The Boy Gift
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| (c) Copyright 2007 by HM Inc. + Meja Mwangi |
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| Meja Mwangi -Boy Gift |
| With a lot of humour, the author tells us how the community reacts to this strange baby, and how Tomei seeks the advice of a medicine man, who is not entirely loyal to him. |
| The Boy Gift hm books 2007 ISBN 978-1-84728-471-6 |
| Toma Tomei wants to become chief of his clan. But the father of nine daughters has a chance to achieve his aim only if he has a son. So he has great hopes when his wife gives birth to their tenth child. The next morning he is shown his baby – it’s a boy, but ... |
| The Boy Gift |
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| EUR. 11,95 |
| US $ 17.44 |
Black-eye bean
Inside the matron’s office, a few moments later, he listened
bewildered as another hard woman told him a strange story, and an
even longer tale, that had nothing at all to do with his simple and
orderly world, and made no sense whatsoever.
“You say it is not sick?” he asked her confounded.
“It’s perfectly normal,” the Day Matron assured him.
“And it is not bewitched?”
“It’s not witchcraft.”
“Why is it … different?” He asked her.
“Why?” she asked, exasperated. “Because it is different.”
It was a cramped office. Files and empty boxes lay all over the
place. The shelves along the walls were packed with more files and
empty cartons. On one wall were two portraits of two white women,
one old and the other holding a baby. Tomei recognized the Madonna
and Child, but he had never heard of Mother Theresa, nor ever felt as
outnumbered as he did now.
“Where is it from?” he asked the matron. “That is what I want to
know.”
“It’s a type, not a tribe,” she explained. “Very rare, but it happens.”
How come I never heard of it?”
Such things never happened to his clan.
“It’s extremely rare,” she explained, talking slowly and clearly, as
to a child. “A strange but normal thing.”
But, she went on to add, the strangest things were getting
common every day.
“It’s all the pills and things your wives take not to have babies,”
she said to him. “The skin-whitening creams and foreign soaps and
things you make them use to beautify themselves; it’s a wonder the
babies are born with any skin at all.”
“Not my wife,” Tomei informed her.
His wife Grace was a real woman, a traditional woman. She did
not need to change her face to beautify herself for him. In fact, he
would be very angry with her if she changed herself. But that was
not why he was here.
“Men!” They never ceased to amaze her. “It’s not all about you,
you know.”
“Not about me?” he asked startled.
“Not about men,” she laughed. “It is also about us women. We
are not the beasts of burden and baby machines you take us for, you
know. We are people too; people with feelings and needs, just like
you. We need to look good, and to feel good too about our bodies
and ourselves. We’d like to be desired for things other than our
fertility and our industry. To be desired for …”
“Desired?” Tomei was at a complete loss. “Why? Desired by
whom?”
“By our husbands,” she eased, “just by you. Not that it ever
stopped a man from wandering.”
“Wandering?” What on earth was she talking about now?
And before he could begin to understand her, she was off on a
different track, dragging him along winding bush trails, full of wild and
obscure ideas, he had never imagined existed. She told him of cell
formation, and of fertilisation and mitosis. She talked of things called
chromosomes, mitochondria and DNA, and about a dozen equally
mystifying things that he had never heard of, and didn’t care to
understand. It left a ringing in his ears.
“Were you there when the baby was born?” he asked, returning
to the more pertinent issue.
“The Night Matron would tell you the same thing too, if she were
here.”
It’s a natural phenomenon.”
“A what?”
“A natural occurrence.”
Tomei shook his head, scratched his chin and was lost for words.
“So what do I tell the clan?” he asked himself.
“Exactly what I have told you,” she advised. “It’s a natural
phenomenon and nothing more. I’m sure the clan will understand.”
She did not understand at all, he now realised. The son had to be
like the father; like the father in every detail. He tried enlightening
her.
She listened patiently while he educated her, moaning and
groaning and grumbling about clans and traditions, and about what it
meant to be a man, until she wearied of him. Then she picked up the
phone and made a call to Nairobi to consult an expert. The expert
confirmed what she had just told Tomei, that it wasn’t anyone’s fault,
and that he and his clan better start liking it, because, like it or not,
that was the way it was. That was it.
