‘Miracle’ baby brings house on fire

By Iponima Mtabingwa

"There are five women in this house and one man. How did Celina get pregnant?" My dad motioned me to read the graffiti scrawled on my uncle’s toilet and bathroom doors.

That was in April 2004. My domestic brawls with Abscondita were taking a turn for the worse and I had been reduced to a walking corpse.

We had been invited to Nairobi’s Woodley estate to dispense with a case in which my uncle’s house-help had given birth to a ‘miracle’ baby.

A miracle baby because eight months after giving birth the father of the baby was still unknown.

The mood in my uncle’s house was that the pregnancy was ‘domestic’.

Uncle Obed, a confirmed tipple addict and hem-lifter, was the prime suspect but no one dared say so. His wife, a nurse, worked nightshifts, returning to the house in the morning when everyone else was leaving for work or school.

It was an open secret that he molested house-helps. People talked about it in hushed tones . . . until the miracle baby was born. The house-help had stubbornly refused to reveal the name of the child’s father and, it was whispered, she used her savings for the infant’s upkeep.

The ingenuously told story with its spellbinding details of thrift had obvious gaps that made it sound unrealistic.

It did not wash, especially with my uncle’s three daughters whose quiet rebellion exerted psychological strain on his conscience that occasionally gave way to his culpability. For instance, he never questioned the graffiti on the bathroom wall even when it made sense to do so. He never even bothered to ask who wrote it and why.

He went about his house with the face of being as guilty as charged.

Looking for the truth

The elders had assembled at his house to get the truth about the father of Celina’s baby.

My father led the delegation from the village. My uncle’s mother-in-law was in-charge of the other delegation. Her husband, we were informed, was indisposed had asked his wife to lead the party to the hearing.

Celina had arrived from the village, where she had been dispatched to give birth. When my dad called the ‘court’ to order, telling Obed vaguely: "As man of the house, say something first."

The statement was prosecutorial. His moral integrity was being questioned and he was being asked to defend it. "Honour and peace be with you elders. My in-laws welcome to Nairobi. I will be brief. Celina’s child is mine," he began.

The straightforwardness with which he delivered the hitherto unknown truth was astonishing. I had expected him to deny it.

"Having said that," he continued, "I beg to bring everything into perspective."

No one objected.

Blame game

"My in-laws, your daughter works nightshifts. I have told her to change this but in vain. For nearly one and half years, we have never shared our matrimonial bed, not even when she is off-duty," he paused for effect.

Everyone was quiet. The searing truth was beginning to unravel. Sensing victory, Obed turned to Celina, who was cuddling her baby.

"Celina, I request you tell the elders what happened. Tell the truth, nothing but the truth," he said. The request shocked everyone. Even Celina who the ‘court’ thought would only be called in to rub salt in my uncle’s wounds, was taken aback. As she stood to speak, my aunt interjected. "You silly girl, just open your mouth and you will regret the day you were born . . ." My dad called her to order before she finished.

"My sister-in-law, you will not speak unless I have allowed you to. We’re here to iron out things. I will not allow you to invite the law of the jungle here," he warned my aunt and turned to her husband.

"I rule that you make your final submissions unless you are through," he said, despite my aunt’s protests my dad was favouring his brother.

Obed stood up again.

"My in-laws, I know this is not what you expected. I strayed because your daughter faltered in her duties — leaving Celina to handle all chores and other family affairs. She made me stray."

Cold war

My uncle has fathered children with friends’ house-helps, barmaids and friends’ wives.

His defence placated even his mother-in-law, who after the hearing railed against her daughter ‘for delegating her duties’.

The ruling brought back to my mind the cold war with my Abscondita.

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