Underneath THESE Skirts

  Now that it's too late to start swallowing abortion pills, and too dangerous to insert knitting needles in my vagina and torture the baby till it can live no more, I am left with only one solution; start a harambee to pay for an unqualified but experienced old man to unhygenically extort this baby out of me.

  Caro claims that she recently talked with Dru and he's remorseful. By him being a very decent and high profile man, he doesn’t want a baby mama popping out of nowhere and claiming half the wealth he inherited from his father who was one of the most prosperously corrupt men in the district.

  “He gave me KSh. 7,000 to take care of the surgery."

  After moments of silence, she continues,

  "You know what our grandmothers’ used to say; it’s better to have your water spill from the calabash on your way home from the river than to have the calabash fall and break to pieces. I mean, we don't want anything bad happening to you.”

  The more she talks, the more of an expert she is proving to be, which somehow scares me but at the same time, gives me comfort.

  “There is this one place, the guy does it so fast and professionally, you won’t even feel a thing. It’s like taking a nap during Dr. Mugambi’s lecture. I don’t know much about him but the girls tell me that he knows how to keep his mouth shut, if you know what I mean." She continues.

  “Have you said anything to anyone else?” I ask her.

  “About what? You? Hell NO! If someone knows, it’s probably because you have been making it so obvious. But sweetheart, as far as I am concerned, not a single soul knows-NOT YET.”

  “I am really not sure whether I am ready for this.” I tell her.

  I know that it’s foolish of me to be thinking twice about this heaven sent miracle, but pre-motherly instincts must have started taking their toll on me already.

  “Hey, listen…”

  I can sense a really weird tone of concern in Caro's voice. Never before had I seen her this concerned, or serious.

  “…the more you sit there and mull over this curse or whatever you call it, the more likely you are going to mess up things. This baby is going to ruin your precious life. But if you are ready to bring in another life in this world to live a worse off life than you have had, then, GO AHEAD!”

  'Is she's giving up on me already?' I'm thinking to myself.

  “I have been thinking, and I feel like God has a reason for all this. I mean, isn’t this like some form of a miracle that even after miscarrying I find out that I am still pregnant?”

  “Girl, you have no idea what you are talking about. Don’t try to confuse a curse with a miracle. We’ve got to get rid of this ASAP before that bump gets any bigger and baby boy starts throwing kicks.”

  “It’s a baby girl.”

  “See, you've already started getting attached?”

  “Fine then. But first you need to get me that money and give me some time to think about it. And please don’t share this with anyone, especially that Dru guy, okay?”

  “My lips are sealed…not until you ask me to unseal them.”

  There is something disturbing about this friend of mine. Rumour has it that she has a big thing for Dru, and that the two share more than just a platonic relationship. Though she is from a filthy rich background, she is the kind that never spreads her legs for free. She is no prostitute but she sure knows how to utilise her charming feminine wits. She has a chain of men whom she sleeps with, some of whom she occasionally sleeps with without protection. A month or two later, she calls them up, tells them how she has missed her period, and that she is not ready to barter her career aspirations for a stay at home mom full-time job. With her kind of work, you don’t need a day job. The girl makes tens of thousands of tax free money in a month!

  The abortioney; the term I invented for money paid to have an abortion, is definitely not from Dru, Sera tells me. Could my dear friend Caro be pulling one of those moves married women pull on their husband’s mistresses? The way she has everything well planned out, she could make an ideal abortionist’s personal assistant. When I question Sera about her concern in how I choose to lead my life, she defensibly blames it on Caro,

  “She is the one who put you up to this right? That conniving rat!”

  I tell her that it’s my own decision and, the right thing to do. Plus, she shouldn’t be talking about my best friend like that.

  “Fine, if you think that I’m lying, why don’t you call him right now and confirm who's lying?”

  “You know I can’t do that!”

  “I would never lie to you. I'm pretty sure that I am not your best friend or anything close to that, but you surely are my best friend. Why else do you think I am telling you this?”

  ­

  On the D-day, I wake up feeling as though there are 1001 butterflies relaxing in a Jacuzzi that seemed to have found its way into my stomach. I run to and fro the loo thrice, each time hoping that the person who saw me the first time doesn’t see me go for another round. If this is how hard life is always going to be like, then I would rather get rid of baby Candace when there's still time, for it's better to end her life before she's even aware of herself, than let her get exposed to the nasty Pandora boxes of this world. After she's gone to a better place, I believe that God will turn her into someone else's guardian angel.

  Three rounds of anxious diarrhoea are all I needed to detox. As soon as I am back on my bed resting before starting to get ready for the big occasion, I hear a newer version of a knock at my door. I never get that many visitors. As for the few who tend to miss me a bit, I have had to master their knocking patterns, lest I open for one who needs not be welcomed, such as the landlady. Peaking through the tiny ventilation near the bottom of the door, I am dumbfounded to see an overly smartly dressed man standing outside. Though I can't see him clearly, my judgement tells me that there's no way this kind of a guy could be looking for a room to rent, or could be asking for directions. Could he be the landlady's son? If he is, I will have to ask Caro to negotiate the price of the surgery so that I can have something left to quench this man's and his mama's thirst for my money."

