Girls of today know nothing about nothing. That’s why they take pictures of their pregnant bellies and post them on the Internet for the whole world to see instead of hiding them under loose boubous and never publicly confirming that they’re expecting. That’s why they invite too many people to their baby showers instead of letting their mothers forbid anyone who isn’t family from entering their homes. That’s why they rush to the mzungu doctor instead of letting a trusted elder bless their womb first. And that’s why, when Jessica Mulowayi gave birth to a stillborn baby, all the aunties from the coastal town of Muanda shook their heads as if to say, “Eh, Nzambe, we could have seen this coming.”
“It’s very sad,” said Auntie Clarisse, who lived two houses down from Jessica, when she heard the news.
“A terrible, terrible situation,” lamented Auntie Betty, who lived in the same neighborhood and had been friends with Jessica’s late mother.
Auntie Marie-Jeanne, who was the leader of their moziki, the neighborhood women’s association, said nothing at first, but the two wrinkles that began to form on her forehead just after the tragedy were enough proof of her worry. She knew that Jessica hardly touched the food that the aunties took turns sending her every day. She knew that every afternoon, the young woman could be seen wandering around town, her eyes tired, having not slept for days. The situation looked bleak. All the women in the association knew it. But Auntie Marie-Jeanne also knew that it had only been twelve days. They had to be patient. Jessica Mulowayi was what they called a “girl of today,” “mwasi ya lelo.” And girls of today, well, they don’t listen…
Girls of today know nothing about nothing. They keep challenging the aunties. They speak loudly. They question everything. They don’t want to let the elders cut their babies’ umbilical cords before the funerals. They refuse to shave their heads during the mourning period. They don’t like to sit for hours over pots of hot water infused with herbs to strengthen their bodies, as the aunties recommend. They don’t trust the old ways. They want everything to go fast fast fast, when they should be going slow slow slow. They just don’t listen.
On the sixteenth day, Jessica Mulowayi went to buy a pack of razors at the market. She paid in cash and quickly put them in her purse. She thought she had been discreet, but Pélagie, Auntie Clarisse’s niece, who happened to be shopping at the market at the same time, saw everything. She told her aunt, who then reported the situation to Auntie Betty.
“That’s not good,” said Auntie Betty, shaking her head.
“Huh huh,” agreed Auntie Clarisse, her right hand on her hip.
After being informed, Auntie Marie-Jeanne took a few minutes to think, then decided that from now on, her niece Naomi would stay overnight at Jessica’s house. She also spread the word at the market so that no one would sell Jessica any more sharp utensils. And since Auntie Marie-Jeanne was a respected figure in the community, a “Maman Moziki,” most of the vendors followed her instructions.
Over the next few days, the situation seemed slightly better. Jessica’s appearance had improved, and since she was rarely alone, there was less concern about her mental state. She had fewer dark circles under her eyes, her hair looked less dull, and her skin was less ashy. But it was only a facade. She still refused to eat. And weeks of malnutrition can never lead to anything good; all the aunties agreed on that.
On the twenty-eighth day, as Jessica was going for her usual afternoon errand, her legs gave way, and she fell on the road. A young water seller who was walking down the street at the same time saw her faint and rushed to help her up. She then called a group of neighborhood kids and asked them to take Jessica home. Some of these kids, who were the secret eyes and ears of the neighborhood aunties, went to tell Auntie Clarisse what had happened. Auntie Clarisse then informed Auntie Betty, who then went to tell Auntie Marie-Jeanne. After hearing the details of the incident, Auntie Marie-Jeanne thought for a few minutes, then decided to go and knock on Jessica’s door herself. She, too, had been a friend of Jessica’s late mother, Maman Odette, and she knew that her old friend would have appreciated this gesture.
That afternoon, Auntie Marie-Jeanne brought Jessica some chicken stew, rice, and a ginger drink. The young woman let her in out of politeness – she couldn’t refuse a visit from Maman Moziki – but in truth, she wasn’t happy to see her. She was tired of the aunties sending her food every day, even though she had made it clear that she had no desire to eat anything anymore. She was tired of Naomi, Auntie Marie-Jeanne’s niece, sleeping at her house and watching her every move like a prison guard, even though she had made it clear that she didn’t need any company. She was tired of the whole neighborhood prying into her business when all she wanted was to be left alone.
