Little Zulu

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You have to see how your child is born. Cancel trips. Move meetings. Walk over bridges. Get on a ship. Travel by night. Stay sober. You just have to see it. They are only born once. It lasts about a minute, and then the moment passes forever. Gone, baby. Gone.

You have to stick around for the labour. It’s not pretty. It’s nothing like you see in the movies, where a woman screams for a few moments and then pushes out a baby the size of Inspector Mwala. A happy baby, all smiles, complete with toenails and a tattoo. Labour is the hardest part of staying around. It’s loud, gritty, loud, anguishing and draining. But you stay because she has been carrying that load for 9 months, doing the heavy lifting and so the least you can do is be there. Besides, really, where are you going to be on this auspicious (I’ve always wanted to use that word) occasion?

And so you join other men who are standing at the brink of fatherhood. Guys who aren’t sure what happens when they cross this threshold.

I’ve been here before. I know the drill. But still I’m apprehensive. You have to feel some level of anxiety. A sneaking fear. Outside it’s drizzling and it’s dark. But you can’t tell because the delivery room has no windows. There is a washroom, a clock on the wall, trays laden with surgical equipment and machines. Even though the delivery room is the first place a new life checks in, it lacks warmth, it’s expunged from anything celebratory because things go horribly wrong in the delivery room. Women bleed to death. Women slip into commas and never wake up. Babies die. The delivery room is like sitting on a stool by an open graveside. Literally.

Nothing in the world ever prepares you for labour. Not even Lamaze, because when labour starts everything changes. Everything. The peace is punctured. Sanity is splintered. Labour is the open season of pain. I’m no authority on labour. I’m ill equipped to capture the sheer depth of pain a woman can take during labour. I’m inadequate. But I can make a feeble attempt. Have you ever knocked your elbow hard on a sharp surface? Have you ever had a hernia? Have you ever had a root canal done with no anaesthesia? What about an earache that threatens to split your head in two? What about heartbreak, when you feel like your heart is bleeding pain? Now take all these and multiply them by 200. That is only 1% of what labour is like.

Only women can handle labour. We are too weak for that shit. We are whiners. Big babies, we are. You should see me with a small flu, huddled in bed, seeking attention, sulking if I don’t get it. A fucking flu! Women are stoic. They take it. And the Missus takes it on the chin. OK, she made me promise that if I’m ever to write about this I will mention that she bore it bravely. Well she didn’t, she was bent out of shape. Cried like a toddler. Nobody retains their composure in the face of labour. At least, I don’t think so.

With Tamms she laboured for 8 hours. She screamed. She cussed at the doctors. She threatened to sue them. She threatened to sue me. She cried real tears (why do people say that, “real tears”?). And at the final stretch she just wanted the “damned baby” out in “whatever way.” Through all of this, I was sleepy (she laboured through the night) and tired and had just about had it with her cusses. And why the hell don’t they put comfortable seats in labour wards?

Midwives are generally nonchalant about labour. They see it every day. They come into the room, all smiley and chirpy, check the monitors and say, “Just take deep breaths, OK? Just take deep breaths,” and I’m thinking to myself, “I am, damn it! I am!”

An hour later the midwife is urging her on. Her legs are apart. She is pushing. I’m standing next to this heater thing where they will place the baby after it’s born. You want to be at her head at this moment. Never look at the baby coming out. It’s like staring directly at the sun. It will change you forever.

Then she’s crowning. At least that’s what the midwife says, I can’t see. The baby is coming. Her best friend Carol is on the other side of the bed. I’m dizzy like hell, scared, but trying to be a warrior. I want my mommy.

Then he’s out. My little man. Bloodied. Small. Fragile. The next heir to the Zulu dynasty. “Why isn’t he crying?” someone asks with a wheezy voice. That’s me. “He will,” the midwife says. And he does soon after. There are many sounds that stay with you; the sound of a single malt whisky pouring into a glass of ice cubes; the dong of a church bell assuring us that ultimately God makes everything all right; your mother’s voice at a time when you are troubled.

Then there is the sound of hearing your son cry.

Childbirth is something that doesn’t leave you the same, no matter how many times you experience it. When Tamms was born she was handed to me before the Missus held her. But not my son. He lay there in his mother’s arms, and I stood immobile at the corner, far away. And I couldn’t move. I was scared shitless. And happy. And relieved that nothing went wrong. And I remember trying not to cry. I’m no crier but I remember trying not to cry, not in front of Carol. So I stood at that heater place and felt helpless and inadequate and so damned conflicted.

