Miracle Baby

"You can call me a miracle baby."

You and I both know there's no such word in English, but Pastor Deya brought it about and Kenyans gave it meaning and so we ran with it. We own it. Maybe we should patent it so that Disney doesn't own another of our phrases as they did with Hakuna Matata.

Miracle baby, yes!

"Because I was born by luck. I was a lucky child."

I'm more confused now, I guess she read my face.

"Haya... Let me take you back to where it all started."

He was a successful and renowned businessman. Traversing the globe like a small village. He'd wake up in his bachelor pad, have lunch in Dubai, and dinner in the Mara. He was every woman's dream. Success, he stood tall, he was dark and he was cute. He is not handsome, No! Cute.

She was the supervisor at a local chain brand of restaurants. They bumped in the elevators as he was coming from a conference meeting with some stakeholders and partners. She was already in the elevator as the door chimed and a lady in a rusty, scrappy voice said "Door opening", on the fifth floor.

"Going up or down?"

"Down."

That was the first conversation they had. She had a name tag on her left chest area, should we say boobies?

He read her name and occupation as he entered with a briefcase and pressed the close button. He didn't have to press the floor button since she was already heading to the ground floor.

"Hello, Name?" He said with a deep and commanding voice.

She smiled as she replied, "Hello to you.."

In the hospitality industry, they sell smiles. It's imperative to smile at clients and always be willing to help. Something she'd perfected over the years.

Cell phones were not on the market yet. He couldn't use the "May I have your number, I seemed to have lost mine" pickup line. The elevators were loud, and the mechanism was not so swift. For instance, the door opening and closing sounded like the doors to a morgue. They are loud, bored, slow, and lifeless. The paint was chipped on both sides, and the sliding rails had been recently oiled and were black and untidy.

The stopping made sounds like train breaks. Metal screeching on metal. You could feel it in your teeth if you had tooth sensitivity. These were a bit modernized elevators by the way compared to the then technology.

He had to be loud for them to converse. The exact details of the conversation are unknown to us. But five floors later as the woman in a rusty voice called, "ground floor doors opening", he was going to see her around. They both parted smiling. 

Dinners, picnics, and movie dates were the trend. He made her feel special. In all her life, she'd never had a man walk her home or pay for her meals. It was magical. She made her feel butterflies in her belly every time he'd visit her small office and offer to take her out for something random. It's amazing how he made time from his crazy schedule.

They'd often go for weeks without a word and she was okay since she understood his routines. He had a way of making her know, even while he was away, she was always on his mind. She didn't know anyone who owned a passport ever. He was the first one. On their date nights, he'd baffle her with his adventures, stories of other countries, and different cultures.

His passport was a gallery, with a variety of stamps in all shapes, size and colors each with a story. His deep voice mostly, is what she found sassy. She'd sleep on his chest listening to the stories. He was that soothing. Masculine, he made her feel at ease.

Soon he proposed. And not long after they were on the altar saying "In sickness and in health, till death do us part? I do." They both did.

Soon our narrator was born. Fruit of love.

"Remember Miracle baby?"

"For some reason, after I was born, they couldn't get another child."

They tried but to no fruition. This didn't fit well with him. He's from a background that believes in having multiple children in case an invisible "curse" tries to sweep your lineage, at least one or two children may survive. You know them right? If you don't ask ProDigital, I bet he must have a clue.

Things were good growing up. A happy and loving family. They lived in a suburb, gated community, and went for family vacations abroad. Life couldn't be better.

But the ghost elephant in the home lingered. He grew, resentful of her. He concluded, she didn't want to have more kids with him. Back in the day, men didn't visit the fertility clinic or OB/GYN. It was considered a somewhat taboo. If a couple couldn't get pregnant it had to be the woman's fault, she was the one with a problem. Period!

Growing up as an only child was her life. They had a thing with her Dad. They loved reading together and had a game of oxymoron's. Each time they'd come across one they'd share it and joke about it. Their relationship grew cold and colder, but she was too young to descry.

One time, he stopped sleeping in their bedroom, but when she asked him he said he was watching a movie on the couch and fell asleep. See, It made perfect sense to a 10-year-old.

Now, he would travel for longer than usual. Two weeks became four. By this time mobile phones were slowly creeping in and replacing smoke signals and drums. She would bug her mum to call him, but she was ever reluctant. 

One day she overheard them arguing in their bedroom. Mum was crying and he was trying to explain. She felt betrayed. Little her, couldn't get exactly what was the issue. But she remembers her telling him that she also wanted more kids. 

Apparently, the argument ensued after he told her that he'd met someone else and that they were having a second child together. 

He couldn't risk having all his "eggs in one basket". Not only one basket, but one egg in one basket in this case. She was bitter. The idea of co-wives never crossed her mind in a millennia. She is the jealous type. She couldn't bring herself to share his man with another woman and that in itself was reason enough to stop sharing their matrimonial bed. 

She, now had siblings. Step-siblings rather. Her mum was up for a promotion to branch manager but the job was in Mombasa. By this time, he had almost completely stopped coming home. Her attitude was I think the most contributing factor. She pushed him away, or maybe things were nicer in the other home. She doesn't know for sure, but one thing was certain. Surely death did them apart, only death was another woman. 

She spent most of her teenage and youthful years at the Coast. Maintaining their hobby and learning new oxymoron's, in the hope that someday he'll come home and she'll have plenty of them to share. Her favorite so far is "Perfect Imperfection". 

She finds it ironic, yet it sums up her life story. Mum is a workaholic, she's never seen her with someone else ever since. Nothing changed for her though. She schooled, and she never lacked, except she missed Dad. She's hopeful that someday she'll get to share the oxymoron's she's learned over the years. 

"I believe what happened between them, is between them. It doesn't concern me. Mum, explained this to me once I was old enough, but he's still my old man. See.. I'm a miracle baby!"

That is how she ended our interview. 

I had one question though but forgot to ask. What's the difference between cute and handsome anyone?