In this world, there are different types of human beings. There are the self-serving people, people who live for others, delusional people, selfish people, people who like to cause chaos and watch for amusement, money grubbers Or thrill seekers. Really, there isn’t an end to the variants of human vices and scummery on the face of this floating rock. Not that any of these vices irk me per se, at the very best, it is fair to state that I am quite uninterested.
My name is unimportant at this juncture, but my story is. I mostly see myself as human trash, along with the rest of trash that is humanity. This state of mind I mostly believe is brought on by the abhorrent fact that I became aware almost immediately I was conceived. Not only did I become aware , I was immediately bombarded with information as to where I was and what I was doing there. And what i was doing was competing with millions of my genetic brothers to reach a goal. I remember having a tactical advantage of knowing to how kill every single one of them before fertilizing my mother’s egg. I remember growing my bones one by one and listening to my mother sobbing as a voice warned her to “remove it”. I remember my mother naming me whilst singing to me. While all of these don’t bother me remotely, I think the doctor and nurses who birthed me were horrified when the child came out of the womb with his eyes open and a poignant expression of mild annoyance. I could speak my mother’s language immediately i was born, I wish I had an explanation for you on how this happened, I can honestly tell you, I don’t care.
Back to the birth, the doctors and nurses were shocked to see my eyes open and an expression on my face, I knew instinctively that if I spoke, I would have had four corpses on my conscience, my mother inclusive. Then the doctor, started slapping my bum, while I the pain was a new experience in itself, it was not unexpected. The doctor kept on slapping my bum and issuing loud command to the nurses. I wasn’t amused and my expression made that clear. Since it seemed he wasn’t going to stop hitting my bum, I felt it necessary to put my puny hands on my butt to stop him. The shock in the the operating room was palpably undiluted and a nurse screamed “blood of jeses!!!” and made a sign on her head, arms and chest. I wondered who this “jeses” was and why his life blood was needed but I didn’t really care. At this point I only wanted the doctor to stop hitting me. I stretched my arms toward my mother and made wriggling motions. The doctor at this point nearly dropped me, but he retained his grip and quickly gave me to my semi-conscious mother, who hugged me and we both fell asleep. I dreamt the same dream; I always had, even in the womb.
The long and short of this account is that, I understood that I was not a normal child almost immediately I was born. I noticed that humans of my size were mostly empty barrels. They knew nothing and everything surprised them. But, me?…i was a different story all together. I didn’t feel the need to cry, laugh or even smile at any of the humans who came around to dote on me while my mother looked tired. But, I realized that my mother was important to my survival for the present, so I learnt to simulate what I had seen other humans of my size do, for her sake. You know?, the crying, the inane laughing at worthless trinkets and soiling my diaper which I found most repulsive.
Morounkeji, my mother was a sweet mother who doted on me. She took care of me to the best of her abilities and I was actually fine with that. I noticed, the male donor of my genetic material called “father” was never around, but I instinctively knew who he was and the fact that he was alive. As I said before, I don’t know why and how I knew this, and I don’t care still. It would seem my mother Morounkeji had been lied to and impregnated by the scum bag who donated genes to her. I didn’t hate him; if anything I was amused by his antics when he called my mother on her device used to speak to people far away querying her on why did she kept the pregnancy.i deduced that he was the voice I heard in the womb. My mother, the ever the sobbing Mary always cried and explained that she didn’t need him and we were fine.
But, there was the problem, I was fine and she was not. When I was twelve months and five days, I finally met my father. He signaled his presence by knocking softly; my mother walked briskly to the door and opened it. Immediately he walked in, i knew who he was, don’t ask..i just knew. He walked in without a word of greeting to her and came straight to my crib. I felt like simultaneously laughing in his face and peeing in it but I kept my laugh limited to an half smile and my urine to myself. He looked over the cot without a word, his expression grim. “So, you are my son?” he bellowed out. “you are the reason why this stupid woman blackmails me and has destroyed my life”.
