It’s the Nigerian in Me. 😊

Incase the post I said happy new year in doesn’t go up before this one: HAPPY NEW YEAR Y’ALL!!!!
It’s no news that I start writing drafts and just leave them sitting there. Anyway,  back to the matter open and close….

I am fascinated with babies. And we have a strong bond regardless of how brief our meeting may be for. Thankfully, mothers are not usually wary of me, so I’m not uncomfortable with asking “can I hold your baby?”
Recently, I have extended this fascination  to baby bumps. 😊

image
Look at how perfect her curves are...

I’m looking at your bump and wondering if I can rub it. If you would find it soothing and I would be offering some service.
I remember people asking me to rub their bump to influence the sex or complexion of the unborn.
This one time however, my mind took a spin off Yaba Left.
I was in a taxi and a very pregnant lady got in after me. She had a really nice mounded bump and once again, I felt like offering “can I touch it, touch it, maybe caress and rub it”* in Murphy Lee’s voice.
As if on cue, like she could read my mind, she started to rub her belly, and I went Aha! She does need a rub.
I was about to speak when my Nigerian got activated; what if she bears this child and unfortunately something  (science can explain ) goes wrong. And she happens to be myopic, and a member of a small minded pastors church (no offence), and they ask her if she knows what may have caused this and she mentions a “yellow” lady (please, people are colourblind and think I’m yellow) touched her once in a cab. Then I’m assumed to be an evil walking the earth and misdirect their “kabashing”.
I decided against wasting anybody’s time and refrained from touching her, even saying a word to her. I wished her safe delivery in my head and when I got to my stop, I paid cab man and bounced.

Peace &love
Jemjem

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