Story: To Kill a Newborn

                                                                      

                                                                        

"When a mother tries to abandon life and all she has endorsed for a long time, the world crumbles.” Leila, my friend, mumbled after taking a sip on water.

She sounded like someone who cared about surviving, but this was ten minutes after she tried to take her life.

It happened on a Friday evening when Mugisha, her neighbour, entered her room and saw her, trying to sling her neck in a rope. He yelled to her — frightened and unsure of what to do with the quandary. 

It took him a few more seconds to make up his mind and then walked past Leila and clasped the rope before it could cram her neck. He dragged her outside her ghetto that was near a street that headed to a local market at Kabuga.

He called me for help and since the home wasn’t far, I took a motorbike and arrived in seven minutes. At the same instant, two men and a woman who was holding a little schoolgirl arrived too.

We found Leila, Mugisha and two old men sitting on the veranda. Leila was trying to yank Mugisha who had held her left arm tightly. We helped him to weaken Leila’s insecurities by holding her, uttering comforting words that resembled empathy. Her dynamism shrank and persuaded her eyes to shed tears.

“I want to see my baby. Please let me go!” She pleaded.

“No…she was trying to commit suicide. We cannot liberate her now.” Mugisha said.

We followed his words and stayed closer to Leila until she pacified and asked us for some water. Mugisha brought a gallon in a flash. Leila drank and then coughed.

“What happened to you?” I asked her, squinting.

“Stop asking me shit,” she blurted, trying to spit my face.

Her eyelashes writhed as if trying to sojourn the tears that were irreconcilably coming out of her eyes. She cleared her throat and declared that sorrow has enshrouded her soul in a dark box. She was a poetess; I knew it and had read some of her poems that conveyed sad and sorrowful tones.

“What do you mean?” I asked her.

“Mxioum,” she kissed her teeth and before she could add something, she noticed Mugisha burning the same rope she had tried to use to take her life. She screamed, rose on her feet and outstretched her left arm trying to clasp the rope. It seemed like she was still longing to carry on suicide.

As I noticed that, guilt invaded my senses and made my heart race. I recalled what had happened a few days before.

It had been a week since I and Leila connected on Instagram and became friends. That day, I had been grounded at home and had spent the morning hours washing the trousers I had worn for a week. At around six in the evening, a note appeared on the notification tab of my phone and persuaded my index to click on it. Someone had come across and reacted to the snapshots of a story I had posted.

'Wow' followed by two heart-shaped emoticons read her comment in black bold colour — sitting between two lines that looked grey and thinner than the text.

A single click on a circular-shaped photograph next to her username, Leila_The Worst, was enough to know something about her. On her wall were four posts. Two were similar. They entailed a girl sitting on the lawn and dressed in a black jacket — draped over a milky shirt that looked spruce. The rest two were poems themed about love and heartbreak.

In the picture, her eyelashes were extended and black enough to look distinct from the rest of her body. Her visage seemed tanned and her smile was as stunning as constellations in July. I wowed and wondered how ingenious her creator could be.

The decent thing was that she had hit my inbox and had already admired my story. Our curtain-raiser took around twenty minutes and we kept texting for around an hour. I learned a lot about her, including that she was facing insomnia and had been single for 7 months.

The next day, she compelled me for an outing. I got surprised and wondered if instead, I shouldn't have been the one to ask her out. I didn't overthink it though, since the bill was on her. Nevertheless, I was thrilled to meet her.

"Camellia, at 7 p.m." She texted.

"What about 7:15?" I proposed.

"It's fine. I am at your service...boo."

"Cool, boo! I will be there."

At 7:13 p.m, I was there. I wandered around the nearby shops, looking for something I would go with. I thought of buying a flower or maybe white chocolate. I wasn't comfortable meeting her empty-handed.

As I was still scouring, I sensed a touch on my torso. I turned around and found out that it was her. Since she had put on a mask, I recognised her by her forehead that contained a blotch. This time, it looked bigger compared to the one on her Instagram pictures. 

She was also taller than me. This time around, I yearned to hug her but she didn't. She reminded me about ‘Kabera’s boys’ who were nearby, dressed in black uniforms and holding AK47 guns. They would take us somewhere unsafe; probably in Nyamirambo stadium, if we would dare to violate Covid-19 prevention measures. We would spend the night sitting there as part of the punishment.

We entered Camellia and sat across Table 4. She put her grey handbag on it and took off her face mask. She looked beautiful and lively like a leaf of macadamia being kissed by the morning sun. The smile she wore made me double-think my ingenuity as well as how inferior mine could have appeared.

"And here we are," I muttered with a nervous smile.

"Yes, we do!" She said.

The waiter neared us and stood beside me until we ordered two hot chocolates. She brought them in a flash and compelled us to enjoy ourselves. We did, mainly due to the deliciousness of the drinks. We were ready for a refreshed conversation.

