In the name of Allah the most gracious, the
most merciful. The Creator and Lord of the worlds and all things inbetween.
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| Our tribe minus one |
How cool would it be if one can start your story, (some stories start this way) I am the first born daughter of Rukayat and Osama, heck I was the first girl child in three generations of our family on both sides. According to my Dad, when I was born my Mom sat on the bed and struggled to brush out the tangles in her mop of dark curls. She stopped and stared at him in the mirror and suddenly she doubled over with the first pain of birth. There was no time for midwife or taxi to hospital – so he rolled up his sleeves and helped her lay down and that is how I came into this world…
I wanted my children to know about the day
of their birth so that it would be the start of theirstory. As soon as
they were old enough I would tell them the story how they were born and start
off with “On the day you were born the temperature was about 39 degrees and
your Grandmother was baking soetkoek in a Dover coalstove. It was so hot that
we took a shower at least five times a day.” Seriously, I love to tell stories
and sometimes would use a bit of writers’ license to make the story exciting
and interesting.
I would also relate the stories of the
Prophets and Prophet Muhamad (peace and blessings upon him) and his companions
in a low storyvoice; the stories of creation in the Qur’an and on Mi’raj night
I would throw open a white sheet and we would sit in a circle for the story of
the Prophet Muhamad’s (peace and blessings upon him) horizontal and vertical
journey to Allah. Not forgetting the good family stories and slave histories
and the First peoples of the Americas and so on. The stories our parents told us
made us love the Prophets of Allah and the story of the cave, I mean who has
not told that story at least a thousand times? Mikaeel just wants me to skip to
the spider weaving its silken web and the bird sitting pretty and warming her
eggs in the nest.
One day my youngest daughter asked me to
tell her the story of her birth and I decided to type it up and print it out
and keep it for her when she gets married inshaAllah together with the tiny
dress that she fitted in. Then I started to type out all of the stories of my
children so they knew about that beautiful day that Allah SWT gave them their
first breath and into my care.
These are some paragraphs of theirstories:
“It was a cold winter’s day when you were born in May. Should
I glance out of my window at GSH I would see the hills of Devils Peak and stray
buck grazing. Just before you were born I heard the melodious Muathin calling
to prayer for Fajr. When I held you in my arms for the first time the sky had already
turned greyish blue. I could not wait for
your Dad to come visit in the evening because you were so hungry - so I made
the Iqamah in your left ear and the Athaan in your right ear and when you
suckled for the first time it was so sore but a pain soon forgotten because you
were so precious. I could not stop looking at you in awe thanking Allah for
choosing me as your Mom. You were so tiny you could fit into a shoe box and we
bought baby-growers with the word fragile on the front. You had the
cutest dimples and your Dad’s pretty nose. I was relieved that my nose would
not be your inheritance. You had the most beautiful mop of brown curls and
sometimes Mama would tie it up so tight that you looked Chinese. ”“The day before you were born your cousin Sumaya had graced the dunyah with her presence. I know, I was there reciting to her Mom during her birth. At 12 o’clock that night my pains started as my friend who visited left. I tried to fall asleep and dozed off and then? You gave big somersault kick and a huge pain washed over me. I waited for the next one to come but it was at least half hour later. So I packed my suitcase and put ready your sister’s clothes and started to recite Surah Yaseen. I knew that it was time when I had a pain at every `Ain. So when the men came back from mosque at Fajr, your Dad rushed me to the Peninsula Maternity hospital. Exactly at 9.00 am, you were born with so much hair the nurses took you around all the wards to show everyone your feather duster head. You were adorable even as I had more babies later, you would wait for me to put them all to bed and then clamber up onto my lap. So you were compassionate even as a child.”
