That afternoon when you swiped your finger through the myriad of suggestions goggle presented, nothing in Nsukka prepared your fragile mind for the reality you would come to experience 24 hours later.
First, it was the dancing headaches that pushed from the left to the right side of your head, beating drums that made you hold your head in a salute. You gulped some paracetamol, pleaded the blood of Jesus three times and rubbed the anointing oil your mama bought at a crusade ground on your forehead.
Somehow the pain in your head managed to escape the anointing oil, it fell into your stomach and your belly began to burn. Goggle tagged this symptom preeclampsia.
You have been pregnant for 20 weeks, you now spend more time in the shower, rubbing soap lather on your bump and imagining Ebube’s kind of shiny skull on the baby. You screamed a loud “tufiakwa” then followed by “ my baby will have plenty hair, biko!”. Ebube, the child next door was born without a strand of hair, her mother now rubs palm oil on her head to appease her deceased relatives she may have offended.
Your husband, you call him “di”, he kisses your bump very often and tells you about the “pregnancy nose” and how soon God would increase the width and height of your nose to allow you breathe in more oxygen for you and Chizaram, the baby in your womb.
You are happy, your “di” is happy too but the rising hotness in your belly has defiled the many cups of cold water you drank.
You ring the hospital because your mind is unstable, goggle says its a lot of things but you hope that the Angels your mama commands to follow you goes ahead and makes everything right.
You are now on the hospital couch, face up and your left hand is cupped by your “di”. He runs his palms over yours and warmth rushes over you. You turn your head towards where he’s sat and he gives you the “I gotcha baby” look.
The sonographer presses her equipment on your belly, looks into your eyes and says the most chilling words you have ever heard, “ I am so sorry but there’s no heartbeat”.
Life pauses at that instance. You are blank. Your mind tells you it’s a dream so you shut your eyes and yell into reality. You open your eyes and it’s still you on the couch with the lady still in your face but this time your “di” holds you down from running mad.
A few days later, your baby disintegrates into your pad. Large clots of blood sit on your panties. You somehow recognise the body parts that are in the pool of blood. The head, then something that looks like the placenta, the back or the tiny toes that would have been wriggling at you if you had ended up a mother.
Tears. Sorrows. Sorrows. Prayers.
Notes By Emmanuella 