Chapter Thirty-Eight – Abortions or Nah?

Hi there, reader. Did you miss me? I know you did. Well, who knew we would be in our third season so soon. It was not yesterday I was introducing myself, so soon we’re in second year. Do you know what that means? It means no more freshman nonsense; now we’re grown.

Our first night of school, we decided to have a little get together. A lot happened over the vacation and we hadn’t had the chance to meet very regularly. This was the best time to catch up and hear about all the dumb decisions we made before we made new ones this semester.

Carl pulled out the uno game and we chatted while we played.

“What do you guys think about abortion?” I asked suddenly. Lara looked puzzled. “Where from this question? Are you pregnant?” she asked with a nervous laugh. Well, Miss. Mamas, even if I was, how would I say it in front of everybody?

“Oh no. I’m just curious to know you guys' thoughts.”

“I think it’s a sin and everyone who does it is going straight to hell” Mara said flatly.

“What about you, Boateng? What do you think about abortions? You had a pregnancy scare last sem.”

“I don’t really have an opinion on it, honestly. I’m a guy, I’m not the one going to be walking around with an inflated belly. I won’t lie though, it did seem like a good option to me when I thought Marilyn was pregnant.”

I looked over at Lara. “It depends. If you’re a working woman with a responsible baby daddy, I think it’s wrong to get an abortion” she said.

“So, if I’m unemployed then it’s okay?” I asked.

“Yes. We were all here when that girl from the Statistics department was pregnant. It was not cute. Her parents cut her off; the baby daddy was an irresponsible bastard, showing up every three to four weeks; she struggled to keep up with lectures; not to mention, everyone was always talking about her – sometimes to her face. Your station of life determines whether or not an abortion is a good idea and right now, it’s the best choice. Plus, you’re in no condition to be bringing a child into the world only to suffer.”

“What about you, Araba? What do you think about it?” Carl asked. I felt put on the spot and giggled nervously.

“I don’t really know. That’s why I asked you guys. I’m a Christian so I’d like to think it’s wrong but honestly, sometimes the arguments for it sound convincing.”

“So, you’re telling me if you were pregnant, you wouldn’t consider abortion?” Boateng asked me. I was contemplating the answer when Lara cut in: “why let it get there in the first place? There’re so many things you can do. Condoms, Postinor, vasectomy, tubal litigation, pull out, shots. The idea that people get pregnant unexpectedly in this particular century baffles me. How reckless could you be?”

As we walked back to our room, Lara was uncharacteristically quiet. “Araba, why did you ask that question today? Are you…”

“Oh gosh! No! Never!” I exclaimed, “it’s just something I’ve been thinking of lately. After Boateng’s ordeal I couldn’t help but think ‘what if it was real?’ What if Marilyn was actually pregnant? Then there’s you and Kwame, I know you guys are active; what if it happened to you guys too?”

“You’ve never wondered about yourself? I mean, you have a boyfriend now.”

“Yeah, but Sly and I haven’t done anything yet and we don’t really plan to, anyway.”

I was so glad she didn’t probe any further.

I wasn’t satisfied with the feedback I got from my friends on the subject so I decided to consult my mother because if there’s one thing my mother can do, it’s give good advice. Even though school had reopened, lectures hadn’t started in earnest so I took a trip home to see her.

Saturdays were her “self-care” days so she was painting her toe nails when I joined her to ask her her thoughts on abortion. She paused mid stroke on her big toe and looked at me from the corner of her eye.

“Why this question?” she asked, setting down the nail polish bottle. Why was everyone acting like this was such a strange thing to ask? I see you reading this, giving me the side-eye. It’s just a question.

“I just want to know. My friends and I were talking about it and I wanted to know where you stood.”

“Okay. Well, sweetie, we’re Christians and so I don’t support that. However, people are entitled to choose. I think the best thing we can do is to support people when there’s an unwanted pregnancy. That way, they won’t feel the need to get rid of the baby. It’s part of what we do at my office. Recently we dealt with this 16-year-old who gave birth to her uncle’s child – really sickening. Anyway, we helped to get her back into school and we’re helping her care for the baby. If we hadn’t been around, this girl would have had to choose between abortion or living a miserable life.”

“What would you do if I told you I was pregnant?”

My mother sat up in her chair. “Okay, now you’re scaring me. Did something happen between you and Sly? Are you actually pregnant?”

I laughed. “Mummy, nothing has happened. Well, it almost did, but it didn’t. I’m not pregnant. It just set me thinking.”

“Hmmm. If you say so, I believe you. We can talk about what almost happened later but to answer your question, I would first of all be really mad at you. Ultimately, I would be glad you told me and then I’d support you to have the baby and make sure that it doesn’t destroy your life. I will never understand parents putting their children out of the house when they get pregnant. Okay, so your child made a mistake and your genius idea to fix it is by punishing them and making things harder?”

As I hugged my mother to bid her goodbye, she held me a bit longer. “I’m really proud of you. You know that right? Be careful out there, okay. I know what University is like. You lose yourself trying to keep a man or trying to keep a friend. You turn into something you don’t want to associate with. If you have to break down who you are to keep someone around, they’re not worth keeping. They don’t want the real you, anyway. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I don’t think I’ve shared this before; I really love my mum. I wish all mothers were like her.