"So, how are you feeling? Recently, you sounded quite horrible," I said.

"Come on, boo. It was then. Now I am fine."

"Well, I don't think so."

"What? So, are you here to judge me?"

She looked at me as if bracing a hot slap, but I managed to calm her down before she could whack me.

"Look, I understand that you have been through a lot but what matters is that you are still alive."

"Alive? Do you think so?”

“Yes, aren’t you alive?”

“Well, I think I just exist. Anyway, how did you even know it? You were there, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I am talking about your story, geez. It's something I didn't want to read about because it’s like mine. Why did you do post it?"

"Well, it’s just that I like posting stories. Nothing more," I said. “Anyway, are you trying to say that my story is yours?”

"Yes, it's mine. I mean, all the things you talked about have happened to me. How did you know that my suicidal thoughts were triggered by the baby I killed? Were you watching me?"

"Wait Leila, you killed a baby?”

After asking her so, the people near us at Camellia shifted their gazes to us. I lied to them that we were actors rehearsing a scene of a movie and they didn't argue. They proceeded with their stuff. Leila nodded before she urged me to curtail my voice.

"Leila, are you serious? Did you really kill a baby?" I whispered smoothly.

"Yeah, boo...I think I killed my baby boy and I never stop thinking about him," she said and started to shed tears.

"Oh, I am so sorry. But…well, why did you do that?”

“I... don’t know. It’s like I was crazy. I hid from my parents that I was impregnated by my uncle. They would kill me or so would he.”

“Leila, I am so sorry to hear. I didn’t know anything about that. But, that incident has nothing to do with my story."

"Stop lying, geez. It's the same story. Tell me the truth; did you see me dumping my baby in the toilet as you wrote in the story?"

"No, come on. You know that I have never come to your place. Didn't we connect on Instagram just a few days ago?"

"Yes, exactly in the same week I did it,” she said, giving me a pierced glance.

I cleared my throat before I took a sip on the hot chocolate. I shifted my gaze to her.

"Okay, I saw a girl but I don’t know if it’s you,” I said. “I was just passing by and heard a baby crying. After a few seconds, I saw a girl coming from the toilet and she seemed bleeding."

" Oh my God! Where is the place?

“Well, I had visited my friend, Mugisha in Kabuga and I think the girl was her neighbour.”

“Oh, God! That sounds like me. Do you even know Mugisha? Please tell me that he doesn’t know anything about it.”

"He doesn’t because when I saved the baby, I immediately took him home so that Mama could take care of her since she is a nurse.”

“So, my baby is still alive! Please tell me that it’s true.”

“Hmm! Did you think he died?” I asked, giving her a pierced glance. “You know that you were just scared and you didn't put the baby into the hole. You just left her in the...you know it."

"Oh, God! There was always something telling me that my baby might have survived. Please, tell me where my baby is!"

"You want a baby to kill, huh? I can’t do that. In case you didn't know, he is being taken care of by another mother who knows the value of  life."

"Please, let me see my baby boy. I will do anything you want.”

"Anything? Leila, how heartless? Well, I understand that it was hard for you, but you shouldn’t have tried to kill that handsome and innocent little being."

"Stop that, please! I told you that I was out of my mind. Please tell me where my baby is," she pleaded, going down on her knees.

"I can't do it, Leila. You are a devil and a ruthless criminal. You know what; I've recorded your confessions and right now, I am sending the audio to an officer at RIB. This will serve as evidence and will sue you in court," I said and left her on the table.

The people at the café were annoyed again but they managed to mind their own business except for the waiter who requested me to pay for the bill before I could leave.

"I will pay, it's okay," Leila interrupted.

"No," I yelled to her before I handed the cash to the waiter.

Leila kept begging on her knees as she chaperoned me to the exit of the cafe.

As my mind retrieved these memories, Leila was still crying and had sat on the veranda next to me and Mugisha. More people had come to her ghetto including the head of the neighbourhood. This time as thoughts tickled in my senses, I recognised that Leila might have tried to commit suicide due to fear of going to jail for what she had done. She didn’t know that I had lied to her. I hadn't recorded her confessions. As guilt continued to devour me alive, I decided to tell her the truth.

“I didn’t record anything, Leila and if you want, you can even see your baby,” I whispered into her ears.

“Really?” She asked, trying to widen her grin.

I nodded and right away, she let her chest fall into mine. Some people there, including Mugisha, hollered with leers and others were susurrated. They were either surprised of seeing Leila smiling again or asking themselves what I had told her.  

They ushered us to the road and when we reached it, I asked Leila not to act viciously ever again. She nodded as well as thanked me for furnishing her some hope to thrive. We found motorists and agreed on a transport fee to where Leila's baby was located. As they started engines, Leila stared at me and smiled. I smiled back.