So I saw this mother under the scorching sun on my way to work one morning, as I sat inside the taxify, I ordered
With three children, the oldest not even 4 yet.
Little baby, still suckling tied to her back.
The eldest, probably 3 years old, seated between she and the okada man.
Another child, younger, in front of the okada man
The only time we are brave enough to give our children to a total stranger and trust him to keep them safe while on motion, is when we are on-top okada
And somebody tomorrow will say...
Power of a woman
Women are strong
Mother's are superhumans
Well...I say fuck fuck that
That's BS
That's the suffering of a woman
The tears of motherhood
Poverty and Pain
It's not strength, it's sufferness
So, I wound down and as our eyes met, I took the pure bliss biscuit from the Hawker I signalled, bought 3 chocolate flavor, paid the hawker, looked at her again and then I wound the glass up, savoring the taste of pure bliss while her Okada finally managed to evade the traffic and sped off into oblivion.
I chewed nonchalantly and undisturbed. Even when the taxify driver looked at me and smiled, I eyed him and put the other two in my bag..."Oga na N100" I said.
The painful thing about the woman and the offsprings she is producing, is the spacing that is very wrong as well.
Each child probably has just a year between themselves.
Why would you keep producing offsprings when you can't even produce an environment for them to be comfortable in?
Because sugar is sweet, must you lick it every time you see it?
Can't you and your husband rest and hustle as hard as you fuck?
Now, under the sun the man is no where to be found.
Probably drinking and ogling young female hawkers.
Spending half of the little he has made on dirty small girls, who will insult and remove his cap while he bares ogogoro stained teeth and try to touch their developing breasts.
While the superwoman with a child on her back, is busy carrying three children on okada, thinking and believing, she is giving them education because they attend one free school somewhere in one dilapidated building.
And tomorrow, when her landlady in the face me I slap you one room compound she lives in, ask her..."Iya Chisom, where are the children?"
With a wrapper on her chest, covering sagged boobs fallen from poverty, aggressive and abusive suckling without space and the stained lips of kaikai and Indian hemp mouth, she will answer... "Mummy dem go school." As she smiles, picks the stove and hurriedly rushes off to prepare lunch for the children and the husband who would return shortly, while she serves him like a King in their squalor and probably do one round again without family planning and then rushes off again with the okada, to pick the children.
The fourth child planted already, and growing.
And someone will say this is love.
And this is the power or strength of a woman.
Strength to carry poverty?
I say shut up.. This is death and this is suicide!
Before you say, "I Do!"
Ask yourself... "Do I?"
Kingdavid Chinaeke Ofunne
Authorpreneur
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