Eventually I would hold him. Wrapped in white sheets. The size of a rugby ball. His hair matted against his scalp with all that stuff they are born with. His face swollen like he just lost his first brawl. My little man. He looked like a girl. Delicate. Pink like a hamster. Small mouth. Tiny holes for nostrils. Perfect eyebrows. I might have a forehead the size of calamity, but God gave me decent eyebrows. You can’t take that away from me. And this little man, my little man, has those eyebrows. And that forehead. That will have to be his curse.

I wanted another girl. But when you see your son, you realise that you don’t want another girl. There is something about boys, even small ones who can’t see. You know they will challenge you. You know they will look up to you for direction. You know you can’t show weakness before them, or indecisiveness or too much emotion like you might with your daughter. Daughters will forgive you easily, but I get the feeling that boys will hold back that forgiveness longer. It’s a bit unnerving.

My pal Chinkororo was drinking in Westlands when he showed up at the hospital that night. Slightly faded. A bottle of water in his hand and a large smile on his face. He has a girl and, recently, a boy. He knows the feeling. So he holds the back of my head. “If this guy thinks he’s Don Corleone and is planning to give me a peck, I will drive my knees into his groin,” I think to myself. But instead he says, “Babies aren’t all babies. Girls aren’t boys. And boys can’t be girls. This is different, man. Having a son is so much different, you will see.” Then he hugs me.

His name is Kim.

 

[Photo credit: Chris Briscoe]

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22
198 Comments
  1. Congratulations to Missus and you of course.
    Psalm 127:3: Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward.

    1
  2. Your sense of humor!!!!!!!! i like.. i read word by word to make sure i did not miss out on a single detail…..

  3. Finally Tamms has a sibling!
    Beautiful piece as always and great humor too.
    It takes one hell of a courageous man to be in that room and i salute you for being there for your missus.
    What was that fella who said women are the weaker sex thinking?
    Congrats on being a daddy second time.Welcome Kim to the world!

  4. Congrats Biko, at least you now have a new person to embarrass when Tamms is too old for it. Cheers Father of a son.

  5. Welcome to planet earth little Zulu!!
    Don’t be a whiner..Or a big baby..
    It’s too early for such advice,isn’t it??NO?

  6. Good one, bro. Now I get it. That’s why you were telling me my daughter will think she has all the shares … and I need to do an IPO!

  7. https://www.facebook.com/notes/clifford-chianga-oluoch/day-one-of-fatherhood/10152457762886768

    Congratulations. I share your joy.

  8. I might have a forehead the size of calamity, but God gave me decent eyebrows. You can’t take that away from me.

    Hahahaha.

    Couldn’t help but comment with smile.

    Oh, And Congratulations on your little you 🙂

    Cheers man

    #Ghostreader

  9. “I remember trying not to cry…” you can’t not have cried! Not on such an ‘auspicious’ occasion? I think this is the only time a man is allowed to cry.

    Congratulations Biko!

    www.perfectlywoman.wordpress.com

  10. Congratulations. You should have given him the circle of life salutation, you know, let Chinkororo hold him high up in the sky at the edge of pride-rock. He really depicts the wise old Rafiki with his last quote…. “Babies aren’t all babies. Girls aren’t boys. And boys can’t be girls. This is different, man. Having a son is so much different, you will see.” 🙂

  11. Surprisingly, not all labour wards are loud. Some cultures consider it a shame and a disgrace for the family for a woman to scream during childbirth. She, pregnant lady, will be accompanied by her mother in-law just to ensure complete silence.

  12. avoid leaving comments but this is not one of those times !!! Congratulations Biko and Madam, this reminds me of the article Simon, you have a chance to rewrite that story now ………. ENJOY !!!!

    1. So his name is Kim? I thought for a moment there Kim is the Chinkororo guy. Kim and Tamms will have endless fights my friend. Congratulations.

      Here comes stories of how Tamms bullies Kim.

  13. congratulations Biko… Love how you captured the delivery room… The delivery room is like sitting on a stool by an open graveside.

  14. Big Up Bro! As you have written, its an awesome experience. Trust me when I say, you will have an awesome experience bringing up a boy “True heir to the Zulu Kingdom” Congrats!

