TRAPPED...Part 11.

"Ma-Ma."

I could not believe my ears. I had just finished feeding Uche and was gently stroking his back when he made that historic sound. His first words.

"Ma-Ma," he babbled again. I was awash with emotions. "Vicky!" I was almost screaming. "I think Baby just talked." Victory abandoned her dinner and ran to where I was sitting. She started tickling the baby to get him to talk again. Uche giggled then made his crying face. "Stop that!" I said, standing up to console the baby. Talk time was over.

I had watched him with keen interest as he developed. By three months, he had been able to carry his neck. Prior to that, a hand had to be placed behind his head anytime he was carried to avoid a sudden backward tilt. By six months, he could remain in a sitting position with minimal swaying. Two lower teeth sprouted at about the same time. It was also around that period that he fell ill. I had woken up one night to discover that he was having a fever. He was also passing frequent watery stools. I ran to Mama Tunde's house with the baby.

"Ah! His problem is 'teething'. Just give him these drugs and he will be fine," she said handing me three plastic bottles. One had 'Teething Mixture' boldly written on it. The others looked strange. I picked up my phone and called Dan.

"I think he is just having an Acute watery diarrhoea,"he said, after listening to my complaints.

"Bring him over to the hospital tomorrow and don't give him those your 'teething mixtures'," he said with a chuckle. 

"You can give him liquid paracetamol for the fever, if you have it. Or you can clean the body with a towel soaked in water. It will reduce the fever." I thanked him. 

The next morning, I took the child to the hospital. After examining the baby, the doctor prescribed Oral Rehydration Solution. I was given three satchets and the nurse taught me how to mix it with water. When I gave it to the Baby, it worked like magic. The stooling and the fever disappeared. The next evening, I went to see Mama Tunde.

"Iya Vicky, how is the baby?"

"He is very fine now. I came to return the drugs. E se pupo!"

"I told you they will work,"she said, smiling satisfactorily.

A black Range Rover SUV pulled up outside my shop. As if on cue, the sewing machine noise died down we waited with bated breath. The left back door opened and a woman wearing a brown hijab came down. My face lit up as I saw her.

"Habiba! Na you be this?" I asked, smiling. Her face was glowing.

"Ahn ahn! Stella. I told you I will come nau."

I offered her a seat.

"We thought it was one big politician o!" I said, motioning at the car parked outside.

"Don't mind my fiancé. He insisted on bringing me himself." She was looking around the room, admiring some finished clothes. Her eyes soon fell on Uche, who was crawling at one end of the shop. She went to carry him.

"When is your wedding coming up, again?"I asked.

"Next weekend," she replied. She went through my catalogue and chose some designs she liked. I started taking her measurements.

"Can you make hijabs?" she asked, as I measured her bust.

"Yes, sure. I could make you fine hijabs to match the designs you chose." I felt the texture of her hijab.

"Why do moslem women always cover up?" I asked, laughing.

She smiled. "It helps keep our beauty under wraps. The Quran instructed that we should not display our beauty to outside males. Only one's husband and close relatives should see such beauty on display. For me, it is both an identity and a fashion statement."

"Hmmm...and you pray five times daily?" I shook my head in wonder.

She laughed. "Of course. Every good moslem prays five times a day."

"Interesting," I remarked. "If a Christian could pray up to five times a day,miracles will happen."

My student tailors burst out laughing. We concluded on the designs and the price.

She rose to leave. I was seeing her off. The SUV was parked further down the street. Out of ear-shots, I asked her a question that had been bothering me.

"Is your fiancé also on drugs?"

"No," she said. "He is negative."

"What?" I asked, confused. "Is he aware of your status?"

"Yes. I told him during the early period of our courtship. He had his period of conflict. Men always do when you tell them the unpleasant truth about yourself."

I was listening with rapt attention.

"But he had a doctor friend who understood how deeply he loved me and reassured him that a marriage between us will be possible without him getting infected."

"How?" I asked. We had stopped a small distance from the car.

"Since I have been on antiretrovirals for a long time, my viral load was very, very low. Therefore, my chances of infecting anyone was also very minimal. The doctor said that if we decide to have a baby, we can meet unprotected only during my ovulation period. That way, I can still conceive and if continued on the drugs, I can give birth to an HIV negative baby." There was triumph in her voice.

"Sounds very good and doable," I said, as we approached the car.

The tinted glass on the driver's side came down. A man in an army uniform smiled at me as he opened the door. At the centre of his chest, he had a badge with three black stars.

"Dalha, this is Stella, my tailor and very good friend,"Habiba said. "Stella, meet Dalha, my soldier love." She was laughing.

Dalha shook my hand. His grip was firm.

"I will try and attend your wedding. Habiba will send me directions," I said.

"We will be expecting you," he said. The accent was unmistakable.

As they drove off, I stood on the road watching the car recede into the distance. Knowledge is indeed, power.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. 

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