I remember the good old days when men were men and women liked it that way. Those were the halcyon days when everything went according to plan, and each person lived by a code that guided him/her. It was unheard of then, for instance, that a teenage girl could get pregnant, let alone give birth in her parents’ house. Alas, those days are gone! You remember the story, for instance, of Xochitl Parra, the 17-year old American girl in Long Beach, California, who gave birth to a bouncing baby boy in the wee hours of last Sunday. This abomination, instead of being denounced as the sacrilege that it was, received rave coverage that bordered on celebrity recognition, in media outlets worldwide! The dreadful, sinful little wench could even afford a boast about her ability to jog to hospital, with the placenta still attached to baby-boy and mother! Listen to her: “I felt his head coming, so I sit [sic] down and pushed so he could come out.” Yes, as matter-of-factly as that! In fact, little Alejandro, product of the girl’s evil act, was already “eating like a champ” by the time journalists filed the story. What made the aberrant, teenage Parra famous was that she was able to walk a few blocks to hospital, after giving birth. That would mean a few metres in order not only to reach hospital, but also to get first class attention. Her doctor: “She was very clever. She knew what to do. She wrapped the baby up and walked over here.” Who wouldn’t know what to do, if they knew how to go about ‘manufacturing’ a baby, in the first place? We can only pray that, here in Rwanda, our youth don’t come to that. Guys, to use your lingo, don’t indulge in this shameful blasphemy; bid your time and do everything in its moment. Moreover, an even bigger shame is that these kids letting off babies in USA today didn’t remember to think of the existence of HIV and other such diseases, yesterday. As for ‘walking a few blocks’ being such a problem, these commentators don’t seem to know the meaning of ‘problem’! They should have seen what it involved to give birth, or to be born, during my time. In my salad days, which is not yesterday because I’m talking 1940s/50s, I moved around seemingly without a care in the world – and maybe still do – but you would’ve been surprised at what I was capable of, even as a baby. Maybe you’ve been to the slopes of Mount Muhabura, where I was born and half-bred, in which case you’ve seen these temporary grass-sheds that are constructed near fields. I was born in such a shed, Jesus-like, which is why I was born with two nationalities! But, nationalities later. First, how I was born, which gives more credit to my late, hardy old mama, than to me. You see, the mamas of the time were so robust that they could not take any form of leave, especially not maternity leave. They worked the fields as usual, even when they knew that a baby was due any time. Their confidence sprang out of the fact that they knew that they were with a midwife, and this happened to be any elderly fellow lady-fieldworker. When time came, the two ladies excused themselves and retired to the ubiquitous shed and, within minutes, a baby would shriek its arrival on planet earth. The ladies then did their bit, after which they resumed their work in the field, leaving you, young cock or spring chick, to your infantile designs. What happened exactly, during those moments in the shed? You see, as soon as you arrived, the midwife picked you up, wiped her muddy hand on whatever she was wearing and then dipped it into your mouth, to remove its viscid liquid. Of course, what she was wearing was not always necessarily a cloth; it could as well have been the skin of a cow, goat or sheep. The implication of which should not be lost on you, because it could mean that those muddy hands didn’t essentially undergo any cleaning! Anyway, after removing that liquid, she held your little body upside down by your toes and then gave a hearty slap to your slimy bottom, so that you could scream a shrill greeting. When you obliged, she pronounced her satisfaction and wrapped you up in a shawl of some kind. Before leaving you and resuming work in the field, your mama would give you your first meal abroad, by suckling you, which would get you “eating like a champ”. Forget about Parra’s junk, pap baby food, which will only serve to blow up Alejandro’s tot weight into a 50 kg mass before he is five. And little you, how did you acquire two nationalities? Like this: when the Europeans balkanised Africa, they were not on the ground to see who would belong to which country. When these Whites fixed the borders, therefore, many Africans found their fields straddling the borders. In my case, even the grass-shed I was born in straddled the Rwanda-Uganda border. That is how I was also born straddling the border, with the head in Rwanda while the feet were firmly fixed in Uganda! With these intricacies involved in childbirth, and other prickly problems of the time, parents had to be strict with their offspring. That is why fathers acted as the stick, and mothers as the carrot, and all were happy that way. Contact: ingina2@yahoo.co.uk