  15. Congratulations to Ngwenyama and Ndlovukazi Biko for the birth of a young Zulu.

    You have thee gone and multiplied. Good score. You could have called the kid Germany or something to the theme.

  16. Congratulations Baba & Mama Zulu! Blessings. We hope there shall be stories of the littlest Zulu coming right up…

  17. congrats Biko. I know now you will hang around the house in a towel in a presence that seems to declare ” hey i run shit here, this is my pond” as he tries to challenge you .Congrats to you and Madam

  18. Oh, the labour ward wails and the insults I had to endure like I was her sworn enemy…I almost thought that was the first and the last of the generation out of my loins. Life happened afterwards and glad after memories wiped away the horrors of that ‘ auspicious’ occasion.

    Congratulation Biko

  19. A little brother for Tamms…..I look forward to exciting updates..congrats to Mama Zulu and you who braved the damn labour.

  20. welcome aboard, Little Zulu. You don’t know this yet but you got your dad’s ‘calamity forehead’ 🙂 congratulations Senior Zulu Couple.

  21. There can’t be any expression to congratulate a Man on being a Father to a Son. I can only say…”God be with you and Him”
    You will need Him. Because the best story about a Father and His Son is His.

  22. Biko!!! *ngemi ithano cia kahii* ask mama Kim to translate. Also, ive been trying to write you in the contacts section for some “biashara” and it wont type more than afew letters. How do we do this?

  23. Congratulations Baba Kim (and missus). And this —> “…I might have a forehead the size of calamity, but God gave me decent eyebrows. You can’t take that away from me…” Hehehe!

  24. hongera kaka, Missus and Tamms.. Fatherhood is an amazing feeling. I have never had a girl yet, I got 2 morans, I totally understand the feeling. Mubarikiwe sana.

  25. my guts told me things were cooking when u wrote that article in msafiri about how every man should make a boy….hihihi….congrats

  26. “Just take deep breaths..I am, damn it! I am!” I died.
    No Biko, it wasn’t you who was supposed to take the deep breaths..

  27. Congrats Biko!!!! Some women bear labour pains better than others. Sometimes, all you’ll hear are grunts and nothing else; no screams, shrieks or whatnot. I would know. 🙂

  28. congrats man. am not certain i even have the courage to stay with my wife in the delivery room….and you confirmed my fears……”it’s like staring at the sun, it will change your life forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

  29. ”I want my mommy.”

    ” I might have a forehead the size of calamity, but God gave me decent eyebrows”.

    ”And that forehead. That will have to be his curse.”

    These had me laughing out so loud I didnt even realize I was in the office with all the bosses in!If am fired after this,oh well I had my hearty laugh anyway..Congrats.Welcome home Kim!

  30. Why the little Zulu is Kim but not njogu as you had promised earlier is still a question..or maybe he’s Kim njogu from that end..

    Congrats Biko!!

  31. one of the times being a late bloomer is working to my advantage. ..I discovered your blog recently (after I asked my friend Robert why he thinks his S4 is better than my S3.. he quickly sent me a link to your review. ..well that lowered my phone’s esteem but introduced me to one of the best writing)…so am still enjoying reading your work of about 3 years n not looking forward to waiting for Mondays like the other guys!
    love the humour.
    congratulations!

  32. i remember a while ago, how you wrote that you really only wanted daughters n all that. i secretly prayed you would get a boy one day. ALAS!…congrats man… am sure posts abt the little man zulu will be awesome..

  33. The delivery room is like sitting on a stool by an open graveside. Literally.

    You have no idea. I have lost two babies and almost died with the second one!!!

  34. For a moment there i thought Kim is Chinkororo’s real name…and that chinkororo was an attempt to diss him 🙂 Congratulations Biko.I totally relate,.

  35. May your little Kim grow in wisdom and stature, and in favour with both God and man. Congrats Biko.

  36. Congrats Biko! I get lost into the world you create,every time you write. You are an amazing writer!

    Love the new blog, been away for too long 🙁 time to catch up 🙂

    1. There is what you want as a man then there is what ends up being law when the powers that be have sat down and deliberated.

  37. Just discovered the wittiest blogger south of the north pole…and am hooked. Only problem is the office work that doesn’t get done.
    Delivery room! Never. I believe humans should be allowed to do what they know best. Men should never look at the ‘sun rise’.