Tomei settled deeper in his chair, and it seemed he would not
leave unless she told him something he could understand. So she
made one more telephone call, this one to a renowned doctor in
Canada. Professor Churchill confirmed that the boy was perfectly
normal and would do just fine, as long as they kept him out of the sun.
“Out of the sun!” Tomei shot to his feet. “What sort of chief doesn’
t go out in the sun?”
“Sit down!” She ordered, slamming down the phone.
He was so startled he sat down.
READ ON ...
Inside the matron’s office, a few moments later, he listened
bewildered as another hard woman told him a strange story, and an
even longer tale, that had nothing at all to do with his simple and
orderly world, and made no sense whatsoever.
“You say it is not sick?” he asked her confounded.
“It’s perfectly normal,” the Day Matron assured him.
“And it is not bewitched?”
“It’s not witchcraft.”
“Why is it … different?” He asked her.
“Why?” she asked, exasperated. “Because it is different.”
It was a cramped office. Files and empty boxes lay all over the
place. The shelves along the walls were packed with more files and
empty cartons. On one wall were two portraits of two white women,
one old and the other holding a baby. Tomei recognized the Madonna
and Child, but he had never heard of Mother Theresa, nor ever felt as
outnumbered as he did now.
“Where is it from?” he asked the matron. “That is what I want to
know.”
“It’s a type, not a tribe,” she explained. “Very rare, but it happens.”
How come I never heard of it?”
Such things never happened to his clan.
“It’s extremely rare,” she explained, talking slowly and clearly, as
to a child. “A strange but normal thing.”
But, she went on to add, the strangest things were getting
common every day.
“It’s all the pills and things your wives take not to have babies,”
she said to him. “The skin-whitening creams and foreign soaps and
things you make them use to beautify themselves; it’s a wonder the
babies are born with any skin at all.”
“Not my wife,” Tomei informed her.
His wife Grace was a real woman, a traditional woman. She did
not need to change her face to beautify herself for him. In fact, he
would be very angry with her if she changed herself. But that was
not why he was here.
“Men!” They never ceased to amaze her. “It’s not all about you,
you know.”
“Not about me?” he asked startled.
“Not about men,” she laughed. “It is also about us women. We
are not the beasts of burden and baby machines you take us for, you
know. We are people too; people with feelings and needs, just like
you. We need to look good, and to feel good too about our bodies
and ourselves. We’d like to be desired for things other than our
fertility and our industry. To be desired for …”
“Desired?” Tomei was at a complete loss. “Why? Desired by
whom?”
“By our husbands,” she eased, “just by you. Not that it ever
stopped a man from wandering.”
“Wandering?” What on earth was she talking about now?
And before he could begin to understand her, she was off on a
different track, dragging him along winding bush trails, full of wild and
obscure ideas, he had never imagined existed. She told him of cell
formation, and of fertilisation and mitosis. She talked of things called
chromosomes, mitochondria and DNA, and about a dozen equally
mystifying things that he had never heard of, and didn’t care to
understand. It left a ringing in his ears.
“Were you there when the baby was born?” he asked, returning
to the more pertinent issue.
“The Night Matron would tell you the same thing too, if she were
here.”
It’s a natural phenomenon.”
“A what?”
“A natural occurrence.”
Tomei shook his head, scratched his chin and was lost for words.
“So what do I tell the clan?” he asked himself.
“Exactly what I have told you,” she advised. “It’s a natural
phenomenon and nothing more. I’m sure the clan will understand.”
She did not understand at all, he now realised. The son had to be
like the father; like the father in every detail. He tried enlightening
her.
She listened patiently while he educated her, moaning and
groaning and grumbling about clans and traditions, and about what it
meant to be a man, until she wearied of him. Then she picked up the
phone and made a call to Nairobi to consult an expert. The expert
confirmed what she had just told Tomei, that it wasn’t anyone’s fault,
and that he and his clan better start liking it, because, like it or not,
that was the way it was. That was it.
Tomei settled deeper in his chair, and it seemed he would not
leave unless she told him something he could understand. So she
made one more telephone call, this one to a renowned doctor in
Canada. Professor Churchill confirmed that the boy was perfectly
normal and would do just fine, as long as they kept him out of the sun.
“Out of the sun!” Tomei shot to his feet. “What sort of chief doesn’
t go out in the sun?”
“Sit down!” She ordered, slamming down the phone.
He was so startled he sat down.
READ ON ...