Bun In the oven

‘Dad, you’re embarrassing me. I’ll meet you at the waiting bay,’
‘Don’t worry,’ the young doctor said in comprehension, ‘I’m 25 myself but my dad follows me around like a labra doodle. So, tell me, shida ni gani?’

I looked over my shoulder as the door shut slowly behind me, just to make sure he was actually gone.
I took a deep breath and scrutinized the tiny, whitewashed room for any birds who could overhear our conversation.
‘Lately,’ I started off anxiously, ‘I’ve had an overly upset stomach. There’s a lot of nausea and cramping.’
‘Go on, she said as her long, sleek fingers pressed skillfully upon the keyboard. I’ve also been having mild backache; it’s probably just my mattress. It’s terrible, aaaand, I feel fatigued without really having performed befitting tasks’,

‘Have you been vomiting?
‘Uuum…yes, once in a while,’ my dishonesty was quite blatant so she proceeded.
‘When did you last have your period?’
I was really hoping she would not ask me that. Oh God, I know this is a moronic prayer but please, let it be h-pylori. I know the drugs cost a fortune but if it’s not h-pylori then my life is ruined.

‘I’m ten days late,’ I paused but without giving her room to react, I started up again, ‘but I’m irregular. I read up on Google that sometimes the range for irregular people is between 21-35 days. I’m on day thirty, five days to go.’
‘Miss, can I have a look at your breasts?’
I looked at my bosom, and then at the doctor, I didn’t want her to touch, what if she actually found what she was looking for? I had felt my tummy every morning for the past five weeks. It was still flat, only bulging a little after meals. The workout sessions I was having kept me confident. No baby would survive such constrain and shoving. If it was indeed there it was probably dead. I was stunned at the sort of thoughts I was beginning to harbor: fiendish, diabolic, barbaric thoughts.

‘Miss, ‘, she insisted, ‘I need to have a look at your breasts’
Oow! I screamed at the first touch.
‘Hmmm…soreness and the veins… very apparent’
I looked on, petrified; I think my heart was holding its breath for a moment too.

‘Miss, you’re five weeks pregnant’

The room began to rotate and revolve at once, the water dispenser was upside down, the doctors face spun before my eyes like a ball of thread. I held on to my seat since it went along with the motion. I could not afford to fall into the abyss of disarray that now lay bare below me, its jaws wide open.

‘Madam, uko sawa?’
I looked her in the eye, beyond the compact spectacles. She had ruined my life.
‘Asante, niko sawa,’ I said taking to my feet.


I walked away briskly paving way to a breathless woman headed her way.

At the waiting bay I watched him reading ‘break out’ by Joel Osteen. Oh dad, I could not break his heart; I was his subject of pride and joy, his object of affection. So I cleared my clogged throat, readjusted my brassiere, straightened my ‘Heineken’ T-shirt.
He looked up in agitation ‘wamesemaje?’
Ni hyperacidity tu. They’ve put me on a diet’
‘Kwani what have you been eating…’ he talked on two streets before we got to the main stage. I could only hear portions of his one-way conversation.
Hawa MP’s…study hard…never grow up…BBI…juzi tu…China…msichana mdogo…’

Hadn’t I checked my morning urine every day for the past two weeks? Done all tests; the salt test, and the sugar test. Even the mouthwash test. Hadn’t they come out negative? I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I buy a pregnancy test kit? I didn’t have the grit. I didn’t want to confirm my fears.

Like a broken videotape the events that led me to this played before my eyes.

‘I’m really trusting to wait in purity babe. I want us to be the embodiment of holy matrimony,’
Ryan had been my l’amour de ma vie for five months now. This was the furthest I had ever gone on matters relationship. I had a good feeling about it.

He grinned, ‘We can do that, I mean… I can do that, but…can you? ‘he said as his hand, soft as a baby’s bottom slipped into my chiffon blouse. I looked into his eyes, so dreamy, the Adams apple resting so gracefully on his long neck. His left hand brushed through my lips as I felt his scent hypnotizing me to shut my eyes. As he bent over I could feel my heart breaking out, prompting my bosom to move in an upbeat mode, rising with every second into a relentless crescendo. He lingered, lingered for a while, I could feel his lips but couldn’t taste them.
I had become a starved lioness, a blood-thirsty vampire, thirsty for his being, craving for him to pour out his entire being into mine. I breathed intensely. He let go, stepped back.
‘I want to honor our agreement,’

How could he, how could he use my very weakness against me? He knew I was weak, vulnerable,spontaneous; and he still went ahead to light the flame and it would not go out. I craved ignition: he had the key. Like the maniac he had made me, I went for him. The whole world blurred into us, melted, dissolved into just us…

It’s funny how life moves from circumspection to utter oblivion in the blink of an eye don’t you agree?

As I boarded the matatu on my way home, I fished out my phone, went straight to the call logs and typed up his name ‘sweet pain’ succeeded by two heart emojis
‘Hello? Sasa babe…’

‘Niko na ball…’

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