She says you would have turned a year-old today. She wonders if you would have been brave like Mars, the god of war. Would you have been a boy or a girl? Aries or Pisces? She keeps obsessing over you.
It was Friday when she became aware of you. After two tests of both being double-lined. She let out a sob, much like a wail. When the reality hit her hard like a truck full of load, unloading it's content unto her back and her shoulders, She called me, out of breath, speaking gibberish and sobbing. I could only make few of what she was saying between her cries; periods, a test, two lines, A BABY. My heart skipped, making it's way through my mouth, betraying me. Not believing what I had put together to understand what she was telling me, I cursed. I told her to calm down hoping it's a prank or somebody else's story. My hands started sweating, grasping on phone to hear her saying it calmly now. It was true, my best friend was pregnant. Dumb. Young. She could see the motherhood nearing her on the horizon through her teary eyes.
She felt her breasts sprout, starting to make the first drip of breast milk.She felt life burbles traveling purposely through her womb up to her belly. Her face started clearing and she remembered the stories her Aunties told her:" if you are pregnant with a boy your skin clears and you become so beautiful, unlike for a girl,your skin changes and pimples started making their way on your face." She pushed these thoughts aside and wondered how she got there. She called me every night, she sounded ridiculously and regretfully happy telling me how carrying a baby is making her feel like a woman, i told her to be serious, her education, her life, her reputation were all at stake.it was too early for all these signs she was telling me. I said "get some night's rest we will discuss about it tomorrow" and I heard her say "Do you think there is a heartbeat?" The question caught me off guard, my tongue stopped working and mouth became dry as Saharan desert wind. I fumbled on the thought of telling her NO but I wasn't sure myself. My fingers were frozen on the keyboard on Google trying to search "when does a foetus develop a heartbeat". I never pressed enter, we were better off without knowing. We said our goodnights and hung up.
If you knew the standards we have to meet as girls, the number of years we have to endure in school, the society, the families, the friends, you would understand her choice, a decision I agreed to.if you knew the man behind her pregnancy, how unsupportive, how unbothered, how- well this is another villain story for some other day. Her shame and guilt outweigh all the fingers that would point at her calling her a MURDERER.
That day she wore all black, an oversized black T-shirt, a black pant, black shades and a black backpack full of her savings. Her hair was undone and combing at that moment seemed more like a chore so she covered it with a black bandana. It was a sunny day but she was trembling, her hands looked like they had been in morgue, grey and freezing. Her eyes looked hollow trailing the seconds hand of a clock In the waiting room each tick mocking her and driving her insane. She told me she felt sick in her stomach, I held her hand not comforting her but praying she makes it out alive and well. If she blinked hard tears would stream her cheeks but she had to be stronger so the doctors wouldn't refuse. A lifetime half-hour passed before the doctor opened the door and asked if she was ready, she said yes and stood up to follow the doctor without looking back afraid she would turn into a pillar of salt like Lot's wife. Her shoulders were hunched with something I couldn't quite recognize. Did she grow close with the baby in her womb? Was I being a bad friend? I was left alone. with a million questions and a silence loud enough to pierce my ears.
She later narrates to me:" the doctor had told me to sit down and made comfortable as possible, he asked how old I was and I told him I was 20. He cracked a joke about it and said I was even able to carry the twins. I didn't laugh. He told me to strip down to my underwear. I did, slowly, debating a fast way to run out of the OR. Something kept me there and when I finished I stood on cold tiles barefoot in a black Bra and cyan panties.i Put up a fight when they were giving me an anaesthesia because I'm afraid of needles but I was weak. The doctor told me to lay on the table and spread my legs and before he sat on the stool in front of the bed positioned directly to my wide spread legs he looked at my face and saw the fear, the guilt and shame, he said " I can't continue with the procedure without you full permission and cooperation" I nodded obediently and he proceeded. I felt him unplugging and cutting out the life that was starting to form in my womb. My eyes started watering, the tears making their way down to the sides of my head and down to my ears. I sobbed silently and watched him going on with his business with much concentration and I wondered how many times he had done that. When he was done, he cleaned me and told me to sit up. When I sat I felt empty deep deep inside, deep like Dante's inferno except this time it wasn't burning, it was so empty. My head started swaying and before I knew it, I was puking everywhere, puking very hard I felt breathless. The doctor sat me down to stabilize and I looked down at the mess I just made, Milk with a mixture of food she had taken at lunch. The doctor picked me up and helped me in my bathroom, he washed my legs, took out a pad and put it on my underwear and dressed me. I apologized profusely and he said that it's okay. He took me to another room to rest, brought me a pill which I swallowed without any question. He told me I could stay as long as I liked but I wanted to get far away from that place as far as my legs would take me and as soon as possible. When I woke up I paid him. I watched him count the 5k rwf bills I just handed him; 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20. When he was done he said " wait here I have to prescribe some infections and pain medication". He handed me the paper and I started walking on autopilot because this body wasn't mine anymore." When she finished I knew she hasn't healed yet and the wounds were still afresh.
She immediately fell into bad habits; staying in bed all day, starving herself and always crying her eyes out. No matter what I told her she kept convincing herself that she was a bad person and that what she did was despicable. Whenever I visited her I checked her wrists because I knew she was suicidal. She started hating herself. Her body was disconnected from her head and her heart. Yet they were physically in one place but living inharmonious. She had lost weight, her muscles drying on her bones. She tried to gain weight again but her body was mad at her. She tried to be happy again but her heart was busy still mourning her womb. She was so sad, so sad that her body was snitching on her, making it obvious that something has happened to her. Something bad. But nobody dared ask her the question. Not even her mother.
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