# she's afraid

in GEMSlast year


She's afraid

She's like a married virgin, no, not Mary the Mother of Jesus. She's one who is conscious of her pecuniary background, of the frailties of her economics. She is concerned about her survival model and the unimaginable complexity of introducing an extra mouth. She's worrisome of her past, and the set of events and decisions that limited her parents' possibilities and wildest dreams.

She's worried of what would become of her physiology if a non-challant spermatozoan fertilises her eggs: swollen legs, constant vomiting, spitting of unending saliva, enlarged nose, bigger lips, protruded tommy, distorted face, enlarged hips, sagged breasts, stretch marks, the-this-the-that of scary varieties. They would spell the end of her attractiveness, she imagines. How she would, for some time, if ever again, not be in the centre of cynosure.

She's concerned about how her next five years would be tied around the locus of a newborn. Sleeps that would be forfeited. Peace that might be sent on exile. Leisure time that might dash a 100m like a Usain Bolt. Movements that might be constrained. Activities that might be re-defined. The many things she would have to consider again, and again, if she would be branded a good mother, an Abiyamo in typical Yoruba parlance.

These were equally the fears of the mothers of the great heroes of our times, and the past. There wouldn't have been the Einsteins, the Gandhis, the Martins Luthers, the Edisons, the Wright Brothers, the Fords, the Socrates, the Platos, the Aristotles, the Marxs, the Rockerfellers, the Mandelas, the Hagins, the Baba Adeboyes, the Dangotes, the Bill Gates, the Zuckerbergs, the Ronaldos, the you, the me, the us. Think of a world without these people. Think of life without these human elements.

No, I am not talking about sexual liason. I am talking about how great things are birthed: the energy, the input, the commitment, the sweat, the tears, the blood. The friends we may lose in the process, the past we may never re-live, the opportunities we will watch walk past our eyes. The rejections, the private sacrifices, the prayers, the process, the becoming, the everything. In spite of all, we must do the expedient, we must obey the call of purpose and destiny-- this is how great institutions are birthed.