Six
The Joys of Motherhood
Exactly two months after Dimkpa and the first group of slaves were sold to the Europeans and taken across the Atlantic Ocean , I suddenly began having strange feelings and bodily signs I could not explain. I was had not had my periodic feminine flow for sometime, and so thought it a woman’s problem and thus only an experienced mother would understand. So I didn’t bother uncle Agu about it.
Ezenwaanyi, the mother of our king was a very hospitable and affable woman. She was indeed a mother to all Nri natives. Mothers went to her for advice when their marriages experienced turbulent times; fathers confided in her when they found it difficult to make very important family decisions, and all the maidens looked up to her as a role model. Even the young men felt motherly love each time she spoke to them. Relating observations about myself to Ezewaanyi gave me a better understanding of what was wrong with me.
‘Mama your daughter has been experiencing strange feelings for the past two weeks which I can’t understand’
‘There is nothing to difficult for a mother to understand my daughter. What is the problem?’ she responded solicitously as she placed her right arm around my shoulders.
‘I’ve recently been feeling very tired after little or no work, I sleep longer than the average girl should, very little things or sights irritate me, and I throw up like five times a day. Uncle Agu has been complaining of my recent spitting habit, and I am totally confused.’ I said leaving no detail.
‘Olisabiligwe! Nwam, when last did you see your feminine flow?’
She asked anxiously, making me feel nervous.
‘L-l-last… I can’t remember mama’ I spluttered.
‘You are pregnant!’ she said to my utter surprise.
‘P-e-r-e-g-n-a-n-t? But mama how? I mean I did not sleep with any man’
‘You’re right. You did not sleep with any man, but many men forcefully tasted of your honor. I don’t blame you my daughter. This is one of the ills of slavery, orjoka’ she lamented.
‘Don’t worry about it. Your uncle would understand. I mean it wasn’t your fault. Just go and tell him about it, and make sure you come to me every morning for check-ups, onugo’
‘Thank you mama’ I said leaving her presence, feeling dejected.
‘Ordikwanma, it is okay my daughter. That’s why you have me’ she responded with a warm smile; not warm enough to make me feel better.
Disclosing my latest finding to uncle Agu was not a problem at all. All I was concerned about was how I was going to be a mother at so young an age; not knowing my baby’s father even worsened the situation. I have always marveled at how babies so large come out of a woman’s body through a region so small; and the pains I see pregnant women go through was nightmarish to me. But, the thought of having my own baby was fascinating to me. I love infants and like to see them smile happily. So I decided to have the baby.
Eight months and two weeks later, my baby was born. Like me she was born into slavery and was going to be brought up a slave. It was a painful reality I had to face. But as I looked at Ezenwaanyi bath and care for my baby each day, I realized mama would have been the one doing all that, if the wicked arms of death had not taken her away from me. So I named my baby Omalichanwa-a beautiful child, after my late mother. She would always remind me of her as long as she lived.
Omalichanwa’s birth brought a great sense of joy to me and uncle Agu especially. He only wished his brother, papa, were alive to share this joy with him and carry his own grand child.
‘Oh how death stings’ he thought and said.
Raising my own baby was the best thing that happened to me, and I began to feel a little at rest even in the land of slavery. At least those mean guards treated me with preference now. I never thought they had a humane part to their lives. Uncle Agu and I were even excluded from the next group of slaves that was sold away, across the Atlantic . All because of Omalichanwa; she was like a savior to us.
Based on the love I had for Omalichanwa, I vowed I was going to take good care of her and train her into an adorable and chaste young lady. I only wished the chains of captivity and the shackles of bondage were taken off my feet and hands, so my daughter wouldn’t grow up discovering she is not a free born. However with each passing day, I could feel it deep down within me that the end to slavery was near. I could perceive the fragrance of freedom, feel the air of liberation and see the beacon of hope and redemption. I was certain before my daughter would say her first words we would all be free. But because there were no signs of our being freed anytime soon, I was sure my conviction came from that which was invisible; it came from within my soul. And whether my conviction and dreams for my daughter were fulfilled or not was left for fate to decide.
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