Cursed Daughters by Oyinkan Braithwaite - 81

She felt a stabbing pain in her stomach, and an intense pressure. As if …

It was such an innocuous action, taking tablets, that part of her hadn’t really believed anything would happen. But she heard the sound of something hitting the water in the toilet bowl, and she knew this something had come from her. She sat on the toilet seat, clutching herself, and wept. She didn’t have to check, she knew.

She couldn’t tell how long she was in there. The harsh light streaming in from the bathroom window became a soft glow. Finally Aunty Kemi knocked on the door.

‘Monife. Are you okay?’

Monife unlocked the door, allowing her aunt entry. Then she returned to her seat.

‘What is it? What happened? Did someone hurt you? What happened?’

She was unable to get the words out; she began to sob, and Aunty Kemi dropped to her knees.

‘Is it the baby?’ Monife did not answer, but she did not need to. They wept together.

She was a zombie for the rest of it. They took her to the hospital, she was examined, her loss confirmed, she was taken home, someone bathed her and fed her ogi, someone laid her on her bed and covered her with a duvet, someone promised to make arrangements for the foetus and someone prayed.

She lay in bed thinking she didn’t even know if it had been a boy or a girl. She had not had the chance to feel any kicks or to have a scan. It could be argued that the baby was a figment of her imagination. And yet the grief was all-encompassing.

She needed him. His voice was distant. His ‘hello’ sounded strange to her ears.

‘How have you been?’ he said. The line crackled. He had never felt further away. She tried not to cry, but the tears were falling fast and freely. Could she tell him she wanted to die? Oh, how she wanted to die.

‘Okay,’ she squeezed out.

‘Do you need money for … medical checks and things? Or an abortion, if you decide to …’

‘That’s what you want?’

‘I … No. I just wanted to tell you that whatever you decide, I’ll support you, you know, financially. But I need to be there for Amara. I have put her through a lot.’

‘You have put me through a lot.’

‘You’re right. But I made a promise to her before God and man. I need to try and honour it.’

‘What exactly are you saying?’

‘Whatever you need from me for this baby, I will provide. But I don’t think we should … keep doing what we have been doing. It’s not fair to Amara and it’s not fair to you.’

‘Fuck you,’ she said.

She spent the next few weeks in a semi-coma. She barely came out of her room. She couldn’t gather the energy to move, to bathe, to eat, to think. Sango stayed as sentry; her family came in and out, spoke words she did not hear, brought food she could not eat. Her mother was the most awkward of them all. She could tell each time her mother showed up that she was beginning to lose patience. She would lean against a wall, then pace, then lean, bring out the snuff box, chew the tobacco, spit out the window, chew some more, mumble something about keeping the mind busy and then leave.

Eventually she said the words.

‘You are not the first to lose a child.’

‘Okay, Mummy.’

‘At least you were not pregnant for long. Your grand-aunty Ronke was six months along when she lost her own baby. You are young, you can quickly get pregnant again.’

Mo turned, so that she was facing the wall. Away from her mother. She did not have the energy to fight her. She could not be bothered to explain. She was certain this would be her one and only pregnancy. It would not happen for her again.