VOICES: From the world of the ABORTED (1)

I am the nameless reality that hid somewhere within the walls of mother’s womb. I am the little seed rooted in her being that could not be eroded away by the acidic flood that rushed from mother’s throat.

That morning, I stretched forth my arms and held the hands of the doctor. That was before his implements got to my heart. I had died many deaths and my folks too, we have cried many cries but our voices had fallen on deaf ears. Even as the door to my life was thrown apart, other doors too; they have given up the walls that will incubate us into reality. Like the rest, the pills mother swallowed this time were also very effective, it eroded away my sister - my other half; she could not withstand the efficacy of that agent of destruction. But me, this time I hid beneath her and the portion could not get to me. She took it for the both of us. She was flushed down the drain.

Mother was eased off again, at least she saw the blood of my sister dripped into the sanitary pad she had in between her thighs. The first paint of blood that gushed out of her when the pills had done their job took her unawares, it made a mess of her white bed cover and she washed it away. That was my sister’s life, her daughter that she washed away happily, praising the manufacturer for such a wonderful product. She heaved a sigh of relief at the end of the flow and thanked her stars for freedom from our oppression, but I was hiding somewhere.

The blaring sound of the music at mother’s residence days later cut short my slumber. Mother threw a lavish party for deliverance and all her friends came. Her clients were in attendance and father too, he was there to celebrate the demise of his own blood, my sister. They all drank to stupor and mother, she took hard ones to heal what was eroded off the walls of her womb when she swallowed the gale that washed away the gift nature gave her. Now there is no sister to shield me away from those beverages and as the alcohol washed down on me I was exposed but for the cloth of resistance I had on me.

At the end of the party that night, father was planting another innocent seed in the womb of another woman on one of the beds in mother’s apartment. Mother’s friends, they all had one man at piece and mother too, another man or perhaps a step father, was on her planting his own seed on an unfertile ground. That was how I found myself here - father was her client, he pounced on her at the passengers’ sit along the way to the hotel; their hideout, for he had a woman at home. But mother, she was one of his mistresses. Having me was a bad market for mother; I was a bad omen for her profession.

A fourth night after the incidence in the car, mother knew she had another body within her – an unwanted visitor. She need not visit the doctor to confirm, she was good at her trade, besides, that was not her first experience; she was a professional. When she tried thinking of the culprit, possible names struggled for space in her head. She dismissed the thought and would not consider anyone of those names. Anyone could have been responsible; she could lay with up to three men before another sun rise. It was a normal routine, no big deal about that as long as the cash flows in.

Such development could not perturb mother, as a matter of fact it saved her the stress of going about her trade with caution. Safety to her was an absurd word, it limits the pleasure and only a few men would enter into such a blind deal. She went about her normal business comfortably and expectantly knowing she would not have to experience a five-day bad market as a result of her monthly flow that would come but for this development. Usually mother often intentionally concieves and allows it for three months just to gain fifteen more days. And she had recorded success in her ways but this time the favour came unbidden so she was more thankful for the stress it would save her.

The few months I spent with my sister were stressful. On a daily basis, the quality of white flood that gush into our domain was unspeakable. Mother threw us up and down within her without care – off course we were unwanted and our days were numbered. She knew we would grow but she wished we remain as we were, that was why she was disgusted with the knowledge of our existence; and whenever my sister would hold her lungs to catch a fall, she would be very furious. That hastened our day within mother, for the more we grew, the more discomfort we give her.

I had already started enjoying my sister’s company when the condition became unbearable to mother; she would sigh anytime any of us shifted and she wished the maker had another way of ensuring procreation other than using the woman as a carrier of the burden. She would not have preferred being a man, not for her profession but she thought often always of how she would be better if she were to be sterile. That was her wish but that had bewitched us. We also have our own wishes; a divine mandate to fulfil. Before sister was weeded away, we had plans of quenching the fire that have been consuming away every little hope that made it to this realm, we had plans on how to bear the cross and the message but our wishes had witches to face.

Those moments of isolation were nightmare for me. Before we grabbed the opportunity to be here we had known that mother would definitely give a fight to send us back into oblivion, we had known she would stop at nothing to reduce us into mere fantasies but I had not known that sister would give way within such a short period. We had resolved to always hide in the mask of resistance to ensure the actualization of our destinies. At least we have at different occasions been planted in this soil. We had learnt over time to survive even in this hell but mother gave a good fight, she had always done that and she had not been seen with the crown of defeat.

