He hung up the phone. I didn’t even get the chance to fully reveal the last bit of humility that tainted my soul for the last year and a half. “Please, just listen to me, we have a child toge...” I looked at my 11 month old son while he slept heavily after a full belly of plantain porridge and his “tea.”  I slowly rolled my back toward him and tried my best not to cry but I couldn’t control myself.  Dry season was long gone and now rainy season made its debut in the day and life of Kah’teri Rose.  As tears ran rapidly down my face, my body began to tremble.  I wanted to call him back but I knew it was useless.  I tried anyway.  One ring,  and straight to his voicemail.  I cried even heavier. Thoughts began to taunt my spirit and I started to ask myself, “Why am I not good enough? I bore a child for him...28 blasted hours of labour...stitches...big ole’ titties that my lil frame struggles to carry, constantly squirting milk...and this dude is telling me that he can’t do this anymore...why am I not good enough?”

He hung up the phone. This brother who apparently “respected” me so deeply did not even give me the freedom of speech that he so often spoke about on his social media networks. He told me that my body was a temple and I was divine for carrying the life of my son. It all felt so real me. Did I really find love? I mean, find love beyond page 578 in books written by Webster and Oxford? You know, the love that you cannot see but simply feel which was the main reason why a smile was always placed upon my face beyond, the presence of my son.  It all felt so real, until, I carried his child. He became cold, distant and militant.  I did not understand.  The crazy sex on top of the PhD student’s desk was simply not enough. The cooked meals, clean laundry, back massages, support for every project he ever did was just not good enough. He left my life as quickly as he got in. I asked myself a second time, “what is wrong with me?”

For a while, I felt empty after the abortion.  I felt as if I was a hypocrite and a betrayer of life. How dare I place someone’s wants over the need for a child to be born? I hated myself and felt absolutely worthless but I tried my best to put on a mask for my son’s sake because I did not want him to be affected by my grief.  This lasted for about three months until one night I dreamt about my grandmother. We were in the same delivery room that my son was born in and as she rocked him she said to me, “you know, there’s no greater love than a mother’s love...” I woke up and I took that revelation to heart.  All this time I was searching for love, and all the love I ever needed was surrounding me, staining my skin, imprinting my soul while I was in my own mother’s womb.  I then realized that I understood the depth of her love when my son was born however, I did not fully grasp it because of pain. 

De Carib Womban Sings Songs of Joy for now she, who is I, recognizes that my son, Zion, is all I need to be complete, all I need to push on through, all I need to be alive.

This is for Mommy: I am so sorry for ignoring the love that you constantly work so hard to define to me to this very day just to attempt a phony copy of it in a man built by lies.  Mommy, I sing to you, “My Redemption Song.” I love you.

This is for my KingChild Zion: I love you, son. Thank you for the revolution and artistry creating a mosaic of love, peace, redemption, and freedom.

Kah’teri Rose.