By Abuta Ogeto
It is like getting pregnant is the
most fashionable thing in town. Two years after campus, just about every other
female friend I had is either knocked up, a mother or married. I mean, we are
certainly not younger and for women, the mid-20s is a ripe time for marriage,
but why the hurry? I am rather beset by the state of affairs in town.
I must state from the get go that I
have nothing against a woman having her child or even getting married. If
anything I have stated here severally that I respect a woman who opts to keep
the child. Abortion is just as common. My statisticians insist that three out
five women have aborted. Still their choice? May be not. For ours is a
prejudiced society. Getting a child out of wedlock is still perceived as
immoral and a sure sign of irresponsible and unprotected sex.
But in this case, I am little
perturbed by the urgency of my year mates in campus regarding motherhood
and marriage. Back in campus a dozen chicks did get themselves knocked up and
they stoically lived with it amid our prying eyes, gossipy mouths and judgmental
minds. Last week I met one such who was attending her graduation, obviously
postponed due to the pregnancy she incurred along the way while in campus. With
her was her little pretty little daughter whom she proudly introduced to me. I
was happy. Honestly, I felt a tinge of jealousy.
And since you left campus, it seems
the rest moved into the bandwagon and they are now mothers. The men are still
trying to find their feet in this unforgiving town. Marriage is a distant idea
to them. But for women, it is understandable that 24-27 is a good time to get
married, especially if they are marrying up (read yuppie or good money or even
an older sober individual). If one gets to 28-34, it becomes a tricky affair,
given that the baggage increases, the skepticism sets in and cynicism becomes
the currency with which they transact in relationships and love matters.
But if I can confess, there is
something uncomfortable when you bump into one of the prettier year mates
heavy. If she was one of your Crushes, it crashes you completely.
I
disappeared to North Africa, I come back and I am standing in a bank queue,
when a warm hand slithers into mine with a radiant smile. I actually didn’t have an idea what
she was talking about but I presumed she wanted to skip the queue and had
spotted me and wanted those around to believe that we were together. Not a bad
attempt. But it was pointless. She was expectant, obviously in the final
trimester and possibly with twins if the size was anything to go by.
The beauty had gone. The skin too
dry and the flesh on the cheek bones completely gone. Somebody forbid. I was
shell-shocked. She never looked the type who could get herself up in the daff.
I was heartbroken. When you saw Samantha, the word mother didn’t cross your
mind. Dutiful mistress, probably. Material girl, obviously. Gold-digger, little
bit. But Mother never did cross my mind. How mistaken
could I be?
I was chagrined to say the least.
And to express my displeasure, I didn’t wait for her to have any brief chat
with me. I had her call my name but I ignored and walked on like I was not
hearing her. See life is unfair.
There is nothing wrong in getting
pregnant. It is their choice and desire. But when it is someone you know, there
is something personal about it. There is an irresponsible jealousy that creeps
up on you. You suddenly picture her nude getting pregnant. You hate it, if you
are not the man giving it. Pardon my crudeness, but it happens and at least 99%
of functional straight men feel it. There is nothing you can do about it. It
comes up, you accept it and life goes on.
I really can’t get their haste. I
mean I hate seeing my colleagues from campus aging that fast. And motherhood
has a way of adding one or two years onto you and that inevitable fat. They
make me feel so late into this fatherhood party. A couple of my male peers are
already fathers. Even though I think I am late, and I could have done it a bit
earlier, I don’t regret at all. She died anyway.
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