My Choice

I have always wanted babies’ way before I got into secondary school. When mothers gathered around to regale each other with horror stories of their childbirth encounters, I would sit and listen with longing and anticipation in my eyes. I was amused with the way each woman tried to garner sympathy and respect. The way each woman tried to outdo and outshine the others with tales of how they bore up under the pressure and pain of labor.





“I slapped my doctor just once. I had to apologize to him sha but he understood”

“I didn’t even scream. I was very calm and they were all impressed”

“My labor was really quick. I didn’t need an epidural and the whole process seemed almost painless.

Or the way they tried to frighten me with their wide-ranging emotions.

“The blood I lost was so much! I thought I wouldn’t survive”

“The pain was excruciating. I felt like my vagina was torn and only a million stitches could fix me”

“I never want to give birth again. After my first baby, I could barely walk. I felt like there was a volleyball lodged between my legs. And the baby cried so much. I could barely hear myself think.”

“Oh! I almost began to hate my mother-in-law! The way she massaged my stomach with hot water! And she didn’t even allow me the luxury of a tiny scream”

“And you know Na, after childbirth, you can’t, ermmm, ehhh, have some “quiet time” with your husband anymore for a while because your “you know what” has reached its elasticity point because of our little “bundle of joy”. That’s what I miss the most. Thank God for Kegels.

I adjust myself on my seat. At last! The real gist I’m interested in has arrived. I pretend to fiddle with my phone like I’m not paying attention though my ears were positively twitching and working double time. But it doesn’t work. My aunt gets the drift and changes the subject. That was how I didn’t hear about quiet and noisy times anymore. But I still knew I wanted babies.

Fifteen years later, here I am, staring at my sobbing daughter and trying not to hyperventilate. She had been really withdrawn and cranky lately and I didn’t know what to do. Could it be a boy? But she was barely out of diapers! Having worked so hard to develop a close relationship with her, telling her all the things she needed and wanted to know, I couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong. I had read somewhere that you shouldn’t treat your child as your best friend, confidante or equal because the child is not emotionally prepared to play any of the stated roles so I always sought solace waiting and hoping to tackle the hard stuff when she was mature enough. Had the time come earlier than anticipated? What could be wrong?

My husband laughed when I broached the topic and brushed it off as the sulking of a spoiled only child. I tried not to notice how uncomfortable he was when I asked if it could be a boy. He fidgeted and changed the topic but I refused to let it go. This was my only child; I would not let anything happen to her. Tomide won’t be coming home tonight. I would talk to her then.  Lolade’s door is shut tight as I knocked lightly.

No response; I’m sure she’s fast asleep. Just a goodnight kiss then and we can have our heart-to-heart before we leave the house tomorrow. I enter the room and notice the empty bed. As I head towards her bathroom, the light from under the door illuminates the red panties on the floor. My heart does a spin, leaves my chest and returns for a heightened encore. I consider myself a trendy 37 year old mother and i don’t even wear thongs. What is my 15 year old doing with thongs?

I barge into the bathroom just as she’s craning her neck in front of the mirror, trying to look at something on her naked backside. She fails and as her neck probably begins to hurt, she spreads her thighs and begins to peruse her privates intently.

“What are you doing? What in the world are you doing with those panties? Who do they belong to?

Which useless imbecile of a boy gave them to you? Wait until I tell your father about this! So you’re already discovering your non-existent sexuality? Are you daft? Answer me!” I raise my hand to hit her and reset her brain to its default settings when I notice the tears pouring down her pretty baby face.

I lift my naked child up into my arms and head back to the room. I secure the door and pull her close to me. Lolade? Lolly? Lollipop? I’m sorry I screamed at you. It’s just that you’ve been so quiet lately and when I saw you in the bathroom, I jumped to the wrong conclusions. I’m sorry love. Talk to mommy? She was afraid and reluctant at first, but in the face of my calm reassurance, love and comfort, she poured out the nightmarish story that brought my semi-perfect life crashing down around my ears.

