Munachi

|Chapter 5|

"Your fallopian tubes are okay, Mrs. Munachi. And that includes your uterus. The reports states that you're absolutely normal."

My heart sink. I'd hoped Dr. Mark will be able to detect what is wrong with me. And he'll be able to fix whatever it is. "Are you certain, doctor? There might be a loophole somewhere."

"There isn't any loophole, Mrs. Munachi," Dr. Mark says. "There is nothing wrong with you."

"Then why does my situation says otherwise?"

"I honestly don't understand either." He shakes his head. "Only God has the answer to that. But," he raises a finger, "instead of you focusing more on yourself, why not have your husband go through some tests as well. Who knows if the whole issue might be coming from him."

I heave a sigh. "We've actually done that in the past, doctor. The results showed that he's as normal as you claim I am. My husband was the first to undergo some tests before I did."

"How many times did he take the tests?" he asks.

"Once," I reply.

"But you took yours lots of times? I say you talk to your husband and have him retake the tests. There's nothing to lose by so doing. If possible, have him come over to the clinic tomorrow."

♣♣♣

Nate returns home from work late in the evening. "Welcome, Nate," I say, hugging him affectionately.

"Hey. You look worn out, everything okay?" he asks, staring at my face with so much concern.

"I'm fine," I say, collecting his briefcase.

"Were you able to go to the clinic for the results?"

"Yes."

"So what was it?"

"I'll tell you all you need to know once you've changed and eaten. Good timing," I say to Doris, as she walks into the living room.

"Welcome, Master," she greets.

"Get food ready for Master, Doris," I instruct.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Be quick about it. Warm up the soup in the microwave. And boil some water for semolina. Don't make it too soft or too firm."

"Yes, Mistress," Doris says, and walks into the kitchen.

I do most of the cooking myself, leaving little chores like making of semolina, warming of soup, preparing of ingredients, laundry and other general cleanliness of the house to Doris.

I follow Nate into the bedroom, and while he undresses, I run his bath-water. I love Nate ever so dearly, and I detest greatly when I hear men or rather some people say that African women are incapable of loving their husbands so deeply.

When Nate enters the bathroom, I walk into the kitchen to see to his dinner. Making certain that everything is okay. A few minutes on, Nate settles down to a good dinner, eating ravenously. In no time, Nate has consumed a huge plate of semolina. I watch him take the last piece. After he has swallowed it, he begins to scoop the remaining soup into his mouth with his fingers, then licking them as little children does.

When the soup plate is clean, he belches satisfactorily. Then I call on Doris to clear off the table.

"Tell me what the results are," Nate says, as we lie in bed.

I sigh before I begin. "Dr. Mark said there's nothing wrong with me. Said the results indicates that I'm perfectly normal."

"That's what they all say. Still nothing happens. Why don't we-"

"Why don't you try running another test," I interrupt him.

He stares at me for a moment. "Muna, you know I've done that already. And you know what the results said."

"Yes, I know that. But I think-Dr. Mark thinks it's best if you try again. And maybe you could come over to the clinic for it."

"All right."

"Like tomorrow," I add.

He sighs, taking my hand. "We'll both go to the clinic together."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, love, tomorrow. Come here." I scooch closer to his side and he gives my temple a quick peck before wrapping his arms around me.

Just few days after Nate took the tests, the results comes out positive. Nothing unusual is wrong with him. He's normal, we're both normal. And then I know, that something is absolutely wrong somewhere. This whole thing must be something spiritual, even though I do not want to believe it is. How can I not be able to conceive when everything about me is practically normal. Nate is normal too. But yet we have no child of our own. Is this some kind of a punishment or some sort of a voodoo? I've tried out every possible ways. Doctors, faith-healers, native-doctors-name them all. I've gone and been to every single one of them in search for solution to my problem. And still, nothing turns out right.

"What's the matter?" I ask Nate one evening, as he flops down onto the sofa after returning from work. I sit next to him, and I watch him rests his back against the sofa, looking up at the ceiling with his eyes shut. "Nate?" I call, putting my hand onto his lap and giving it a gentle shake.

He sighs, then rubs his face with his hands before sitting up. "It's Mom," he says, with his face cloud in concern.

"Is she okay? Is everything all right?" I inquire.

"No, no. All seems well with her."

"So what's going on? What's with the long face, Nate?"

"She, uh. She wants us to come over."

"Okay? So what's wrong about that?"

"I can't have you come with me, Muna." He's shaking his head.

"Why not? Are you seriously preventing me from seeing Ma?" He remains silent. "Or is it that you're afraid of what she might say to me this time?"

"I'll go alone. I just don't want you to-"

"It's all right, Nate," I interrupt. "I can just overlook whatever it is she might throw-I mean say to me. Besides, I've been wanting to pay her and Pa a visit," I lie, faking a smile. "Ma wants us to come over. Surely she has something important to say. Now come on, go take a shower and come downstairs for dinner. Hm?"