If I knew then, what I know now, I would have left my newborn child in the hospital and fled. Yes, I would have held my hanging gas distended cesareaned belly in my hands and waddled out of there posthaste. I would have sunk my stiff throbbing post-operational neck into my shoulders and scurried out of there. I would have taken my aching hacking breathing-tube lacerated throat and whispered it out of there. And that would have been my one and only birth. They would have been calling my “mteja” phone number and putting out an sos for the lost mother of Baby Me. I never knew that; I would one night at two am, consider going to park outside what my mother called disparagingly for a long time “a night club”, paying the watchmen a protection fee, in a bid to get just four straight hours of uninterrupted sleep. 11pm to 5 am with a two week old colicky baby is hell on earth and will bring the strongest man to his knees and the woman to just fla...
