i (omotayo suleman) hereby dedicate this short narration of mine to my mum (Modupe Suleman)

Babatunde's eyes glowed with excitement as he blew the flames off the candles on his birthday cake, and the joy I felt was the only kind a mother would feel for a son she had gone through thick and thin to raise. My mind flashed back ten years in time when I conceived him and the circumstances surrounding his delivery and tears of gratitude flowed down my eyes unrestrained.
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The weather that faithful day had been scorching hot and an accident which occurred an hour before had ceased all automobile movement. The worse were the sounds of different automobile horns blaring impatiently and the smell of burning rubber as clutches and brakes were being stamped on with reckless abandon. I was seated on the side walk because the tarmac was emitting so much heat that easily infiltrated the little protection offered by my over worn rubber soled slippers and because all these conditions made life uncomfortable for both of us. God knows that so many times over the last few months I had almost given up hope but the thought of my husband was the only thing that kept me going.

My sweet smiling husband whose bushy mustache and horn rimmed glasses made him look funny and aristocratic at the same time. He who never let the worries of the world dampen his spirit, he who always had a word of encouragement for me whenever I was down, he who…………

My reverie was suddenly disrupted by the incessant demand for "pure water" by the occupants of one of the Luxury buses stuck in the traffic and when I tried to get up from the side walk to compete with the other hawkers I suddenly felt a sharp contraction in my stomach.

Hunched and squinting in pain, I began to count to twenty in the hopes that the pain would abate. But by the count of twenty, when the pain hadn’t abated I began to get worried. Furthermore I was already attracting unnecessary attention from the paranoid Nigerians, who were casting furtive glances my way in preparation to take flight at the first sign of presumed trouble.

I tried to show them that everything was fine by getting up but a stronger contraction hit me in ripples and my lower back began to slowly seize up. It was like the muscles inside were slowly twisting harder and harder and when I couldn't take it any longer, I crumbled to the floor screaming for help. But as expected my cries were ignored as my fellow hawkers took flight and the cars caught in the traffic began honking in panic and desperation.

As contractions after contractions riddled my body with excrutiating pain, I began to wonder if this was how it was going to end. I began to wonder that life wouldn't be fair if after all I had gone through to keep this pregnancy, I ended up losing it by the sidewalk for the whole world to see. And just when I began to succumb to the unavoidable feeling of hopelessness and despair, I felt hands probe me as a female voice shouted that my water had broken.

And so began the horrid task of searching for an hospital that would agree to admit me without asking for any financial form of commitment on my part. The doctor at the first hospital took one look at my contorted body and rejected me and so did the next two hospitals till I was finally admitted into the general hospital. By this time I was in so much pain that I was desperately wishing for deaths embrace.

Adekunle who had already been contacted, came as I was being wheeled in for delivery. He assured me that everything was going to be fine and that he would be here with me throughout.

God knows that those words were part of what gave me the energy I needed to survive the hell I went through.

The first sign that something was amiss came when the doctor said that the baby had its arm up over its head and they had to manually move it, before he then later realized that it was the umbilical cord that was wrapped around its neck. So after seven excruciating hours of painful pushing and having me in every position imaginable, it was soon discovered that my baby was now stuck in the birth canal and they therefore had to perform an emergency cesarean section.

Half an hour later, I was losing so much blood like a gutted pig, delirious and slowly slipping away that the doctor began to worry for my well being. I remembered howling at my husband in accusation, I remembered blaming him for my present predicament, I remember telling him that I was so sorry because I couldn't do it and I remembered the smile he gave me before he patiently reminded me of how we had lost two through miscarriages and how we had so wanted this child badly. I remembered him holding my hands and appealing to me to be strong. I remember the soothing words he offered me. I also remember that despite the pain, he almost made me laugh at the jokes he cracked and just before I slipped away, he kissed me on the forehead and promised me he would never let anything happen to me or our baby.

I woke up fourteen hours later to find Adekunle by my side and the first thing I asked for was my baby. He held my hand and told me that it was a boy and he was in an incubator. He also said that the baby was a miracle because upon delivery he was blue and hadn't been breathing till oxygen was given to him.

Adekunle told me that I gave them quite a scare when I lost consciousness and the doctor couldn't get a pulse from me for almost half an hour. He said that upon my revival he had to donate blood for me quickly because of the large amount I had lost.

I stayed in the hospital for two weeks because of mine and the baby's critical condition. I don't know how Adekunle managed to pay the fees because I knew things were very hard for him but he did and I'll forever remain grateful to him.
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Still trapped with the ghost of my past, Babatunde suddenly squeaked incoherently in joy, and I looked up to see that the reason for his joy was the entrance of Adekunle who had a package under his arm. Babatunde didn’t give him a chance as he was already all over him in excitement, gesturing if the package was his and my joy grew in threefolds because the two people I loved the most were here with me.

More tears streamed down my eyes as I watched Babatunde blunder around showing off to his peers the gift my twin brother Adekunle bought for him. It hurts so bad that he reminds me so much of his father who had died seven months prior to his birth and at the same time I am so happy that I at least have a part of him in our son. It was also the reason I named him "Babatunde" which in Yoruba means "Father returns".

Now that God has smiled on us and things have gotten better because from hawking sachet water in traffic, I now own shops, I made a promise to myself again that I would do everything within my power to raise him like every other normal child despite his limitations.

We first noticed something was wrong when at age three he could only manage to say a few words and couldn't make complete statements. Then he started school and couldn't keep up with his peers academically. After several visits to the doctor he was diagnosed of having Cerebral Hypoxic injuries as a result of the cut off of oxygen to his brain during delivery.

I was devastated, heartbroken and shattered by the news but I loved him all the more because he is special in his own way too. I see the beauty in him even if his brain has probably been damaged beyond repair and he reminds me so much of his late father who has so far kept his promise to watch over us. Above all he is my flesh, my sweat, my heart, my blood and my beloved child.



If you really enjoyed my write-up, you should go give ya mama a light kiss