Wednesday, June 20


Daniel Nkado: A Little Story About The Day I Was Born

by Daniel Nkado

Here's a little story about the day I was born:

At around 1:43 a.m exactly this day in 1991, my mother's contractions started.

Because I was her first and she was just 18, my grandmother had been around that day.

My mother said she had been "very angry" at my father, for "sleeping peacefully" while her abdomen burned.

She slapped him, first on the back and again, harder, on the buttocks.

Till my grandmother told her to stop.

My paternal grandmother had awakened at this time too.

While one grandmother tended to her screaming daughter, the other one set about waking her snoring son.

My dad finally awake, quickly ran to call one of our neighbors whose ash-colored Peugeot seemed more convenient to take my mother to the hospital.

He readily agreed, but the car wouldn't start.

"I should have married a rich man!" my mother cried. "Ha gwakwalam agwa - they told me before."

"Nwanyi mechipu onu!" my grandmother scolded her. "Stop talking. How many of your mates married a graduate not to mention a government worker eekwa?"

They ended up using my dad's Blue Bird.

At St. Joseph's Specialist Hospital and Maternity, where my grandfather also worked at the time, the nurses were swift and experienced.

But there was another major problem...

"Madam, your labor has slowed," the midwife told my mother.

My mother said at this time she wasn't feeling any pains or contractions again.

"What do we do now?" my father, miserably agitated, asked.

"She will have to go through a CS," the midwife said. She was a plump dark lady with very thick eyebrows. I met her once.

"A CS?" queried my father. The fear was rife in his eyes.

My grandmother was on the floor at this moment. "Why my daughter?" she cried. "Seven children and I did not have any operation, so why my daughter?"

It was during the time cesarean births were the scariest thing about pregnancies.

"That is not even the main issue?" the midwife informed them, effectively adding salt to injury. "The doctor to perform the operation is not on seat this night."

My mother said she was not really so worried -- as a young nursing student at the time, something had informed her she is definitely having a normal birth.

The midwife scoffed when she told her this.

But soon enough, like magic, the contractions came flooding back to her pelvis.

And within a few pushes, I gushed out like an object rolling on ogbono soup.

Shock and relief warred in the air.

My father's mom called me Chukwuemeka - God has done great.

But my mother's mom stuck to Chukwudozie - God take control -- a prayer she had prayed before the miracle happened.

My grandfathers agreed I should be called Chukwuemeka too, because that more accurately described the circumstances of my birth!


Get all complete stories by Daniel Nkado on DNB StoreOkadaBooks or Flip Library


  1. This is inspiring.. You described it so vividly, Kudos!

  2. You write so beautifully well and easy to read pls complete some of your stories here tnx


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