Month: December 2011

Good Times!!!

Hey guys!

I can’t describe in words how happy I am that the Abortion Series is a wrap. It’s been very challenging and I’ve been through the mill emotionally and mentally. I know I took my precious time about it and for that, I apologise. I loved writing every story and researching the subject and will forever be grateful to and proud of those who had the courage to share their experiences. When I asked people to send in stories, I was convinced no one would respond. I didn’t think anyone would trust me with something so personal. I know I sound like a broken record but I really am humbled that they did.

What’s next? Not another series! Lol. It’s back to my random musings for now. 

Last night, my oldest, dearest and best friend got engaged! Whoop whoop! I’ve watched my Stinks grow from a scraggly looking skinny kid to a stunning woman. The girl inspires my socks off and coming from someone as hard to impress as I am, that’s saying a lot. I’m absolutely loving this phase of my life. All my friends are meeting and settling down with good godly men. I can’t wait to see what the future has in store for us all. Stinks and T-Baby, isn’t it funny how God orchestrates our lives even when we are unaware of it?! I am deliriously happy for you both and can’t wait to tell THAT story!!! He he.

In other news, I’m stuck in good old London for the holidays. I refuse to let my holiday waste so I’ve decided I’ll explore the length and breadth of the city. If you live in or are familiar with London, what are your favourite haunts? Tell me! Tell me! By the time I’m done exploring this town, the town will know I explored it.

My department at work has been nicknamed Tinsel Town by our ‘Bah! Humbug!’ colleagues. Everyone in the department has bits of tinsel hanging from their monitors. My tinsel is the cutest though! It’s green and white and has red bows and bells hanging from it. I sit a bit of a distance from my team and in the past, had to scream across the room to get their attention. These days, I just ring one of the bells I detached from my decoration! It drives them crazy and they keep vowing not to respond but their reflexes fail them. Muhaha! I suspect that before this festive season is over, I will be slapped. Fun times! I love my colleagues, they make getting up in the morning easier.

That’s it from me for now. I’m off to ring my bell. I need to know if anyone fancies making me a cup of tea!


The Abortion Series (FINAL): Hazel Eyes

My hands wouldn’t stop trembling and without warning, my feet followed suit. My head only just escaped a collision with the edge of the toilet bowl as I crashed to the bathroom floor. I watched the little cylindrical plastic tube skitter across the room and cursed it into oblivion. There was no way I was carrying that animal’s child! Hadn’t I been through enough already?! Rage like I’d never known swept over me. A strange beast took control of my lungs and sounds I’d never heard filled the room. My sister Tara came running in. She knelt beside me and tried to take me in her arms but I shook her off. She tried again and I lashed out, striking her across the face.
I needed to find him, to do all the things fear had stopped me doing that day.
In a flash I was off the floor and racing out the front door. I ran towards the train station where he used to sit cross legged on a bed of cardboard, shabbily dressed in a worn grey pin striped suit, a battered black satchel nestled between his thighs. I ran, the cold prickly tar bruising the bottom of my bare feet. In the distance I saw a bright light piercing the dark of the night. I ran towards it willing it to shine into the abyss that now lived where my soul once resided.


I woke up forty-eight hours later in a hospital bed, surrounded by whirring machinery and the familiar faces of my sister and two of the three ICU doctors I’d become well acquainted with in the weeks I’d spent hospitalised after the attack. Sighs of relief echoed throughout the room. I’d been hit by a car they said. The driver hadn’t noticed me running down the middle of the road till it was too late. The memory came flooding back and instinctively I clutched my stomach.
“The baby is fine,” one of the doctors assured me.
“I don’t want it, get rid of it.”
A thick veil of silence descended in the room.
“I am not having the child of a homeless schizophrenic who battered and raped me.”
Tara took my hand and squeezed gently. “Don’t make any rash decisions,” she said, “I know it’s not an ideal situation but give yourself some time. You might feel differently once you’ve thought it through.”
Every head in the room nodded in agreement and I shut my eyes tight to ride out the wave of anger washing over me. As if on repeat, the scene began to replay itself in my head.
I felt his hand clam over my mouth as the sharp blade of a knife pressed into the small of my back. Warning me not to utter a sound, he propelled me forward. I choked back a scream as my head hit the builders skip blocking off the alley from public view. The pain had barely subsided when he spun me around and landed the first punch. I fell to my knees, blood seeping through a gash on my upper lip. After the third punch, I felt myself slipping away and the last thing I remember as I curled up in a ball, my hands cradling my head, is asking God to save me.
“You have two options,” I announced to no one in particular, “You either help me get rid of this child or I do it on my own, in my own way. The choice is yours.”