The torment that dissolved sister away into the sewage, back into the state of nothingness was doubled when mother later discovered that I obstinately clung on to bewitch her wishes. All my slained folks too, on the other side knew I would still come back to where we all belong to for I had stayed beyond this before and still came home within the mask with more bruises.

Another of mother’s clients was casting the grain when mother noticed my movement within her. She could not believe that was me and she went on with her trade. Mother’s doubt of the reality of my existence could not bury the fact that I was growing but this time my growth was within me. My size remained the same for some period, to buy me more time but I mature within and waited for the day I would force her, unawares to the doctor to have my way out with my head on my neck.

My retarded size served as bait and mother fell for that divine trick. She went about her trade with every ease for three full moons after the demise of my other half until that night when the enemy came and sowed tares amongst the wheat. That was when it downed on me that my fate was hanging on a swinging pendulum. Suddenly mother was standing in front of the mirror in her room and found out to her utmost dismay that she had blown out of proportion. I was fitted back into my actual size thereby giving her enough reason to doubt her doubts. Out of the doctor’s options, the only one that could appease mother was a scan; she needed to see me, she needed to see the devil that had caused her the unbearable shame and pain.

There on the wall of her bedroom, mother posted the enlarged scanned picture of the witch that has sworn to smear her face on the mud. She looked at me every moment with fury; she looked at the face of hope every single moment with wrath. She made a bold inscription on my face with red ink “I shall make you rest in pieces”. Crushing me into an impotent ash would be mother’s only gratification and she would stop at nothing to get that result. If not that stabbing me through would invariably cost her the life she loved so much, that would have been a better option and she had dwelt so much on that thought that she still had that as an option – she would rather die than have me.

Mother ran from one wall to another in search of solution and few doctors that advised her to give up automatically became her eternal foes. The rage with which she banged the door of her personal doctor behind her was so alarming that it took an extra effort to force the door open again. He had been her persona physician for not less than a decade and he had been an accomplice in all the previous exercises, and he had also been good. But his words of caution this time turned him into a suspect. Aside being her physician, he was also one of her irregular clients and had at intervals administered drugs on her for prevention of this kind of incidence so she thought he could have been responsible for my continuous obstinate existence.

Mother swallowed a live scorpion to sting the bee that had been a nightmare to her darling dreams. Her friends were enough motivation and her new found physician, he became her backbone. He gave her every medical attention that would help her take care of me permanently. It does not matter how old I was, what mattered most was how to send my soul back to the darkness where I belonged. The first phase of refined roots and herbs the new physician recommended came with a bit of hope and mother relaxed so that the agent of destruction could finish its work but that little hope was actually a messenger of doom clothed in the same robe as freedom. I was not hurt; it was actually the walls of mother’s womb that was wearing away in my place.

By the time mother found out she had a knife on her throat, she already had a slash and she was dying in small doses. She ran to the physician in distress and was bedridden for days. When she regained consciousness, she affirmed that she went through needle’s eye and was happy she pulled through with her own head without me but unfortunately I was still breathing within her and my heart was beating as much as her’s. When the doctor walked into her ward she expected him to give her what would flush away the remains of what was killed in her but he had different news for her. I heard him confirm to her that it was the walls of her womb that gave way and not the wild animal she was carrying.

While the doctor spoke to mother and told her that to spare her life he had only one remaining professional option, I cried bitterly for the second time in my existence as a fetus. The first was when my sister was washed down the drain; I saw her melt into blood, her tender hands, her toes, and her head. She dissolved into a liquid and went away with the bloody flood through mother’s thighs. Mother drove home in consolation of the doctor’s words and I sobbed knowing that would be the end of my twenty-nine weeks of struggle to survive. The doctor told her he would deep his hand in her, cut me into slices and drag me out by force and mother was consoled. I cried and shouted in mother’s womb but nobody could hear me. Mother heard me, she felt it, but her mind was locked up. I was a bad report, a bad omen for her trade – that was her reason. And my folks; the other voices, they cried and longed for this opportunity but their mothers too had their reasons…