  38. This is the second time I’m reading this and yet it feels like the first time.
    Why I’m I ‘real teary’-eyed!?

  39. It’s been a while since i went though your blog…i see you’ve upgraded…i love it kudos to whoever was behind it…congratulations are indeed in order for your bundle of joy.

  40. You know what…when i’m feeling like i cant read anything anymore…i just click on your blog on my bookmarks section and read on and on and on…i love this one. Keep writing and making me read…

  41. Puddin’, Kim,Chelsea, tammz,..toto ya Oyunga ndo bado sumjui jina…I even know what they all look like! We are growing! #toMitna!

  42. At this i will be fired, I really love your pieces and kisses to
    Zulu. Good work Biko you are doing a good job

  43. Congratulations Biko….now pressure on you. You have to ensure you have a “kaprot” or something for Kim to inherit, No? Hehe

  44. Cant read this enough times,but its not a special case i keep re-reading most of them especially when i want to keep the smile on my face.you make our days Biko. God bless

  45. A good read. Always loving your posts. You are right Biko, no one should miss this. Congrats

    www.theirsmallworld.blogspot.com

  46. Another Kim? Let’s hope he will only have the harmless missile that every man possesses n not a nuclear one. Timeless writings, brother!

  47. As a mother I shed tears reading this.I thank God for my 2 girls and my busband who was there during both labors and deliveries and i must say…he does relate to your story…

  48. Congratulations i think. boys are boys and girls are girls. totally different planets11
    been following your articles on daily nation and true love…this blog….death11

  49. Nice indeed, gave me that priceless nostalgic feel remembering the labour cries and my boys birth… I stared at the sun and true…. I have never been the same again.

  50. Respect to Missus!(she would sue you&them
    Congrats on not passing out,next time,i will allow my Mr into delivery room…
    In tears though!!!…I remember getting my baby sm months ago….#awe,speechless!

  51. I am envious and impressed at how you lay all your emotions out for us. You remain true to yourself in every piece you write. Even as I write this comment, I am struggling to say what I mean without overthinking it. I want your knack for bearing it all uninhibitedly. Congrats!

  52. Yo!That was so amazing. I will tell you my story. First baby and I waited till the labour pains were making me vomit,cause mum said they’d poke and prod me. so we didnt go early.at 11pm she left me alone cause hosi didnt allow her to spend. besides who knew what time the baby would come.she said bye tearful, am her firstborn.i didnt call my boyfriend. he lived far and i knew he’d come no matter what, so i put my phone on flight mode.I delivered by 1 am.Not by a doctor, two midwives and i didn’t cry and i held my breath and tried to curb my screams cause i needed that energy to push.when she came she was gray and i was dizzy and she cried so loud that night. i called my boyfriend around 3 am,maybe 4. i couldnt sleep. told him the news. he got dressed up and was so damn excited. he couldn’t breathe he didnt even know what to do. I was 22 then. now am 24 and just found out am pregnant with baby number 2.Time to prepare myself.I think am crazy for doing it again tho!

  53. Then he’s out. My little man. Bloodied. Small. Fragile. The next heir to the Zulu dynasty. “Why isn’t he crying?” someone asks with a wheezy voice. That’s me. “He will,” the midwife says. And he does soon after
    made me cry:)

  54. Am proud of you man!! You made it through in the delivery room…that place is hell aki,thats where you see the OTHER side of your woman…So how is the experience so far? How is Tammy treating Little Kim

  55. Who came up with that story that its wrong to look ‘there’ when the baby is chomokaing? Isnt that denying men the opportunity to own the process?

  56. 3 Years later I become a new fan. I’m looking forward to reading all the posts i have met.
    As for the post, I’m seated holding my breath, back arched and legs shut tight, I thought something was going to pop.
    It was a beautiful read, I now appreciate what men feel at a child’s birth.
    Thank you

  57. Reading it three years later and I’m thinking that if it was me going through that I’d be too emotional to complete my article. Congrats

  58. congrats to you two!! you are definitely able to get all the attention of the reader… i like that. i almost forgot that in the delivery room but my desk.
    Sending blessings 🙂

  59. congrats to you two!! you are definitely able to get all the attention of the reader… i like that. i almost forgot that i am not in a delivery room but at my desk.
    Sending blessings

  60. My son is one year old now. Am proud i was in the labor ward from the word go.
    The experience is life changing. Maybe because i made sure i watch even as my baby came out.