 I saw myself standing over the most beautiful baby girl. She was wrapped in a white blanket, her fingers peeking out, reaching for the stuffed monkey that sat smiling cheekily in the top right corner of her crib. I stroked the crown of her head, my fingers weaving through her sparse locks of hair. She giggled, her big hazel eyes lighting up, willing me to do it again. Instead, I wrapped my right hand around her throat and squeezed as tightly as I could. She let out a blood curling scream, her stumpy little legs kicking furiously, hands clenched, forming miniscule fists. Her tears flooded my fingers like water gushing from a burst pipe. The more she screamed, the harder I squeezed. Her face turned a funny shade of blue and suddenly, silence filled the air. Her big hazel eyes were wide open staring at me, a blank expression across her face.
I woke up gasping, sweat oozing from my every pore. I looked up at the clock that hung ticking over the head of my hospital bed. It was just gone 6am, four hours till the procedure. I lifted my right hand to my face and stared at it like I’d never seen it before. I felt her tears burning trails along my palm…and then I saw them…her big hazel eyes, etched in the palm of my right hand. Her screams rang in my head and our voices blended as mine matched hers; agony for agony, fear for fear.
The door burst open and two nurses appeared at my side.
“I killed her! I killed her!”
They tried to calm me down but I was inconsolable. I knew then that she would never forgive me. Those eyes would haunt me for the rest of my life if I went ahead with it.



This is a fictional story and yes, it’s the last story in the series. Hope you’ve enjoyed it!



The Abortion Series: The Birthday Girl’s Story

               I love birthdays and when I woke up on the morning of my 19th birthday, I thought it was the best day ever; lots of calls, messages and prayers in the normal African tradition. I decided to miss my A ‘level Physics class, after all, it was my birthday. My boyfriend came over laden with gifts, cards; the works. He planned to take me out so I was really excited. I started to get ready and we got carried away. We had been together for about 4 months and had never slept together. We did everything else but were very careful but that day (my birthday) things got out of hand. He coaxed, loved and cajoled till we were having sex. It was over very quickly and as soon as we were done the reality of what had happened hit me and I knew it, I just knew I was going to be pregnant. Exactly eleven days later I missed my period and it all began.
               I waited a few more days and lo and behold my period still hadn’t come so I bought a pregnancy test kit from boots. I bought 2 actually, just in case one was wrong. I got home, peed on the stick and watched a pink line gradually surface. My heart sank. I tried again, same result. I started panicking. I called my boyfriend and told him. He asked if I was sure, I said yes. He told me to come over. I bought more pee sticks and made my way over, all the while, shaking. It was another physics day so I was happy to skip school, don’t really know why I bothered with the subject, I’d never liked it.
               When I got to his place, we talked quietly in his bedroom (he lived with relatives). I peed on another stick and brought the result to him. Clear as day, I was pregnant. We couldn’t get married, still too young. He was Christian and I, Muslim and both our parents would have killed us. I remember thinking about people who had died from septic abortions but I thought “surely that won’t happen in the UK?!”
               We agreed to have an abortion.
I went to my GP and told him I was pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. He was angry. He’d been my GP from birth, knew my whole family and even advised me on becoming a medical doctor and what subjects to do at A ‘level. He wasn’t happy and managed to make me think the NHS would say no. I was terrified! No one could find out. I got morning sickness and couldn’t eat anything. I thanked God my mum was out of town at the time because she would have known. Well, the letter came through and the NHS said yes.
               It was morning, the day, the day had come. I was really nervous and thought I’d be sick. They didn’t let him come in with me. The procedure was explained, I filled some forms, signed and was wheeled into the theatre. I remember telling the anesthetist to make sure I wasn’t carrying twins because I’d heard a story about someone aborting one child while a second, undiscovered child lived. He smiled, nodded and asked me to count backwards from 10. I woke up a little while later and realised I was back in the ward. It was all over…or so I thought.
               On the outside I was fine but inside of me, the grief was only just beginning. I couldn’t tell anyone, friend or foe. Every time I saw a pregnant woman, I wondered. Every time I saw a single mother I thought her a much better person than I for having the courage to have her child. For years after, I couldn’t have conversations about abortions, couldn’t bring myself to utter the word. It took a few years before I was able to cry and when I did, I cried for hours.
               I have since become a Christian and I’m grateful that God forgives. Forgiving myself however, was the harder bit. I finally got there about 8 years after the event but, till now, I still ask myself ‘what if?’ and ‘how old?’ amongst other things. At the time it was normal to have an abortion but no one told me about the guilt afterwards. I really wish someone had schooled me right.


