The Yummy Mummy Cycle

My earliest memory may have been from toddlerhood, contrary to what the experts say (between 4 and 5 years of age). I remember my mum giving us (my elder brother and I) our multivitamins. I very well remember the yucky smell of the yellowish thick, sticky syrup that contradicted its fruity taste. It was the last drug my mum would give us to flush the bitter taste of the previous ones from our tongues. It was also only because of this drug that we looked forward to our medication time, which happened to be after dinner daily. To catalyse our anticipation, my mum would sing the jingle of the brand commercial and we would sing along with her.  

"Multi, multi, multivite," she would sing as the spoon conveying the medicinal liquid approached our infant mouths. The last syllable usually coincided with the downing of the contents of the spoon. Although, this was no coincidence at all.

Was that why we grew up so healthy and strong? That, in addition to God's grace is more like it. Mum made sure we never missed our immunisation appointments. She saw to it that we took our supplements, which might not have even been necessary because she went out of her way to make us healthy meals.  It was only natural for me to grow into a hands-on, intentional mum like my mum.

Today, my son had his 18-months, Measles II immunisation and as soon as we returned from the hospital, where other women who were once babies themselves brought their own babies, I sat at my computer to write for my blog. 

I hope, someday, my own children would be good parents to their own children  from watching me pay attention to the details of their young lives. For such, indeed, is the cycle of life.

P.S: This blog post is dedicated to my before and after, my mum and my son because it is in between these two, I stand.

*The Plight of H and C* - Ese Lewis

 There is no such thing as joy in hunger, it is like a double edged sword; it strikes at both ends. Being in school is a sweet adventure that thrills my soul. In school, there are no dull moments save when hunger strikes like ASUU, threatens my survival and leaves my human faculties to the mercy of hope.

The hunger strike changes my rhythm and turns my atmosphere sour. I feel its devouring claws in my belly, ripping it apart. I hear its voice in every dirge, and with all its dirty tricks, it leaves my stomach screaming from the faithful fangs of ulcer.

It is strange how such an unseen hand can make one weak. However, there are times I try to beat this belly whipping menace with my own little tricks; with my back pressed against my bed, I would count the ceiling. I could tell each dent in the ceiling as a result of soaked water, then there are these four tiny holes from which water come hurrying down my room. I would literarily feel the texture of the ceiling; its smoothness and every roughness. It is still surprising to me how I could go with this mental ritual, until minutes grow into hours. With time, I forget the sharp pain in my stomach.

When the eyes are clothed in tears, friends sometimes serve as handkerchiefs. Indeed, it is right to say that true friends are like gifts on Christmas day- they make you Merry. In school, my best of friends are Stanley, Goddowell and David. One would ordinarily think that Goddowell and David could pray, given their names, but no.  As a matter of fact, the only time I ever heard them pray was when hunger had its periodic visits, yet, I can say, these friends are a source of food when I am in lack.

Together, we take turns at cooking and we visit each other randomly and it keeps our foodstuffs more than the fated end. I could remember one Saturday, I trekked to Watt just to eat at Goddowell's, but his pot was as lofty as the sahara desert. Gladly, once we started our ceiling count, we heard the sound of Efik music nearby from a burial ceremony. That was our rescue, we dressed and went to the burial ceremony, wept like we were the family members of the deceased, but our rehearsed tears did not prevent us from fulfilling our agenda; we ate to our satisfaction, and in the end, we had our well fed 'aproko paper bag' to go home with. Truly,  "burial rice nai sweet pass".

Just when our second semester examination was about to start, BOOM!!! The Corona Virus struck like our school hunger. We were all happy that our exams would be shifted, but none would have foreseen it to be this long. Presently, I am at home, and instead of being the kid being cared for, I became the father of my parents. You wonder how?

See, my parents are presently unemployed. My dad was one of the victims of the recent First Bank lay off. So, as the eldest child, I had to step into my dad's shoes. Thanks to Corona virus that has, over night, forced me to become a father to my parents.


Thankfully, social media platforms help me conquer boredom. Surprisingly, even my dad who hitherto we hardly saw spend time on his phone, now clings to it as though his life depends on it. My dad is now very active on Twitter and Instagram. As a fact, he now participates in "give aways". So much for our principles when they are tested by the realities of life.

We all have been affected by this pandemic. Whoever says otherwise must be out of this world, perhaps, a visitor from Mercury. Even the gods are affected because their worship places have been empty. The few lucky gods have had their libations restricted.

I could go on with my corona life but I need to step out before the start of curfew, to book 50 odds in Bet9ja. My brother, don't blame me, that's how yours truly survives nowadays

The Wedding Gift

 Moments after our wedding ceremony, our wedding gifts were carted away to my father-in-law’s house where they were temporarily kept because we couldn’t take them with us to the hotel where we were honeymooning. We stayed in the hotel for two weeks after which we both had to go back to work in different locations. I worked in Lagos while my newly minted hubby worked in Calabar. He paid quite a lot to have the gifts transported to our new home. We agreed not to open the presents until they had reached our base because once opened, it may be difficult to repackage some gifts, making transportation even more difficult. Hubby didn’t want to open them without me so even when they reached base, he still wouldn’t open them. I thought that was thoughtful of him.