  As handsome as ever, and with some borrowed manners that can’t pass a limit of 5 minutes, is Dru. The very moment I open the door, he starts reciting what he must have been cramming all night and morning long.

  “I'm sorry that I had to show up like this but… I am not letting you go through with it, that. It’s my baby too, and I have rights.”

  “Your baby? You are expecting a baby? How come all I see is a beer tummy and not a baby bump?”

  “Neema, I am the father, it’s my right to…”

  “The only right you have is the right to see a doctor because, last time I checked, you were incapable of rising to the occasion, and here you are blabbing about being a father.”

  “Can I please come in inside. It’s kind of embarrassing talking from out here while the neighbours watch.” He whispers as he tries to peek inside. There are a few neighbours pretending to be fetching water and hanging clothes when all they are doing is newsgathering for their next mid-morning round table gossip talk.

  “I wish I could but fortunately, I am too busy right now, and I don’t invite strange men into my precious home."

  He seems mad. His patience has reached the summit. He sighs, makes a step back as though walking away, scratches his head before grabbing the door by the handle and invading the only space that was separating the two of us.

  “Is this what you call a home?” He mockingly asks.

  Maybe it reminds him of the shack his watchman lives in, but I have come to learn that what makes a home a home is the love it receives. No matter how small it is, so long has it has your love and warmth, it's a HOME. For it’s better to live in a small, shanty peaceful one roomed home than in a 100 acre ranch with a castle on it that is nothing but a house.

  After a few minutes of peeping into my small haven, he tells me,

  “
I’ll be waiting outside the gate.”

  Today is the day Caro is to take me to have the life growing inside of me removed, but here is Dru trying to talk me out of it. With him around, I could give my baby a better life. Not exactly a happier life but a more financially stable but unhappy life, which is a lot better than what I grew up with.

  What he did to me though is nonetheless unforgivable. You don’t go around coercing girls to sleep with you and then expect to be forgiven. Though my Sunday school teacher taught me that I should forgive and forget, I don’t ever recall her teaching me that I should forgive and give second chances.

  He takes me out for a coffee is one of the city’s best coffee houses. We are welcomed by the strong smell of Kahawa long before making our way in, which I choose to not like for the very reason people hate it when they smell fish before they enter a Japanese restaurant.

  One look at the menu scares me. I mean, the price charged for a simple cup of coffee and a light snack can maintain me for almost a week! He orders black coffee. I don’t know what to order, but I don’t want to order the same lest the waiter assume that we are a couple that has already started growing into one boring person. Black coffee too reminds me of my worst of days when I have to take turungi-milk-less and almost sugarless tea which is a favourite of poor people.

  It also reminds me of my first ever experience to nourish my body with proteins from a raw cockroach. I had had a busy day; had woken up late and was as skint as ever. I had made some turungi and taken it with white bread in haste. Since I was a little girl, I have always loved soaking my slices of bread into my beverage before putting them into my mouth; many people finds this disgusting, I don't know why. After just a few bites, I left for class. Several hours later, I was back to pick up from where I had left. The coffee was dark as the 3.00 am darkness. With plenty of time to enjoy my left overs, I sought the comfort of my bed as I drank, and chewed the few remaining pieces of the now wet black-coloured bread inside the cup. Though pre-soaked bread is usually very soft and takes barely a second to chew, the piece inside my mouth seemed a little bit too smooth and at the same time rough to pass for bread. I spat it out and right there, were the few remains of a cockroach, I could see the wings still fresh and shiny. I really wanted to vomit, but I didn't. Now that I think of it, it must be because that delicacy is not that bad after all, if you doubt me, ask Cambodians.

  As soon as the waiter leaves, he reintroduces the topic.

  “Did Caro put you up for this?”

  “What are you talking about?” I pretend to not be aware of what he's talking about.

  “Your friend Caro, is she the one who talked you into getting rid of the baby?”

  “What baby?”

  Judging from his look, I must be getting deep into nerves. He opens his mouth in readiness to fight me back, and ascertain whether I suffer from memory loss, or if I am just being stubborn, but he says nothing. He instead directs his anger onto the fruit cake.

  “You do understand that you can die, or never become pregnant again, and the law…do you know how many years you are likely to face behind bars?”

  “I don’t care the least about the law. You are some sort of a lawyer right? Then I suppose you remember who proposed the bill to legitimate abortion, it was a woman. And who voted against it? Men like you. How stupid do you think we are that we have to sit here and let you make the law for us? All you think about is how to inject a sperm in a woman and 9 months later, BAM, baby pops out screaming Daddyyyy! That, that is never going to happen because only I know what is fit for me. You have no right to ask, request or demand otherwise. This is my body so I decide what gets in, and what comes out. And as for this thing growing right here, it's definitely going to come out."

  “Shh. Please, people are looking!”

  “Oh really? I wonder what they do once they learn how this whole pregnancy came into being."

  Back in his car, he becomes a totally different man, the kind of a man I would hear mama and her friends talk about; a weak man. He is desperate to have me give birth to this baby. He doesn’t cry, but I know the kind of feeling he is withholding inside, and that is the kind of feeling that can make any man, include Robert Mugabe, cry. He is so convincing that he's almost swaying me into his side.

