Entry 12
Abby:
You know how there are some conversations you wish you had heard and others you wish you hadn’t? Well, this was one of the latter.
I was coming in from the garden, where I had gone to dry some clothes, when I overheard Aunty in the dining room saying, “My dear, I don’t know what to do. I’m not sure who it belongs to.”
Now, that sentence on its own didn’t mean much. But then, a few days later, I heard Aunty and Uncle arguing—yelling, actually.
“Look, I told you I only wanted two. I thought we had an agreement!” Uncle shouted.
Aunty’s voice responded sharply, “So what do you want me to do? It takes two to tango!”
“Why didn’t you protect yourself?” Uncle fired back.
Aunty snapped, “And why didn’t you?”
And so it went on, back and forth, until Uncle finally stormed out, yelling, “Do whatever you like! I just know I don’t want another child. And since you insist, you’ll have to stop that shop of yours and get a proper job. The money you make there isn’t going to sustain a family of five—let alone any more additions.”
Wow.
I know you might think I was too young to understand, but come on, I was thirteen—going on twenty-one. The things I saw, the secrets I had to keep, and the skills I learned to milk them aged me twice as fast as I should have.
So, I sat down and thought about it. Not sure who it belongs to? I don’t want another baby? It was clear—Aunty was pregnant. But did that mean she didn’t know who the father was?
Well, I got my answer when I overheard yet another argument—this time coming from Aunty’s office. That was odd because, usually, when you pressed your ear against her door, all you heard were giggles and… well, other noises.
But this time, I got there late. And all I heard was:
“You can’t give what’s mine to someone else! I won’t take it!”
Hmmm…
Chris:
Trouble sits peacefully, and then you go and disturb it.
I’m not sure if this applies to what happened to me a few months after Bisi came into my life—or rather, after Bisi met me. But one day, she came to me and said:
“Chris, I need you to come meet my parents. I’m pregnant.”
Pregnant?
“Congratulations,” I said innocently. “Who’s the father?”
She smiled and replied, “You.”
Absolutely no way.
I might be stupid. I might be a village boy. And sure, I had never done it before I met Bisi. But no matter how clumsy I was, I knew that what we were doing—and I mean literally—could not have resulted in a pregnancy.
I mean, she never even took off her underwear. She made me take off mine, but every time, I had to get tissue to… relieve myself in the end. And I told her as much.
That’s when she got upset.
“Hey, boy, listen to me. I say it’s yours, so it’s yours! Do you even know how a woman gets pregnant? I was your first, and I know more than you. Sometimes, it slips through the underwear and gets into the womb. Remember that time you did it on my pants?”
At that point, I was shivering. Could that be true?
She even said that kissing her helped to speed up the process.
Now, let’s pause here.
I know you must be laughing your head off, calling me a dummy—or worse. But the truth is, before I met Bisi, I had never kissed a girl. Not even hugged one. So what did you expect?
Anyway, shaking and shivering, I let her drag me into her car. By then, I was crying—thinking of all the things I hadn’t done with my life.
She was good.
“You’re going to be a father now,” she said, stroking my hair. “So man up. When you meet my parents, they’ll ask for your intentions. Just tell them you’ll take care of me and the baby.”
That was the last thing I heard before I passed out.
Hmmm…
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