 The next time I could get off work was a month after the honeymoon. Can you imagine my excitement? I was going HOME for the first time. The last time I visited, I was in his place and space. It was definitely not my home at the time. I jumped on a Calabar-bound plane and in about an hour, I was in the waiting arms of my Angel of Love. He whisked me home, where there was a surprise party to welcome me to my new home. Some very ‘marshmallowy’ things happened when we were left alone after the party so much so that it was only till the next day that we remembered that our wedding gifts were still unopened a month and two weeks after our wedding.

 We prayed on them and began to open. I ‘awwed’ and ‘wowed’ every time hubby opened a parcel and I saw its content. There were lots and lots of Chinaware and glass cups and jugs. There were giant-sized, party coolers that I wondered if I would ever use. There was a pressure cooker, about four blenders, a set of expensive, non-stick pots, three electric jugs, two rice cookers and one electric kettle, a microwave and a three-in-one microwave, oven, and grill.  There were bibles, towels, frying pan sets, Ankara fabrics, etc. Hubby soon pulled out a baby sac, fondly called the name of the giver and smiled.

 “Hmmm…….Blessing,” he laughed.

 She was one of his spiritual daughters whom I barely knew. I giggled softly to mask the fear I was feeling or was it anger? Here I was newly married and someone was already reminding me of having a baby without giving me a chance to enjoy my marriage first. We had agreed to start trying for children between six months to a year after marriage because we wanted some time alone to know each other better as we barely courted. In any case, who gives baby things as a wedding gift, anyway? What would they then give at the baby shower? How did they know if the couple intended to have kids or not? Because of my feminist nature, the gift made me feel that all I was only good enough for was having kids. Ironically, all those kitchen gadgets didn't make me feel that all I was good enough for was cooking because I loved cooking. Hubby had no clue of my feelings as he continued to open the gifts and to call my attention to one or two unusually lovely gift items but I had lost my ‘appetite.’

 Soon, it was six months and time to try for a baby. Six months turned into one year and two years and we were still trying. People began to ask questions. When I met with people I hadn’t seen in a couple of months, I couldn’t help but notice how their eyes were more interested in my stomach than my face when we exchanged pleasantries. Family members who lived in a different city would ask if I was already pregnant whenever we talked on the phone. I stopped calling them altogether. I hated giving them a disappointing, negative answer all the time. My fear of having a child evolved into a fear of not being able to have a child. This made me try harder. The hospital tests, scans, and medications began but they were futile. Some of these tests were not only invasive but painful. Still, they didn’t show that anything was wrong with me. I gave up on medical science and turned to God when we were asked to run a new set of tests that added up to about two hundred thousand naira. One of those tests was the almighty HSG, an extremely painful procedure that checks if one or both your tubes were blocked. If all the tests returned okay, then we would be given the IVF option. If I didn’t know anything, I knew for sure was that my tubes couldn’t be blocked. I called my mum to update her on the new situation of things and she reaffirmed my belief.

“My daughter,” she said, “your tubes cannot be blocked. I just know it as your mum. Besides, you were never a wayward girl.”

 I spoke with a friend and she ‘re-reaffirmed’ my conviction. She even joked by asking, “How can your tubes be blocked? Did you use them as straw to drink tiger-nut drink.” We both laughed about it and I felt a little relieved.

 Finally, I turned to God fully. I was praying while doing all the medicals but now I completely trusted in Him. I knew of a faith-based action of getting an item that represented what you wanted and using it as a point of contact when praying.  I was about to go to a baby shop to pick up something, anything when I remembered the wedding gift that almost angered me two years ago. I ransacked the store where we stashed the gifts away and voila! It was still there. I began lifting it up in prayers long before my mother-in-law called me and instructed me to go and buy a baby item and start praying with it. I smiled and told her I had already done so. There was no use telling her it was a wedding gift I was using. Baby stuff was baby stuff. I remembered praying that the baby blanket would soon become warmed by a baby’s flesh. I also called forth the baby to come and use that which was his or hers.

 The answers were not long in coming. Soon, there was a tiny, warm flesh wrapped up in the baby blanket I was gifted on my wedding day. It has been four years since the wedding and one year since I had the boy. Most of the wedding gifts are no more: broken chinaware, blenders with stuck blades, pressure cooker rendered useless by a missing part, burnt electric jugs, etc., but not only is the blanket still there waiting to wrap another baby or babies, as God would have it, the child that came from God because I used it as a proof of my faith in Him is growing and waxing stronger every day. From my heart, I appreciate all the generous people who gifted me a thing or another during my wedding.  You are incredible! My baby blanket is not the most expensive gift I got for my wedding but it is dear to my heart because of the significant role it has played in my life.