“Your birth was the quickest of all and you
were the tallest. Just as you wanted to come into the world I had an enormous pushing
pain. I screamed to the nurses but they said they were off to afternoon tea. So
I made myself comfortable on the bed and with Bismillah helped you push your
way into the world. The nurses rushed back and said, “Stop” because the cord
was so tight around your neck.” I cried and said softly, “I told you he was
coming, but you said after tea.” And that’s why you like tea (just kidding).
When they handed you to me I cried so hard that you were OK that I made you cry,
so I stopped and I have never cried again since. Ha ha.
I held you tightly against my breast but you just
slept through it all, you were the sweetest baby your Dad and I could hope for.
And you were tough as nails and fearless. When I weaned you and gave you fresh
milk your tummy was upset and so I had to introduce you to soy milk, you did
not like it much and I suspect you still don’t.”
“On a warm November’s Day, I was in labour for 48 hours
because you decided to put out your hand and so I could not birth you naturally.
Your Dad had left to go home for a short while. They drugged me with pethadine
for the pain and to keep the labour pains at bay until you pulled back your
hand. It made it made me giddy and I babbled nonstop. When they pushed me into
the lift for a Caesarian section I asked the doctor just to check one more time
and what do you know? You had pulled your hand back and I gave birth to a
beautiful girl with hair as black as a raven’s wing. Only I was too high on
pethadine to hold you. But the next day it was like a bundle had dropped from heaven.
You were quiet and gazed at me with your dark eyes and I felt blessed. Later
when your fingers got stuck in the bicycle chain, I feared it had cut through
the nerves and you would lose your fingers. But I beseeched Allah for you and
see those fingers were meant to stay as you play the Ukulele so well and your
palms are wide open.”
You were born on the 28th night of Ramadhan. On
the day you were born, everyone was sleeping in late. They were asleep because
the night before was Lailatul Qadr – the Night of Power and the mosques were
filled till the early hours. On the day you were born, there was a buzz in the
community. Everyone was shopping for last minute Eid clothes and new things for
their homes. On the day you were born, I became impatient for the pains to
start, so your Dad and I took long walks in the forest. On the day you were
born, your sisters packed and repacked your new cot with your newborn clothes not being able to imagine what
you would be like. On the day you were born, everyone kept checking: do you
have pains yet? Exactly at noon, when the cannon booms on Signal Hill, my first
pain started - heralding your journey home. When you
were lifted out of the water and on to my chest, we looked at one another and smiled
filled with love for you, waiting for you to take your first breath. The
softest small pink bundle mewing softly - no spanking of bottom, no forcing of
first cry.”
“When I was pregnant
with you your father and I were on Hajj. All of the excitement and joy that I
experienced in Makkah and Madinah and surrounds, you experienced - you
kicked so hard at the Qabr of our Beloved Prophet (peace and blessings upon him) as if to give your salaams
too. And when we stood on Arafat when that cool wind blows you tumbled around to remind me to make duah for you too. You were born three weeks after our return home with a few false starts and
then when the midwife went home my waters broke and you were ready for the
world. Your Dad was still putting the water into the bath. At the exact moment
of your birth I sunk into the water, the midwife ran back and with takkies on,
jumped in too and your sister woke up and would not let go of your Daddy. So as
a consolation prize he got to cut the cord. I fell in love with your warm brown
eyes looking up at me. Every time you heard the Takbir you would cry so dearly
that every woman in the mosque cried too.”
Our last two children were water birthed - I only found out much later that the
people who lived in the house before us had experienced the death of their
father in that very bath. So the wonder of life in that bathroom, where a man had
taken his last breath and my last two children took their first, came full
circle. Allah hu Akbar!
Grow food and tell good stories to your
children.
Jumuah Mubarak all.
Yasmine
Ps. This piece is dedicated to Joy
McPherson the midwife of Midwifes Incorporated - Women for women who
passed away a few years ago and Belinda Pourtney who assisted in making our
birthing experiences phenomenal and sacred as it should be. Today there is a women’s
clinic called Al Nisa in Kromboom Road where women have the option and choice
of natural birth and water birthing.
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