I managed to go through the motions of calming Lolade and tucking her into bed but I couldn’t get in with her. I had so much to do and my tossing and turning would disturb her sleep. Back in my room, I shed my clothes and stood facing the mirror, looking at my body almost the same way my daughter had been doing two hours ago. I look like the average 37 year old Nigerian woman. Slightly saggy breasts, a meaty belly, stretch marked thighs, the random scar, and deaconess arms. My modeling days were definitely far behind me, but hey… I’m a married woman. My face is not so bad. Nice lips, expressive eyes, regular nose. All in all, I am not a stunner but you can’t call me ugly.

 I pull on Tomide’s oversized shirt and slip into his side of the bed. When I’m comfy, I call his phone and chat lightly with him. The only indication that there’s something wrong is when I ask:

“Tomi, do you love me?”

 What have I done now? He retorts defensively.

 Nothing, I’m just rather curious.

 “Of course baby what kind of a question is that? I love you and Lolade very much. You two are the center of my world.”

 Just the answer I was expecting. But I wasn’t satisfied… Yet!

 “Tomide, is there another woman?”

 “What do you mean Molade? I would never do that to you. Ever! Not even when we were dating did I cheat on you. So why would I start after 10 years of marriage? I swear Molly, there’s no other woman for me but you.

” I rang off with Tomide’s reassurances in my ear. I believed him. There was no other woman. There was only a girl. An innocent 15 year old girl sleeping in the room just adjacent to ours. Tomide obviously liked them very young I ponder as I fell into a deep slumber.

Google is indeed your friend. I lift addresses and numbers of several reputable NGOs from the internet. I read articles on what to do when you find out your child is being abused. I clear my browser history before my husband would stumble upon my little PI. It’s funny really, all the times I left Lolly alone with her dad, the way he used to touch her and tease her about her budding breasts. I didn’t find it suspicious. Why should i? He is her father. I was even grateful that my husband was a caring father.

What was Tomide thinking?  Our sex life was not Cosmo tailored but we satisfied each other. Or so I thought. Had I let myself go to the point where my husband found his off spring so appealing? Would I have preferred it if he was cheating on me with a mature woman? Did he think Lolade wouldn’t tell me? What had he threatened or cajoled her with? I had so many questions to ask.

I would stare intently at him while was unaware. And Oh! How i long to rail at him and scratch his handsome face. How could he be such a beast? But I managed to bear my husband’s touches and kisses for one more week while taking care not to leave my baby with him alone anymore. Even at night, I would steal quietly to her room several times and watch her sleep.

On a Saturday morning, I watched with dry eyes as the love of my life was taken away in cuffs and politely helped into a Black Maria. Child abuse is now a federal crime you know. Duly punishable by law.

The representative from the NGO gave me a small smile as she assured me that I had made the right choice for my daughter and Lolade would appreciate it when she was older. Maybe she chose to ignore my daughter’s display of emotion a few minutes ago as she watched the plain-clothed policemen taking her father away on my command. It tore at my heart to watch her screaming and crying for her father. The words she said to me felt like salt to the scaly skin of an earthworm.


“I hate you mommy! I will always hate you for allowing them to arrest daddy. You’re the worst mother in the world and I will never forgive you!”

 I flinch as she brushes my outstretched hands away and seeks solace in her room.

Don’t you see Princess? I did this for you. I gave up my soul mate for you. I watched my proud husband bow his head in shame and head to a life behind bars. Everybody hates me. Even my own family. They feel I acted in error. They expected me to have called a family meeting and resolved it right there. Maybe subject Tomide to a psychiatrist who would give him the help he needed. Oh well, he’ll get all the help he needs all right. Maybe he’ll come back to me when he is done serving his sentence. Good riddance.

See Lollipop? Nobody is standing by me. I’m leaving my job and home because of the ostracism you might face and taking us away to a new life. Maybe I acted in error but I did it for you Princess, and I hope you will understand.

I pray you will understand.

Love, Mommy.