What’s more, Jessica thought that Auntie Marie-Jeanne had come to her house just to lecture her. She expected her to make useless comments such as, “Oh, you’re still young, you’ll have another one,” or “You need to eat and regain your strength.” In fact, Jessica had prepared herself for this. Her clapback was ready. She was just waiting for the right moment to let her auntie know that she didn’t care about her opinion. But to Jessica’s surprise, Auntie Marie-Jeanne remained calm and collected and didn’t say a single unpleasant word to her. She even pretended not to see the many unopened containers in her refrigerator, the dirty dishes lying around, the poorly cleaned living room. Instead, she stood up and began to gently wash all the dishes by hand. She also threw out all the spoiled food while smiling and making conversation, which only increased Jessica’s irritation. When Auntie Marie-Jeanne finally announced that she was leaving, adding, “All right, I’ll come back to see you tomorrow,” it was the last straw for Jessica. She could no longer contain her feelings. “Auntie, why are you doing this?” she lashed out. “I already told Auntie Clarisse that I don’t want the association to send me food anymore. Why do you want to keep coming?”
Auntie Marie-Jeanne sighed deeply. She didn’t want to have that conversation. Not here, not now. After all, it had only been twenty-eight days; it was still far too early for that. But she thought of Maman Odette, Jessica’s mother, and the fact that they had been sorors in their youth, that they had kept each other’s secrets, and that made her reconsider the matter. And perhaps there was also something in Jessica’s voice that influenced her decision. Something behind the young woman’s irritation and exhaustion. Something that sounded like a plea. It was subtle, but it was there. And Auntie Marie-Jeanne knew that kind of pleading all too well. So, before reaching the door, she turned to Jessica, looked her in the eyes, and simply said, “Oh, my dear… Because not so long ago, I was exactly where you are now.” Then she left without waiting for Jessica’s reaction. She had said enough. She didn’t need to see the young woman’s face to know what it looked like. Probably stunned.
Girls of today don’t realize that there’s nothing they can face that their aunties haven’t already faced before them. Crushes, heartbreaks, whirlwind romances… Miscarriages, stillbirths, sudden infant deaths… Losses. So many losses… But if only they would pause and look into their aunties’ eyes, deep into their gaze, behind the iris and cornea, they would be able to see and discover many hidden stories. They would see the four pregnancies that Auntie Clarisse never carried to term before finally giving birth. They would read the despair in Auntie Betty’s eyes when she couldn’t conceive, while her rivals did. They would recognize the distress in Auntie Marie-Jeanne’s heart when her son was unable to utter his first cry. The girls of today would know all of this if they only paid attention. But they don’t. They’re impatient. They can’t sit still. They never listen. Then one day, they learn. We all learn…
On the fortieth day, the women of the moziki gathered at the ocean’s edge. Mothers, daughters, nieces, cousins. They were all dressed in white and had brought flowers. Some of the aunties feared that Jessica would not show up, but she came. She arrived late, with long braids and high heels, even though the aunties had recommended cornrows and flat shoes, but she came. All the women gathered around her and held space for her. Then they let her through so she could get closer to the water. Jessica held a folded piece of paper in her hand, on which she had written the name of her stillborn baby. A four-letter name that she had hoped one day to whisper in her ears as she rocked her to sleep. Auntie Marie-Jeanne asked the women to be quiet, and Jessica placed her piece of paper in the ocean. It floated for a moment before disappearing. Then all the mothers, daughters, nieces, cousins, and friends laid wreaths of flowers in the water. Together, they watched as the ocean carried everything away with its waves. At that moment, some of the women remembered their own departed children. For some of them, it was the eightieth day, for others, the three hundredth, and for others still, a grief that had lasted forever.
Then Auntie Marie-Jeanne began to sing, Auntie Betty let out a series of ululations, and Auntie Clarisse began to dance. All the women held hands. They prayed and sang for Jessica. They bore witness to her pain and honored it. Jessica feasted with them. She danced and she sang. Then finally, she agreed to eat.
Girls of today know nothing about nothing. They think they have to do everything on their own. They get easily defensive. They’re a little stubborn. But, contrary to popular belief, even when the ground crumbles beneath their feet, there is always a member of the community to catch them mid-fall. To help them grow new wings. To give them something to eat… In times of mourning, as was the case for young Jessica Mulowayi, in the coastal town of Muanda, girls of today, bana basi ya lelo, are supported, cherished, and loved.
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Image: Remixed ChatGPT