This is a non-fictional account of  The Birthday Girl’s experience. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. That you and others would trust me with your stories is incredibly humbling. You are whole my friend; mind, body, soul and spirit.

This is the penultimate story in the series. There’s one more (fictional) to come so please stay tuned!



The Abortion Series: Mr Anonymous’ Story

The day started like any other; morning came, met me lazing around and left. Late afternoon met me fed and doing the dishes. Just as I finished, my phone rang. Spotting the callers ID, I groaned. I hadn’t spoken to her in a month and after our last conversation had hoped I’d never again have to. I answered the call and looking back, wish amongst other things, that day had turned out differently.
      “Hey. What’s up?”
      “I’m pregnant and I think it’s yours.”
In one seemingly eternal minute, my mind went back to the first and only night we’d spent together. Our relationship had officially ended two weeks before. She was supposedly a virgin and I hadn’t planned to sleep with her but in 30seconds of madness, I planted life in her.
      I remembered the last time I’d spoken to her. She’d called the day before worried because she’d missed her period and didn’t know what to do. She called that day to say it wasn’t what she’d thought; it was only an infection. I remember freaking out and falling ill, my sickness induced by the thought that I too was infected.
      I remembered why the relationship ended. She’d wanted to get married and I hadn’t, not to her. All the time we were together, I suspected her of cheating. I lied, told her I never wanted to get married and she vowed to change my mind.
      All this I remembered in a minute.
I asked her what next. She said she didn’t know. I told her I wouldn’t support an abortion, she said she wasn’t considering it. 9 months passed, months of arguments, unwavering looks of disappointment from parents and family, months of external pressures on me to marry her. I stuck to my guns, I couldn’t marry her. If the relationship didn’t work out, then marriage most definitely wouldn’t. Marrying the man that got you pregnant for want of a ‘better’ option or marrying a woman for responsibility sake, is erroneous at best. Those months were extremely difficult for me…but considerably more so for her.
      At times I considered encouraging her to terminate the pregnancy but in the end, decided to let God make that decision for us. This may sound crazy but miscarriages happen, people give birth to stillborn children, babies die every day. If the baby wasn’t meant to be, it wouldn’t be. I couldn’t shake the thought that if we had an abortion, we might never again have the chance to be parents. Ever. Being pregnant and unmarried was one mistake. I didn’t want to make another by having an abortion.
      I am single, she is now married and has a daughter in addition to the son we share. A recurring ‘issue’ in my relationships is my son. It’s a massive consideration for any woman looking to spend the rest of her life with me. I’ll be honest, it has crossed my mind how much less complicated my life would be if I’d encouraged her to abort. Yet, however I think about it, it would have been the wrong thing to do.
      I have friends who regret making that decision. They see little kids and can’t escape the question, “what if?” Funny thing is, the same thing happens to me. I see little kids and ask myself, “what if?” For all the regrets I have, the decision to have my son isn’t one of them, for when life presents itself at its most hopeless, hearing him say “I love you daddy” always, always brightens my day.


This is a factual account of Mr Anonymous’ experience and I’d like to thank him for sharing his story with us. Thanks buddy!