Alayonmbere - The Gecko

Chapter 5

"Yes, you're old enough now," Mama says, letting out a sigh. "I was waiting for you to grow up before telling you the things I'm about to say. But now that you've refused to eat, there can't be a better time."

Mama squints, glancing into the distance. "You weren't a normal child coming to this world." She starts slowly, tapping her tummy, her face distorting. I've never seen my mother looking so horrible.

"After several miscarriages, I had you in my womb for three sad years. I lost count of the number of times I went into labour. When other women returned from the hospital carrying their bundles of joy. You –" she pokes a finger into my face, shouting. "You just won't come out of my belly!"

Mama stands up and begins to pace around the room, her face fixed on the floor as she measures her strides. "Your father and I lived in Wasimi at the time, a township close to Abeokuta. He travelled to Lagos often because he worked there, but he returned home to assist me the week I was due for delivery. He even took a three-week leave to make sure I was okay. We were glad our first child was coming, after the worst nine months of our lives."

Mama pauses and shakes her head. "But no, you served us a dummy – you weren't coming. The labour lasted several days in the hospital until they asked us to leave. The doctor wouldn't even recommend an operation, our pregnancy was unusual, he said, asking us to look elsewhere."

Mama begins to wet sniff where she stands, trembling as the tragic experience brings back old feelings.

I lift off the chair, move closer to spur her on. How does a mother carry her pregnancy for three years? Tales of my birth sounds interesting and fascinating even if awful.

Mama doesn't need my prodding before she continues. "Your father was confused. He had to return to work, otherwise, they would sack him. But he couldn't leave his wife in that pitiable condition. He so badly wanted to welcome his child into the world."

"Did Papa stay?" I ask impatiently.

"Yes, Akin stayed back, damning the consequences. Why should he be working when his wife was halfway between life and death? How would he defend himself if the worst happened? Indeed, it got worse. I went into labour again and again, countless times, in different public hospitals, but we always returned home without a baby. You refused to leave my belly. The few friends I had ran away, saying I was carrying an abnormal pregnancy, a strange baby."

My head drops but I remain standing, listening fervently. Was I an unusual baby? Am I an abnormal person? Is this why I hardly fall ill? Questions begin to form in my mind about my strange habits: my fascination with television and gazing at the sky; my love for drinking water; my loathing for wall geckos.

Mama fights back tears, but still continues her tale of woes. "Six months after I was due for delivery, that is after carrying my pregnancy for fifteen months, the problem took a horrible turn. The pains I felt became unbearable. Everyday headache. Neck and back pains. Vomiting and nausea. Irritations of all kinds. I couldn't eat or drink. To stand was a problem. To sit was forbidden. I lay on the bed most times, overthinking."

"Depression was my partner. Despair, a friend which dined with me day and night. I drank from the cup of hopelessness, slept on the same bed with agony. Suffering queued up on the seams of my clothes. Hovering around me was ill-luck. I thought of you as an imp, one sent to quench the strong bond your father and I shared. One sent to destroy our existence. I thought of you as the changeling who had nothing good to offer but misery."

"But whenever my thoughts became sorrowful, you kicked every day announcing to us that you were a normal child. You wanted to come out and live a decent life, but the water did not break for fifteen months, twenty months, thirty months. It became intolerable, strange."

I look on, legs quivering, as Mama infects me with her narrations which makes me feel like a leaf dangling from an isolated Acacia tree during Harmattan. What is water breaking? I feel like asking, but my lips stay mute.

"Neighbours said we were cursed. Wasimi residents wanted nothing to do with us. Those we called friends stayed away. I had no parents, no siblings, no relatives. Same for your father who had long distanced himself from his people when we got married against their wish. Akin and I were alone in the misery. We suffered hardship like no one ever did. Nowhere did one find a woman frequenting the labour room so many times. We lost faith in the hospital, so we visited traditional midwives who asked us to take strange concoctions, herbs and vegetables, tree roots and bark, yet no solution. I prayed for the goddess of motherhood to hear my plea, but she looked away."

Mama places both hands on the wall, tears soaking her cloth. "But through it all, Akin stood by me because he knew I was carrying a special child. A beautiful child. Every time he touched my stomach, you kicked and kicked and kicked."

Mama slaps hands on the wall as if it should break and let her in. "Oh, Akin Alamu. Such a loving man. Three men rolled into one he was. A man worthy of praises come rain and shine. A tall and noble man meant for all seasons, all situations – good and bad. His absence rendered me incomplete. Deformed. Akin was a man whose rare fortitude brings accolades on all men. He fought with me and never ducked for once. How much I wish he's here to attest to this day."

Mama stays quiet for a moment, bowing her head, as if observing a minute silence for late dad. I stay motionless, too, to pay respect.

"Akin didn't know what to do, neither did anyone else. The dilemma was above human understanding. No one knew how to deliver you, yet you kicked every day."

Mama begins to weep again. "Your father lost his job. And then lost all his savings. When I refused to talk for three days, Akin ran away from the house, going as far as Iludun and Aiyepe, the neighbouring villages, asking for help here and there, from teachers in the schools, from traders on the streets, from old people in their cottages, from just anyone. He almost went round the whole of Abeokuta."

"Your father returned home with a woman in white-garment who prayed for us, for three hours. I lay on the bed looking like a wooden effigy while she cast out demons and ordered angels to visit us. But still no way forward. Akin then became frustrated and started having dialogues with himself, walking around the house aimlessly. I thought he was running mad. If anything had happened to Akin, I would have dropped dead the following minute. He was my pillar of support. My bastion."