|
I put the book I was reading
down on the table. Glancing round the room, I wondered if Wọnu had arrived. I
was looking forward to seeing her and her new boy. I remembered how stressed
she was four months ago. Having a baby is always a mixture of emotions. Having
a first baby, well, that’s a very high measure of emotional mixture.
I checked my watch. She was
already fifteen minutes late. That should be expected. She’s a mum now.
Everything slows down. Plus, we Africans are culturally late due to our approximate
timing nature. I’ll give her fifteen more minutes. If she wasn’t here by then,
I’ll give her a call. I wonder if she had the blues, or worse, post partum
depression or maybe fatigue or maybe, detachment. Oh well, whatever it is,
we’ll go to God and let Him handle it. I’m eager to see her and the baby. It’s
been over two months I held a newborn in my arms. I think I’m having the
baby-fix feeling. Then I heard it, one of my middle names… “Sister Ade, sister
Ade…”
Who was calling me by one of my
Yoruba names? I jerked out of my daydreaming state to see brother Mayọ walking
towards me. “Sister Ade,” he began. “Praise God, Shemi is back home. Thanks for
standing with us. Our God is a good God.”
“Halleluya.” I responded. “We
give God all the glory.”
“Amen.” He returned ecstatically.
He explained how and when Shemi had returned.
I listened attentively and
praised God again. As he left I had a joyful feeling bubbling up within me. I
love to hear testimonies of the faithfulness of God. I remember the meeting where
we had prayed for Shemilore. It had been a Yoruba speaking meeting. It’s been a
while I prayed in Yoruba outside of my home. It’s probably the fact that I’m in
America. Most Yoruba churches hold services in English and most prayers are
said in English. Then I remembered that even when I was in Nigeria, most church
services I attended were held in English language.
It must be child-memory thing
again. I link it to motherhood. Becoming a mother forced me to quit practicing
escapism. I had to deal with every childhood issue one by one. Every thing I
did as a child became significant. The churches I attended when I was a child
held services in Yoruba. Unfortunately, there was a lot of compromise with
Yoruba religion and wrong teaching in these churches. In my opinion some of
them were not churches but cults. Now that I know the truth and I am mature in
the Lord, I realize I would really love to attend an all Yoruba service, even
if it is just once a year. I’ll share my thoughts with a Yoruba pastor. Perhaps
an all Yoruba service could be organized.… Then I heard my name again. This
time, it was Derbrah, my Hebrew–baptismal name. Turning my head, I saw beaming
Wọnu with her baby. Who was that behind her carrying the diaper bag?
I rose to welcome them. We exchanged
greetings and I discovered that Ọlaọmọ, was Wọnu’s elder sister.
“Your sister is so pretty.” I
remarked. “She also looks so young.”
Wọnu: Are you implying that I
look ugly and old?
“No.” I started. “I didn’t mean
it like that. I would have easily mistaken her for your younger sister. No
teasing intended. Also, you know you’re a beauty queen.”
Wọnu: That’s fine. I get that all
the time.
Ọlaọmọ just smiled.
Wọnu: Well this is your baby. Is
he big or what?
“He’s doing just fine.” I replied
grinning. “Breastfed babies are always big.”
Ọlaọmọ: I think she’s
breastfeeding too much. She feeds that baby every two – three hours. Isn’t that
too much?
“No.” I responded. “That’s
usual.” The newborn’s stomach is very small and breast milk is easily digestible
so feedings are more frequent in breastfed babies.”
Ọlaọmọ: What about bottle fed
babies? They are fed about three to four hours. It gives the mother time to
rest and do other things.
“Actually, it doesn’t.” I
replied. “Bottle-fed babies eat with longer intervals because the formula takes
longer to digest so it sits in the baby’s stomach for longer hours. The mother
still has to get up and prepare the formula, clean bottles and all that, also
there is the issue of overfeeding from the suction flow of bottles, there are
other health risks and health related problems. Breastfeeding is the best.
Wọnu: I agree with you. Guess
what I call breast milk?
“Omi ọyọn (water of the breast)?”
Wọnu; No, omi iye.
“Nice one.” I responded. “I’ll
spread that.”
Ọlaọmọ: You know why?
I shook my head.
Olaomo: Wole (Wọnu’s husband) had
pink eye last week and she (Wọnu) made eye drops from breastmilk. This cleared
his eyes. Since then she’s been singing the praise of breastmilk as omi iye.
“I’m not surprised.” I responded.
“Breastmilk has antibodies, so they may have assisted Wole’s cells.”
Ọlaọmọ: She’s planning to breast
feed exclusively for a year. Isn’t that suicidal?
“No. It’s not.” I responded
sweetly. “It’s actually best for her and baby. Her son will be very smart,
strong and secure. She will lose most, if not all of the pregnancy-related
weight and be well tuned to her son. I commend her decision.”
Ọlaọmọ: I think she’s overdoing
it. Four months is enough to breastfeed. After that it’s solids.
“Well, science has proven
otherwise.” I replied.
Wọnu: I just feel on top of the
world when I’m feeding him. Also, he’s doing so well. Look at his eyes, they’re
mine right?
Ọlaọmọ: Yeah right. Keep
deceiving yourself. He looks like his dad.
Wọnu: Actually, he looks like my
father-in-law.
