Mother sighed heavily, wiping tears from her eyes. “But daddy Rosemary, you know that as Christians, it is not right for us to engage in abortion, we will be committing murder and ….”
“But it is right for us to bring in the product of a rapist into my house, right?” father shot back at mum. “You are talking about being a Christian, have you also thought about the shame and humiliation this child will bring to us when it is born? Have you even thought about the stigma it will also bring your own child when people come to greet us and ask who the father of the child is and we cannot say anything? So when I walk on the streets, people will now be pointing at me and say, ‘that’s the father of the girl who gave birth to a bastard, right? Is that how you want people to describe us now?”
Mother looked away. She did not say a word. Father turned to me. “You!” he said to me, his voice harsh and scathing. “Do you want to be the mother of a bastard child? Is it you and your mother’s agreement to keep this pregnancy in your womb?”
I promptly went on my knees. “No, sir, I don’t want to keep the pregnancy, I am too ashamed of myself to even think of keeping it. I want to go to school, sir, not become a mother….” I began to cry. The situation overwhelmed me. The words could no longer come, all I could do was weep for what my life has become.”
Mother drew closer to father. “Please, my husband, let us not act in haste. This pregnancy is supposed to bring forth our very first child, we should not cut short the life of the poor baby just because Rosemary was raped. I don’t think I will be able to live with that on my conscience.”
Father nodded slowly. “Okay, but you heard what your daughter says, she doesn’t want the baby, but you are saying something else.”
“She is only a child, my husband, she will have the baby, abortion is not an option at all!” mother insisted.
“No problem, she can keep the pregnancy, but not in my house. You have just three days to find her a place to live, she is not having that product of a rapist inside my house!”
It was like a terrible nightmare for me. It was as though I was watching a drama. It was such a strange feeling ffor me to see my dad, a man who loved me with every fibre in his body suddenly turn against me. I hated myself. I cursed the very day I met Bobby. If I had my way, I probably would’ve taken my life without batting an eye.
Father said he gave me and my mum three days to look for where I would live if she insisted I was going to keep the pregnancy. And from the minute he made that pronouncement, he did not give room for that discussion to come up again. The following morning after father had left for work, I went to meet my mother and knelt before her in the parlour where she sat all alone, staring into space.
“Mother, please, I know I should not be opening my mouth to say anything right now because of the shame I have brought upon you and father, but please, ma, don’t you think it will be better for me and the family to end this shame by getting rid of the pregnancy?” the woman was just looking at me, not a word did she utter.
“If I keep this pregnancy and go on to have the baby, how am I going to cope? I am still too young to be a mother. What happens to my education? But most importantly, who are we going to tell people is the baby’s father?”
“My dear, when we get to that bridge we will know how to cross it, but for now, the pregnancy stays,” mother shot at me. “I cannot do something that I know will make God very angry with us in this family. Whether you people agree with me or not, abortion has no other name, it is called murder. How do you think we will take the life of a poor innocent child and God will be happy with us? Tell me now,” she’d thrown at me.
I was still contemplating how else to pursue the subject further when we heard a knock on the door. It was Aunty Florence, my mother’s younger sister who lived in Lagos.
“Ah! Florence, what are you doing here in the village? I thought I won’t see you again until Christmas,” mother said after they had exchanged pleasantries.
“I didn’t know I will be traveling down here, I came to buy some goods that I want to sell in the office in Lagos,” she returned. “And why is Rosemary looking sad and pale like this?” she turned to me. I looked away from her.
“Even you, Aunty, you’re not looking bright, is everything okay?” she asked mother. But mother said nothing. She seemed like one battling to keep her emotions in check. Then, suddenly, the tears began to run down her face.
“Ah, Aunty, why are you crying now? Tell me, did somebody die? What is it?” Aunty Florence became terrified.
“Its Rosemary o…” she said s she wiped tears off her face.
“Rosemary?” Aunty Florence turned to look at me. “What is wrong with her?”
My mother let out a heavy sigh. “She is pregnant!’
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