"How are you, is your mother home?" she inquired in the softest of voices. It was difficult to discern the reason for her softness of voice. Was it soft with politeness or was it what life moulded our voices into in times of trouble.
"Ma isn't home, she returns around 9pm!" I replied softly in Luo.
That quiet January day still sends shivers down my spine.
Ma had arrived a few minutes later from her little shop.
I'd told about the presence of a strange young woman.
She'd moved out to meet the young woman who she found sitting at the door steps, head bowed, eyes staring into the ground.
The two discussed in hushed tones. Their whispers soon turned to sobs. Feminine sobs sound the same, guttural and punctuated with sniffling and deep breathing.
I moved closer to the dark pair and called out.
"Ma!"
"I'm coming! " she replied curtly.
Mother replied firmly, beseeching my patience. I knew they weren't her sobs. I was guiltily relieved.
Guilty because a troubled soul was sobbing and simply because it wasn't Ma, I didn't feel an iota of pity. The gulp of saliva that slipped down my throat was certainly one of concern but not pity.
"Why did you do it my daughter? Why???? Ma asked.
{Silence...}
"You can't spend the night here, something could happen to you and we would be blamed."Mother firmly said.
"Madam I'm so tired, I can't carry on. I don't have any money on me."
Mother had sat down long with the young Luo woman. I sat at a distance observing the dark pair. Ma laid her hands upon the young girl and offered her what she had, prayers.
"How did you know we spoke the same tongue? " Mother asked.
" I often pass here, and I know you speak Luo, I gathered the last strength I had and made it here." she replied.
The young woman girl whose face I certainly can't recall had passed by our home because she'd noticed us speak Luo.
A young man soon was summoned by phone. He arrived on a motorcycle and took the young woman away.
Mother stayed out in the dark. I went out to meet her and learn the truth.
The polythene bag the woman carried held a two months old terminated foetus, the source of her woes. We never got to know her reasons for aborting the life she had growing within her. She never said.
Her heart was heavy with guilt, her body was light with the threat of imminent death.
Those eyes still trouble me, I could have forgotten her face but not her eyes. You wouldn't forget those eyes.
I asked mother what her reaction was when she realised the contents in the black polythene were the remains of a two month old foetus.
She looked at me and said.
" Son, it's not your place to take the life of a baby!"
"People will talk when you bring here a young girl pregnant with child, but they'll judge if you take a life of that child.
You can't wash your hands clean with blood."
Fornication is sin between two, but abortion is murder.
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