“I think he looks like both of
you.” I started. “He has your eyebrows and your lips. But the cheeks, nose,
head shape and chin are Wole's.”
Wọnu: I know you’ll say that
because Wole is your friend.
Laughing, I replied. “Not really.
Just the way I see it for now. His looks may change. What’s his name?”
Both of them responded “Ọlaade”
Wọnu: Ọlaade Kristişeun.
“I see.” I commented. “It’s a
blend of your name and Wole’s abi? You are Ọmọwọnuọla and Wole is Adewole so
you joined some parts together. That’s good. It’s a lovely name. Ọlaade (wealth
of the crown), Kristişeun (Gratitude to Christ).”
Ọlaọmọ: Guess who does not like
the name?, her father-in-law.
“Huh?” I queried.
Wọnu: The man went Ballistic.
First he was upset that we named the baby before he was eight days old. We
explained that we had to name the baby because of the birth certificate at the
hospital. Then he called us Yoruba traitors because we did not have a naming
ceremony. The man wanted us to send him a ticket so he could come and do naming
ceremony for us. It was messy. He was screaming over the phone.
“My! My!” I replied.
Ọlaọmọ: The whip that broke the
camel’s back was when Wole told him that the name he gave the boy was not going
to be the popular name. Yoruba culture has issues jo. Who gave birth, him or
his son? I thank God my parents are enlightened.
“Wow.” I said. “It’s just six
weeks. I would expect that the joy of becoming a grandparent would make all
that a light thing.”
Wọnu: The man just has his own wahala
ni jare (trouble). Wole warned me before we got married. I don’t let it get
to me.
Ọlaọmọ: I pray I don’t have a
crazy father-in-law like him. Patrick’s (that’s my fiancé) family is fine so
far. But then, we don’t have a child yet. Let’s wait and see.
“Oh, sounds like a baby shower is
not too far off.” I stated. “I love baby showers. That’s one western culture
I’ve imbibed.”
Ọlaọmọ: We’re looking at 2009.
God will help us.
Wọnu: I’m going to have her baby
for her.
“Hmm.” I smiled. “That’s nice.
How does that work out?”
Ọlaọmọ: I’m a sickler so I’m not
going to try to even get pregnant. We’re going to do in-vitro fertilization
with my egg and Patrick’s. She has volunteered to be our surrogate mum.
Wọnu: I trust God that I’ll be
able to bless my sister and Patrick.
“What a blessing.” I rejoiced
with her. “What you’re doing is beautiful.”
Wọnu: Thank you. It’s a pleasure
though. My sister’s been through a lot for me too. It’s a privilege to give
back. She’s been the nanny, cook, cleaner and driver for the past six weeks.
“What has Wole been doing?” I
asked.
Ọlaọmọ: He’s been the handyman.
We all laughed.
Ọlaade stirred in Wọnu’s arms and
put his hands to his lips.
“He’s rooting.” I said. “That a
sign he’s ready for a meal.”
Wọnu: I better go to the
restroom. I don’t pump milk so I can’t feed him here.
Ọlaọmọ: Sure you can. This is a Nigerian
restaurant. People here are not against breastfeeding.
Wọnu: It’s not that. I just don’t
feel comfortable breastfeeding in public. It might be construed as indecent
exposure.
“I agree with your sister.” I put
in. “Nigerians are desensitized to public breastfeeding. We see it so often, it
is a normal thing. I know pornography and the like have sexualized the breast
but it is still a mammary gland and the primary use is to feed the newborn.
What’s more, it’s illegal in California to harass a mother for breastfeeding in
public.”
Wọnu: I don’t want everybody
seeing Wole’s property. Sorry, I’m going to the bathroom.
Ọlaọmọ: Okay, use a blanket to
cover your shoulder.
Wọnu: I tried that the last time
and my baby was sweating under the blanket, sorry, I have to go.
She told her sister what she
wanted to eat, then got up and made her way to the ladies room.
Ọlaọmọ and I discussed the
differences in cultural values in Nigeria and America, particularly southwest
Nigeria, Yorubaland. We explored a few differences on childcare and highlighted
the similarities. We were both intrigued by the diversity of the two cultures.
Faintly I heard a man’s voice cry out for the waiter. It was from a table not
too far from us. As I turned to Ọlaọmọ to continue our discussion, I saw her
gazed fixed on the man that had spoken. Then she turned to me and said,
Ọlaọmọ: What are the odds? This
is my first time in this restaurant and I…, Ariel happens to be here as well.
It’s a small world they say.
I turned again to look at the
man, who was now looking at us. His gaze met Ọlaọmọ’s, and for a minute, they
both looked at each other then continued what they were doing.
I noticed the discomfort so I
changed the subject.
“Let me recommend the shrimp
jollof rice.” I stated.
Ọlaọmọ: It does look delicious.
OK, I’ll try it. I like the ambience here. The atmosphere is also soothing. Is
that praise worship in the background?
Derbrah writes courtesy of Agape for All Ministries. Author
retains copyright.
Jadesọla’s restaurant is a
drama ministry of the Yoruba Christian Women (YCW), an international
faith-based non-governmental, not-for-profit organization. Similarity of names
and stories are coincidental. Feel free to copy for non-commercial use.
Commercial use requires permission. For more information on YCW write Jesutoyin
Ajikẹ-King (toyinking@yahoo.com).
|
Authors 
Posted by Robot| 27.12.2007 00:11