I REFUSE TO BE AN ‘AFRICAN WOMAN’

 

I have failed the generation that is African women, terribly so. As I write this I have just recovered from an episode of intense menstrual cramping that had almost claimed my sanity. Earlier during the day some of my friends came visiting and the subject of discussion was…Childbirth! As everyone got talking about the best way to bring forth new life I found myself in familiar territory- holding a contradicting opinion that made me the black sheep of the conversation. After what I just underwent for three hours or so this evening, I feel vindicated to have been of the opinion that Caesarian Section is the best way to go about things. I refuse to be an African woman regarding the issue of reproductive processes. I know anything natural is always the best choice but if it involves pain, I’ve gotta give it a second, third and even fourth thought.

 

Back to cramping; after being criticized by my friends for being a weakling who always wants the easy ways out, I started thinking seriously about my ‘Africanness’ and how I could begin expressing it. As if the gods had their ears on the ground waiting to help a sister in her quest to be a true African woman, my ‘days of the month’ decided to show up today, how appropriate! This is a God sent opportunity! I thought to myself as I braced myself for five days or so of giving painkillers a wide berth and enduring the pain like a proper African woman. This was going to be a good starting point if I was to embrace the idea of labor pains and natural birth in the near future. I was excited; it felt like I was a confident soldier going to war for the first time and with the surety of a victory in the battle.

 

I was tempted to go to the Chemist and get some painkillers ‘just in case’, I mean; the late Maya Angelou said a proper woman should always be armed to the tooth for anything, right? I decided to pass the idea and headed back to my house. My sixth sense told me it was a bad idea given the intensity of pain that was awaiting me but with the hindsight of how proud my friends had been as they described their ‘African woman moment’ of braving pain during such times, I decided to soldier on. There is always a first time, I told myself as I filled several bottles with hot water to join the brigade of African women fighting pain ‘the natural way’. I even busied myself with physical exercise as I had been advised and did a random walk around school to avert any cramping on the way.

 

The first pang of pain cut right across my tummy like a sharp object. I lay on my back and got onto the first remedy- think less about the pain and divert your thoughts to something more interesting, like someone you love. I started thinking about a certain guy, a certain guy in my Fb inbox with really cute eyes. It made me feel better for a while. Only for a short while; before I knew it the cramping was fast spreading from my tummy to my thighs. Heh! That was just it. I took two hot water bottles and quickly placed them on my tummy and thighs. Bad idea, the heat from the water was making the pain even more intense. My back too had joined forces now and I just couldn’t stand the pain. Did I mention nausea and a bad headache? I tried doing a self massage but that didn’t make things any better. Lying in bed felt like relaxing in the middle of a bonfire, the pain seemed to increase with any slight movement I made.

 

I saw death, no; I was dead for a moment. I swear I became numb for some seconds and feared I had joined my ancestors right in the middle of my bold quest to become an ‘African woman’. When I regained consciousness being an ‘African woman’ was the last thing on my mind. I asked my housemate to go collect any kind of painkillers she could get from our neighbors. She came back with a cocktail of drugs, some of which I have never seen or heard of. I was like a druggie who had been off their thing and their system was threatening to explode if they didn’t do a re- boot at the earliest opportunity. I quickly grabbed two yellow capsules I’ve never seen and two Paracetamols and gobbled them down with lots of water before jumping into my bed and covered completely. Whatever happens let it happen as long as it is not the pain I am currently experiencing.

 

I woke up two hours later covered in sweat but with a surprisingly relived body and a light head. I wanted to write immediately! My housemate offered me supper, it was around midnight. I said no, the inspiration bug had bit me and this is not a moment any Writer wants to pass. I rarely get inspired by failure but here I was all flared up after my poor show in braving pain like my fellow African women. It’s currently raining outside even as I write this. I feel like going outside to dance in the rain and tell my African forefathers that I have failed. The bar was placed too high for me. I want that bar lowered or my name be forever struck out of the book of ‘African women’ if the tenets are going to be voluntary endurance of physical pain.

 

I am thinking about labor pains now. If I could not stand a few hours of cramping pain how will I even face the pangs of childbearing? Will my husband see me as a complete failure if I fail to endure pain for the sake of his children? No, will I feel like a complete failure if I do not endure pain while bringing forth our children? Does it make me any less of an African woman that I am so afraid of physical pain? Isn’t there any other measure of being a ‘true African woman’ apart from endurance of pain? Why must our strength always be inspired by pain? Isn’t it time we all rested from the idiocy that is putting ourselves through physical pain in order to express our womanhood? I am strong but I refuse deliberate pain. To my future husband: my strength is not sufficient to see me through a labor ward but if you promise to stick by my side to the very last minute, I might just pass Caesarian section and go through those six hours or so of pain to bring forth our child. What I mean is- if you volunteer to be the recipient of my out of love kicks and blows as I go through labor pain, yes honey, natural will do it for me! Meanwhile I will be at the Chemist first thing in the morning to get my monthly dose of painkillers; I have refused to be an African woman!