You love all things American. It has always been your dream to have your first baby in America. Kizito, your husband is in support. You thank God for blessing you with a sensible husband like him, not one with goat brain.
You have told your friends about this trip, especially Ifeoma who
recently return from Belgium where she had a baby girl. Well you have not been to Belgium, but you sha know America is better. Yankee is your destination!.
But things begin to fall apart. Those devils at the embassy, unsympathetic specie of humans, a people who would never reason from your angle, a people very determine to truncate your dream, and make you a caricature before your friends. Like Tessy, at the office, because she managed a honeymoon in Ghana, nobody will hear word again. Ordinary Ghana. What is the distance between Nigeria and Ghana?. You have decided to outshine your friends, but they now won’t give you Visa.
Kizito has gone through a lot and he is showing massive sign of
giving up on the visa.
‘It’s frustrating’ he says ‘these people obviously don’t want to give us the visa.’
You see depression in his eyes as he speaks, but you console him. ‘Honey please keep trying, I believe you can do this. I believe in you’. You says looking into his weak eyes, then wish they are true.
But you know he will always try. He endures the grueling processes of getting visa. The humiliating interviews, tedious queuing, voluminous documents and sometimes, the incessant “anything for the boys” he clandestinely drops for that fierce
looking Nigerian fellow behind the glass case at the embassy.
Your pastor is involve. Repeatedly, he anoints you with a reasonable dose of olived oil, every Sunday, after service, shouting behind the close door of his office.
‘Your visa is coming, it is sure, believe brethren.’
At long last, the trauma ends. The visa arrives although you are not sure how Kizito get it, you thank God but sigh, frustrated by your own anger, and angry because your baby is due on the month. Imagine processing a Visa for more than twelve months. Sigh.
You are fondling with your
papers as you wait for the long queue to get screened. You look up and observe the activeness attending the airport’s waiting room: the measured grateful smiles, silence, exaggerated faux politeness, and the gasps of excitement when someone gets screened and heads to the boarding terminal. You can’t wait!.
‘Please seats tight, phones off, enjoy the flight’. A voice from
The Plane takes off.
Kizito caressing your left palm.You glance around: a man behind is talking about politics and corruption, a woman two seats ahead buries her face in a book……
There is a sudden urge to pee. A very stubborn urge. Soon cephalalgia in your head. Next muscular contraction. Excessive pains between your thigh. Pains everywhere.
Flight attendants surge forward. Kizito is incoherent consoling you. Encouraging words seize the air, but the pain is unbearable.
‘Seat tight!, we have medical emergency, we’re landing!’. A voice from the cockpit.
God! Your baby is coming mid air. Your homage to America…
The pilot makes an emergency landing. Three medical staff rushes in and next you are on a stretcher, in pain, preying by the eyes of some fellow passengers sending their good wishes and prayers.
As you exit the plane on a stretcher, you sigh in pain as your eyes scan one of the medics, then her badge reading “République du personnel médical Bénin”