HAMZ MUSINGS: KARMA

KARMA

By Hamz

Her breasts were like brown bananas. They were flabby, creased and maintained a long, low-esteemed downward slope. At the end of both slopes were pitch-black, erect and swollen nipples.

The fat, dark pig of a toddler opened his maw of a mouth, braying infernally while clawing at the transparent feeding bottle which contained some misty liquid. I watched them with disinterest from across where they sat. Why the hell did she leave her breasts open?

Now, I like breasts. Yes! Proud, firm ones that strain against the bra clips and immediately pop out of the bra cups as soon as they're released, daring you to touch them. I like breasts with dark, erect peaks sharp enough to puncture balloons. Not those weak ones that had to be folded up a couple of times and 'packaged', like ill-dressed African kids going to the White house. Not those weak ones that fell immediately like the walls of Jericho, whose fluids were completely lost to...

'Okolo', She snapped. 'C'mon, drink it'

Okolo brayed once more, pushing it off with balled, angry fists. He didn't want to drink...or 'eat' as his mother put it. I felt like walking up to him, lifting him up by a foot and smacking him pretty hard on his bare back.

A couple of minutes later, her phone rang from a distance. She got up with an effort, walked straight to me, and with neither word nor whisper, dumped Okolo and the bottle in my hand. Confusion and disbelief forced open my mouth. She couldn't care less for she ran off.

Now, for those who know me, I dislike babies. I dislike them so much that I once made a vow that if at all I decided to get married and my wife got pregnant and gave birth, I would pack my things and come back when the baby was a little grown.

Okolo stared at me in surprise, I stared back at him in unconcealed disgust and wrath. Hearing the laughter of his mother making the call only increased my fury. Well, the little demon must have caught the sore displeasure emblazoned across my expression for his face slowly crumpled into a mask of raw terror, then he began to whimper and before long, started to bray like the crazed donkey that he truly was.

With every shred of self-control, I resisted the urge to dump him right on the cold floor and walk away. But I couldn't.

So there I was, with the bottle and the baby held awkwardly in my arms. Hamz could do anything if he wanted to. I wanted to make him stop crying... and I knew I could.

'OKie Okie baby, do not cry', I sang slowly, rocking him back and forth.

He immediately stopped, obviously shocked at the terrible and ridiculously silly voice he just heard. Then he glanced up at me in surprise, his mouth open and his brows slightly bowed... and began to cry even louder. I shook my head in pained frustration.

'OKo Okie, mommy loves you. She'll be back soon', I sang again. And the monkey cried louder.

Alright! Since he decided to be silly, I decided to also be silly. Little idiot! I picked out one of my favorite Eminem songs, Not Afraid, and began to rap.

'/You can try and read my lyrics  off of this paper before i lay 'em/'

And he began to giggle and gurgle. Was he kidding me? I stared open-mouthed at him in complete disbelief. I sang a lullaby- he cried. I began to rap- he not only stopped crying, but began to laugh. Well, if he loved Eminem, I was going to give him the A-Z of the rap god. From the inception of Eminem till his current tracks, I rapped and rapped, slow and fast, not getting through with one song before I jumped to another, and he laughed till he gasped for breath. I suddenly loved him. Maybe I loved children afterall but was just too stereotyped to admit it. I must have rapped for up to nine minutes. Before long, he'd started struggling for the bottle.

I gave him and he sucked hard, cooing softly.

With the enthusiastic manner with which he sucked, I surmised the milk was sweet.

Surreptitiously looking left and right, I took a swig of a mouthful. What the hell! It tasted like tepid belch. I frowned as I swallowed. What was he enjoying in this... this crap? A while later, he was fast asleep, snoring in whistles.

His mother came after some minutes, striding in with her bare breasts flapping and swinging sideways. I averted my gaze.

'Ah ah. Okolo  didn't finish it?', She asked, holding up the bottle and examining it's contents.

'No', I replied, quite unnecessarily.

'Why na? He usually loves my breast milk o'

I dragged my gaze to her in horror. 'Ma, what did you say?', I asked, trying to steady the tremor in my voice.

'Okolo usually loves my breast milk. This is my breast milk na,' She replied without looking at me, still examining and vigorously shaking the bottle till it's contents foamed.

'YOUR BREAST milk?', I asked stupidly.

She gave me an odd stare. 'Yes. Why?'

I woke up three hours later in the health centre.

Written by Hamz

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