The baby boy
After my father came from detention, my mother became pregnant, but my father stayed at a rehabilitation facility before joining the family. My mother was in labor from early evening until morning when finally, the baby boy was born. In the middle of one night, my mother called me and asked me to sit behind her and support her back as she sat down on the bed. I was scared that she was sick and I didn’t know how to help her. She kept pushing and relaxing until morning when she asked me to call her friend. When we got back to the house, my mother was still pushing down and relaxing, and her friend helped get her out of and guided her to kneel forward, and the baby was finally born. My mother’s friend said that the baby was not breathing, and even though they tried helping him live by giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, it didn’t work.
They tried making loud noises in the baby’s ears by hitting tin cans, but there was no response. They finally said that the baby was dead and wrapped up carefully, and my mother slept with her dead baby until the day of the burial. That incident has remained fresh in my mind until now, and I still feel its impact as if it just occurred.
The burial became an issue of contention since my mother was born again Christian and a member of the revival movement. The two groups could not reconcile to bury the baby, and it took longer than it was supposed to. With no solution imminent, the PCEA Gathangri church stepped in and buried the baby at the public burial graveyard, and resolved the issue. I later realized that my mother was actually in labor and trying to give birth that night.