Ayomah was born out-of-wedlock

 “Mama I’m so sorry. But you just told me you were once in the can, and I had surmised you probably might have …by the way how long were you in jail?

“Two and a half years. Are you suggesting I might have attempted to self- immolate while I was in jail?

“No. I’m only trying to figure out the rough work you might have been doing when you were serving your time.”

“Oh. So you do not believe me when I say I had to do things I would otherwise not have done in order to raise you?” How ungrateful you are!”

Sorry for all that. Tell me. Mama, are you saying I was born out-of-wedlock?”

“Exactly” She answered bravely.”

“How could that be, but you said my Dad was a deeply conservative lover.”


“Then what made him sacrifice this principle on that fateful pre-dawn?”

“Ayoma, it was my fault.”

“Mama, tell me. Did you seduce him?”

Tears begun to flow freely down my cheeks as I toiled to ease the pain of knowing who I was. How could I reconcile my wrong assumptions with this new reality and also be able to bind the wounds of being the casualty of love? How could love be so cruel? To me, love, not Mama, was now my greatest oppressor. My main problem was that, I knew who Patricia’s Dad was, I also knew who Cecelia’s Dad was, but I didn’t know who my Dad was.

Mama had now stood up and left the room—leaving me alone starring at the ceiling. My sadness could only compare favorably to that of a woman whose only two-year-old son had been butchered in her arms. I started to agonize over whether I should ask her who and where my Dad was, or just forget it. At least I knew very well that she will always be there for me –no matter what. What I wasn’t sure of, was whether knowing who and where my Dad was will do me any good.   

 So many times, we neglect to take the time to craft the words to express to those closest to us what their presence in our lives mean to us. Mama was such a person. She’d lived her life in such a way that others were always touched. These days, the stigma attached to mothers who choose to have their children born out-of-wedlock is fast disappearing. The same can be said of the stigma attached to the affected children.

 I had another problem: Mama had been in jail! I doubt how many people knew about this. But despite all these, I realized I still had to be thankful for having her all these years. I remembered how the orphanages were filled to capacity. Most of them were abandoned children that were thrown away with trash. It could be that their mothers didn’t have the courage to go through what Mama had gone through to raise me. Looking at these children, I had all the reasons to be thankful to Mama. She’d been an exception. She was always there for me anytime I needed her.

 To be continued…

 To my readers: Ayomah’s Story is along and enduring one that will take us through more than 70 Sequels! Keep your fingers crossed and enjoy it as it unfolds piecemeal.