  “If you don’t want to keep it, then give it to me once it’s born, and I’ll never bother you again. I’m ready to pay you any amount of money you want, just mention it.”

  “Do I look like a surrogate to you?"

  “No, of course not! I'm sorry if it came out that way. But please try to understand."

  “You are married!?”

  “No. But I have a girlfriend, an ex-girlfriend, we broke up."

  "Because she couldn't give you children?"

  "She doesn't, didn't want any."

  "You are lying."

  He doesn't respond, not that I'm expecting him to. In any normal day, he would have strangled me to death for grilling him like this, but on this day, to my satisfaction, I have to get the best, or the worst out of him.

  “We are still together, but she can't…"

  I knew that he had been lying; no woman doesn't want to have kids. The ones who claim they don't only use that statement as an excuse to shield their procreation incapabilities.

  “I get it now. You love her so much to leave her for another, that's why you want to steal my baby and just like that, become the perfect family."

  He goes mute again. I want to empathise with him, feel his pain, and compromise, but, I just can’t.

  "That's not my intention. We can work out something."

  "Something like my daughter growing with you, two mothers and I don't know how many half and step siblings? No, that is never going to happen."

  I sense that my words are burning him inside, and were we in a more private place; he wouldn’t hesitate to hit me. He could still hit me, and apologise, but he must be scared that if he doesn’t let me have my way, his days as a father will never come to be, maybe not until he stops being obsessively in love with his girlfriend.

  “Why is it so hard for you to understand? I am really sorry for what happened.”

  “But…”

  “There are no buts. All I need is for you to forgive me and let me be a part of this baby’s life. I am willing to do anything. I can give you a better life; you don’t have to struggle anymore.”

  It's my turn to take some time off. He looks at me, expecting me to inject him with more verbal venom, but I choose to let him see that after all, I am not much of a fighter.

  “What do you say?” He asks.

  "I'm not struggling."

  "Your friend Caro said…"

  “I have to go. I’ve an appointment.”

  “Not that abortion thing, is it?”

  “No…maybe…as a matter of fact, yes. It’s that abortion thing.”

  He sighs. I hate seeing a man in desperation, though it’s a complete turn on at times, but right now, it’s an absolute fail.

  “Ohh, before I forget, Caro mentioned that you had given her some money for my operation…you know, the abortion. How much did you give her exactly, coz I don’t want to be conned.”

  “I didn’t give her anything!”

  “You know what, I had somehow started reasoning with you, but here you come again, with more lies.”

  I get ready to alight from the car but he pulls me back, and locks the door.

  “Listen, Caro is not the kind of friend you think she is. That woman, I mean girl, is a psycho. She has been playing these childish games on my pals for as long as I can remember. At one time she even claimed that she was pregnant with my baby and would get rid of it if I didn’t marry her, but...”

  “So you're saying that you know my friend more than I know her, and that I should trust you more than I trust her? Is there anything else you'd like me to do?”

  “You seem to have such a hard time believing any word I say
. Who made you this way?”

  “Well, I could say that it’s from encountering so many fake men like you, but I won’t, not before you pay up for wasting my time when I could be doing something more productive with my precious life.”

  He makes that laugh, the laugh I have so far heard from my father, his brother and a number of makanga. I suppose men make that laugh to belittle women. In return I smile back, and he has no idea how down that smile looks on him.

  “Take this, you might need it.” He hands me 10,000 shillings.

  He really knows how to play these games. Is the money meant to help me get a better and more clinically hygienic abortion, or is it a way of telling me that if I keep the pregnancy, I will be more than comfortable; financially?

  I never liked the guy. No, I actually did, once, for a few minutes. The few minutes he saved me from a drunkard, though he ended up being more of a monster than the drunk himself. Still, he is the only guy that has ever apologised to me, said sorry, expressed his true feelings to me, and above all, offered to help.

  As I hurry back to campus before anyone starts smelling the giant bunch of cash I am carrying, I keep getting these mixed feelings which I'm trying so hard to fight. Should I, or should I not bring Candace to this world?

  Time is running out and I have very little time to make THE DECISION.

  The only place you would see as many girls in one place would either be in a strip club, an all girls’ boarding school or a bridal shower.

  The devil’s clinic is located within an upper class residential estate on the outskirts of the city. Brenda’s School of House Keeping is its name, but you can never find it in the Yellow Pages, Facebook, Twitter or under any list of related education institutions.

  All the girls’ in here are in pairs, including myself, presumably to give each other support towards the making of the BIG decision. There are 10 girls already in the lounge by the time we arrive. The clinic, which has a waiting lounge, a bathroom, kitchenette and two bedrooms; where surgery and post-surgery recovery takes place reminds me a lot of Dru’s house. It is a beautiful place, and it’s a shame that these kinds of things have to take place here. But thanks to this school of housekeeping, these girls' are presented with a second shot towards leading a better life. Of all the girls’ I know that have had the surgery, none goes beyond 12 months before another unplanned for and unwanted baby shows up.