Also, reader, you can relax. You’ve been squeezing your facial muscles since this chapter began wondering if I might be preggers. I am not. I don’t know why you’d be wondering that. I made it pretty clear several paragraphs ago that I wasn’t.

The topic had been coming to mind because of what happened at the end of last semester, or rather, what didn’t happen. No, Sly and I did not have sex. Thank God. My mother was right about breaking down who you are. I knew I wasn’t ready to do anything but I was so focused on keeping my man that I forgot to keep myself. Wow, that is a bar right there. I should go into part time motivational coaching.

I threw the idea at Sly and he was understandably shocked. He said he was for the idea as long as that was what I really wanted. I said it was. We had settled on when it would happen and I was so nervous. I researched online about how best to do it and what not to do. The more I read, the more I knew that I really did not want to do this. I tried convincing myself that since 90% of the world is run by sex, it would be uncomfortable initially but worth it in the end.

On the day of, I arrived at Sly’s room and when I entered, I was ready to get into it, I guess. I would go change in the washroom and then what happened next would happen.

I smiled nervously at him and played with my hair. We got through the awkward phase of making small talk. I was seated on his bed and he joined me. In my head I was thinking “this is it. It’s about to happen. Araba, whatever you do, do not cry. This is how you keep a man.”.

Then he said “I don’t think we should do this.”

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The Roberts Teaser

I am excited to announce that I will be starting a new story series titled 'The Roberts'. I can't wait for you to read this story filled with family drama, lies deceit and murder. Here's a little teaser of what to expect from the new series.

The year was 2005. Mr. Roberts walked into his home at the odd hour of 3:00am. He kicked off his shoes and pushed them into a corner. His right foot was about to make contact with the first step when the living room lights came on.

He turned around to find his wife standing by the switch. His eyes followed her as she made her way to the sofa and took a seat. He waited with baited breath for what she was going to say. Some nights she would cry, sometimes she would give him the silent treatment but of late, most nights she argued with him.

It wasn’t until she was in her seat with her legs crossed that she opened her mouth to speak. “It’s 3:00am” she muttered after pointing at the clock on the wall. Truth be told, Mr. Roberts felt guilty but he was in no mood to be called out – at least not tonight. “Yes, I know” he replied coyly and turned on his heel.

His foot made contact with the second step when the next statement followed, or rather, the question. “What am I supposed to tell your children when they ask me questions? Your son is old enough to remember things. What am I supposed to tell him when he asks me why you come home late from work or why you don’t look at mummy or touch her?”.

Mrs. Roberts was angrier than hurt. She’d been hurt too many times to be hurt anymore but the tears welled up in her eyes anyway and her voice cracked just thinking about how unjust her husband was being. She pushed back the tears with one big swallow and looked sternly at Mark.

“Abena, I am tired. I have had a long day. You can tell your son whatever you like” Mark responded, refusing to feel guilt. His leg moved to the third step. The clock’s minute hand could be heard clicking in the silence of the night.

“So, who were you with?” Abena asked like she cared. She wanted to rile him up. She wanted to hurt him.

Mark turned around and came down the stairs. He gave his wife a long hard stare.

“Where are you going to go? What are you going to do? You have no money and no job. Who’s going to take care of the children if not me? This attitude is getting frustrating. I was out with other women. Accept that and deal with it. You should be lucky I am not leaving you like Charles did his wife. I am a good man and a good father. You should be grateful.”

Abena didn’t bother to react. She watched Mark climb the stairs until all she could hear was the sound of his footsteps and their bedroom door shutting. She looked over at the clock. The minute hand had just come to rest on 3. It was 3:15am.

She sat at the dining table and played with her fingers as she often liked to do when she was deep in thought. Mark was a wide-eyed dreamer when she’d met him. He had great idea but terrible plans of execution. With her degree in Business Administration and training from her father, she had turned his idea into a successful business. He had asked her to stay home and raise the children. He said he owed her everything and so she would never have to work a day in her life. He had promised her the world and given her a small village in the middle of nowhere.

If she left, she would have to start from scratch. She would be grinding and hustling trying to feed 3 children while he lived the life of his dreams unrestrained, with different women. No, leaving him was a mercy she could not afford to bestow.

If she stayed, he would still win. She would still lose. As the second-hand ticked past the minute hand, she made a realization that many women before her had done. If she played the game fairly, she would always be at the bottom. It really was a man’s world.

Three months later, Mark Roberts died suddenly of a heart attack while on his way home from one of his trysts. The funeral was held and the moment Mark’s body entered the ground, Abena wiped her tears. One by one, each Manager was removed for different reasons until she was named the Managing Director of the company. She was in charge of it all.

The world was hers for the taking and she would take it without apology.

In a few years, the company expanded into a multi-million enterprise. The family of four was moved out of their modest home in the suburb of Adenta to a mansion in the heart of Cantoments.

As the family of four stood, admiring the home they had made, Abena looked at her children with pride. “Children, life is a game. We play the game to win. Today, we have won.”

Hell, hath no fury like a woman scorned.