My half smile disappeared and his expression broke. I really can’t blame him, everyone expects babies to be stupid and devoid of understanding. I turned over my side and turned my back to him, heaven knows how I knew what that was meant to be. He was visibly shocked and he turned to my mother to query her “your son does not like me; I wonder what you’ve been saying to him about me”. My mother muttered something inaudible and went to kitchen to get my father some food. While she was away, I heard her crying softly, the way she normally would when she felt I was asleep.
In that moment, I understood that my father had to go. His presence was disruptive, and unneeded. I was grateful to him for giving the genetic material I needed to exist but I needed my mother to be happy so she could be alive to take care of me for as long as I was unable to defend and provide for myself. So I stood up in my cot and looked straight at my father who was now reclined into a sofa, muttering to himself. “Muyiwa Olaesan, you need to go away”. He jerked up, visibly shocked. He looked around for where the voice came from. He looked at me standing up, handing folded behind me, looking straight at him. His shock was visible and his terror stricken face served only to irritate. I continued “Muyiwa, You have no place in morounkeji’s life and honestly you irks me, I am grateful that your genetic material was used to bring me into existence but, return to your wife Adeola and my brothers, Samuel and David. The next time I see you, I intend to remove your being from existence. That is all”. As I spoke, I made use of a wavelength that only he could understand and hear. To anyone else within an hear shot, it was the babbling of a baby.
As i spoke, his terror only increased. My mentioning of his wife and kids did nothing to assuage him, if anything it seemed to only increase his terror. He screamed loudly while flailing his arms and frothing at the mouth. My mother rushed into the sitting room with a soup spoon still in her hands. “muyiwa what’s wrongs?!!”. He could hardly get words out as he shrunk into the corner of the room. By this time, I was sitting on all fours and resumed my baby impersonation. Or, what would you have me do? Drive my mother insane? Either ways, the pitiful Mr Olaesan kept screaming “the baby is possessed, the baby is a son of evil!!!!”. My mother was summarily pushed aside while he rushed out, forgetting his shoes and suit jacket. I didn’t care; I had gotten my message across.
Life continued, but I started to pay more attention to inflection. Even if I had no mean of knowing why I was this way, at least I could understand what I was. As time passed, I realized that my memory was eidetic. I remembered everything that I ever saw, smelled, tasted or touched. My sleep was plagued by memories that could not be mine and I was strong, even for a baby. My assimilation of information was different from normal people. I knew exactly the things I needed to know about people around, even information, I normally should have no way of knowing. I also realized that languages, nuances of communication and pattern realization came very easily to me. While I didn’t have the desire to find knowledge, a compulsion for knowledge seemed to have been sown inside of me by some meddlesome external forces.
By the time I was 24 months old, I had graduated to watching news channels, informative television and history channels on my morounkeji’s moving picture box. I would be later told its name was a television. I would simulate playing with my mother’s phone but my real mission was different. I realized that the deviced called “phone” was most useful for finding information on a place called “the internet”. I would pretend cry when my mother retrieved her phone from me and i noticed that my use of the phone coincided with my mother complaining that her “bytes”had finished.
At this same time, I allowed my mother know the fact that I could walk fully and talk, since i noticed this was normal. I kept my vocabulary limited for a sake but, i would occasionally slip using words a baby had no way of pronouncing. But, in my estimation, my mother had become accustomed to the fact that i was quite advanced for my age,
While my mother, of course was horrified that I never toddled, or babbled as much as other babies, she was grateful that there was nothing wrong with me. But, I noticed that my father’s stupidity had indeed sown some seeds of doubt in her. Later in my second year of life, I was taken to a gathering of my peer known as crèche. I was not amused. Most of my peers would soil themselves, cry incessantly and behave in an inane manner. While this didn’t bother me, what bothered me was the fact that this same behavior was expected of me. Apart from being in the crèche, I also began to understand the world. I began to understand humanity and its place on this planet.
…To be continued.