally
call me mom.
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