It hurt a lot last time,

I had to walk into that pharmacy and explain the wound and how it got there. The pharmacist looked at me sideways, and I understood. I probably would have done the same thing.

I hope this time will be better. She looks gentler, younger, and friendlier than that other lady who just asked me to lie there, with no conversation or small talk. Mai Munya had assured me that it would work, so I went off to Kuwadzana.

We had had a nasty fight days before that, as we always do. Sometimes he beats me. He had taken it to Facebook to humiliate me this time. My co-worker had asked me about it, who saw the post before I did. He deleted it hours later, but we still fought, so when he came around, he said it was because we didn’t have a child, that is why we don’t get along much.

“You should go see Madzimai, Mai Munya said it will work”.

So I went, and she asked me for a list of items which made no sense. How is Jade bathing soap going to get me pregnant? But my husband needs a child.

I lay there while she examined me and concluded that I had a sare, a bad spirit or something like that. She had to remove it.

That’s how I managed two combis back home with a cut-up behind.

He was happy to hear it. My husband was happy.

The following days were nothing but pain. I could not sit, walk, or think. Bathroom visits were a nightmare, but my husband was happy. We were going to try again soon as I healed.

No one talks about how his brother had his first child after nine years or why they named him Zororo because he came after four years. No one talks about why he refuses to do this with me or to see a doctor. I have brought home doctors’ reports saying I am okay, I can do this, which have been met with:

“Prove it”

I told the pharmacist an edited version of the story.

If it hurts again this time, I know what to do to get through it quickly. When we were walking from the church service, the other ladies knew that those who had their children after visiting this Gogo, she is a pro when it comes to these things.

Their church is interesting, instead of white garments, they wear different colourful garments. The preacher was going on about how men should have as many wives as they want because the bible says so. The ladies were happy to hear it, so I did not get my mind and feelings invested.

“Take them off, I am not going to do that for you.”

So, I took them off, and I open them wide, she pulls me closer, and she tells me to relax.

Relax?

At least she has gloves on, she looks clean, and this floor is cold. This plastic is not helping. I feel cold.

The lady that told me I could come here was sure it would work; her child went through this, and she had twins immediately after. She assured me that gynaecologists were for her problems, cervical cancer, not mine. Mine neededdivine intervention. So, while we waited for the doctor, who did not show up, she gave me all the details.

My husband was happy to hear it when I told him I wanted to try again.

Wait, where is that hand going? Why is she doing that? Oh, my, that is so painful!! Why is she pinching and pulling? What body part is that? It hurts!

“That is why you are not having a child; these are too many for a normal person.”

Are we doing that again?

Okay, I am ready. I’ll pass by the pharmacy. She can go ahead. I can do this.

Where is that hand going again, and why?

Closed? How can a uterus be closed? How do these things work anyway? So, what must happen now?

Open it? Using what? Fuuuuuuck!

So, she is going to keep doing that until what happens? Can she finish already?

“I have opened it, now, we cut masare ese aya uzvare”

I know where that blade is going. I can feel my body tensing,

I want to go home.

Okay, that was not so bad, whoa, again?

How many are there? I really want to know and like she can hear me thinking.

“fifteen more to go”

DOES THIS WOMAN REALISE SHE IS CUTTING THE INSIDE OF MY VAGINA?

Six, seven, eight…

I will name my child after my mother. I hope they come out beautiful, intelligent, and male. I hope they will be male, that way they will never have to …

Fourteen, fifteen…

I miss the lady from St. Mary’s. The first time I saw her, she told me how his mother was bewitching me, how I needed to mix bird poop with royco and add to his relish so he would start listening to me instead. Then, she asked me to bring her his mother’s undergarments for the fixing.

She used to pour on me eight full buckets of water. She did not care about my weaves or glasses. She would pour. I still do not know which language she used when she was praying. We did that for 21 days.

The best part was when she would make me drink milk mixed with raw eggs and honey,

if you drink it often enough, it becomes tasty.

“Oh, there is one more to go.”

The ladies outside described the pain levels depending on location and I knew exactly what they were talking about. I listened to them telling me how they are hoping their husbands will be patient enough to wait for them to heal. I am hoping he will be happy because I am trying.

She is using a new blade. Okay, impressive, I guess.

Not again! I thought we were overcutting my behind. Didn’t it work last time? No. please.

“If I do not do this thoroughly it will be pointless, I have to remove all of them.”

That other guy assured me that it would be weeks before I started throwing up, expecting. That is how I gladly ate the oily sour porridge. We were by the river, so he quickly brought to us two bowls with water and live fish.

We swallowed live fish.

Cotton wool, soaked in lemon juice, all the way up my vagina, life sucks. Lemon on fresh cuts?

I want to get up, but I cannot feel my legs, I cannot feel myself. What is the point of life?

The lady helping me get up seems to understand. Her gentleness is telling. Such a mother.

Would my mother allow me to do this if she were still alive? I think not. She would tell me to come back home.

I pay.

Walking out, the ladies tell me to be strong, to make sure I bath with salt, to ask him to wait.

I just want to go home.

I want to make my husband happy, to honour his name, to give him a child.

Pain.

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