Ẹjẹ Eniyan (Blood of Man)

TRIGGER WARNING: This story contains elements of mental and physical abuse. Viewer's discretion is advised.

I grew up believing that the blood in the human body is blue, only turning red when it’s exposed to oxygen outside the body. I imagined the blood flowing in my veins was like molten kashmir blue sapphire. Oh, how wrong was I. What courses through the veins of man can only be likened to a molten carnelian stone. Perhaps not so coincidentally, carnelian is regarded to be a stone of fortitude and perseverance. It was that fortitude and perseverance that sustained fifteen-year-old Malina, as she shivered in the heat of the night. Or day. The room had no windows – Neither the sun nor moon was able to reveal their position, while sailing across the cruel sky. The sky whose eyes sees the callousness of the world, yet remains silent. Malina often blindly hurled curses at the heavens through the concrete ceilings of the cell, while the other girls listlessly gazed on.

I apologise. I have taken you through a lengthy journey in one-hundred-and-fifty-two words, yet I haven’t disclosed the setting of this story. Bear with me. You will soon see why.

There were a total of twelve girls, from all four corners of the earth, encased in the coarse walls of the room. Malina was the first guest at the enclosure, yet she knew nobody’s name – except for Neeya, the latest guest. Nobody had ever heard Neeya’s voice, but languages are not limited to speech. The most truthful language is spoken through eyes. Besides, speaking was not allowed in the cell. The consequence of the heinous crime of speech was met with ten lashes from the dreaded whip, “La Barbra”. Its sinuous form wields tempered steel, intertwined with the wicked allure of barbed wire. With a flick, La Barbra unfurls, hissing and glinting under the dimming yellow bulb overhead. Its barbs dig deep, tearing flesh and fabric, leaving an indelible mark on both body and soul. None of the girls could afford to meet La Barbra for fear of losing their pregnancy. Yes, all twelve women, no older than nineteen, were pregnant.

Neeya was the furthest along. She lovingly tapped a tune on her belly to entertain her unborn child. Malina softly smiled at the beautiful moment between mother and child. She herself was quite far along, but she knew better than to love her own child. Both girls made several failed attempts to join the others asleep, but their minds were wide awake. Malina’s especially, as she desperately tried to hold on to the flickering image of her mother in her head. In the empty void of her heart, the young girl yearned for the comforting presence of her mother. Her absence casts a shadow upon her world, leaving a void that nothing can fill. Memories, like fragile whispers, clung to her every thought, echoing the warmth of a loving embrace. A tear betrayed her stoic face, and splashed on the cold concrete floors. She felt Neeya reach out and grab her hand in the darkness. Malina offhandedly drew circles on the back of her hand to reassure her friend that she was fine, but Neeya tightened her grip around her hand. Her eyelids flew open to replace the darkness with the dim light. That’s when she met the eyes of a terrified mother in labour. Neeya’s water had broken.

Malina rushed to shake the other girls awake, but they were unmoving. They were living corpses hosting the slivers of a soul. Malina’s previously limp soul jolted with terror. If Neeya was to lose her pregnancy, she would be gifted with a kiss of death brought by La Barbra. The girls had often wished to seduce Death. He was an amiable lover who promised to end their suffering forever. Yet at the moment of sighting the shadow of Death, the molten carnelian stone in their young bodies rushed to their brain, filling their minds with terror, for they knew not the hell that waited for them below. Gazing into the Neeya’s, Malina could tell she certainly was not ready to meet Death. Nevertheless, he was floating over the girls’ heads, patiently waiting to receive any weakened soul in his cold arms. Malina fought to silence her heart’s obnoxiously loud pounding interrupting her train of thoughts. She forced her lips into a false smile and turned to Neeya, whose body was overtaken by panic. Malina shuffled on her knees to her friend, and held her arms in a tight grip, forcing the first-time mother to take several deep breaths. Slowly, blood came flooding Neeya’s previously ashen face. Without speaking, the two women came to a consensus. It was time.

Malina bent as far as her pregnant belly could go to measure Neeya’s dilation with her trembling fingers. Roughly six centimetres – only four more centimetres to go. The poor girl was whimpering in agony as her body prepared to bring another life into this unforgiving world. She was constantly slipping out of consciousness and being slapped awake by a worried Malina. Her face stung. Her body stung. Her mind stung. She could only hope that her baby wasn’t feeling any of the stinging. Malina reached out to check how dilated she was. That’s when she saw it. The baby’s tiny feet were poking out, as it intended to come out feet first. Now it was Malina’s face’s turn to become ashen.

As the waves of labour intensified, Malina, who’s back was also laboured under the stress of carrying a foetus, knelt alone with Neeya at the precipice of a profound challenge. The room boiled the concoction of anticipation and trepidation, increasing the tempo of their heartbeat. Malina attempted to gaze calmly into Neeya’s frightened eyes as they both faced the unknown together. With each contraction, Malina watched Neeya's body contort and strain, desperately seeking guidance amidst the chaos. The pain etched upon Neeya's face mirrored her own internal turmoil. Doubt gnawed at Malina's confidence, threatening to unravel her resolve. She questioned her abilities, wondering if she was equipped to navigate this uncharted terrain alone.

As the baby's feet began its descent, uncertainty weighed heavily upon Malina's shoulders. She felt as though she was stumbling through a labyrinth of instinct and intuition, yearning for a beacon of guidance that was absent. Her hands trembled, unsure of the manoeuvres required to safely guide the baby through the birth canal. Malina searched within herself for the strength and wisdom she needed to support Neeya. She drew upon the limited knowledge she possessed, driven by a deep desire to ensure the safety and well-being of both mother and baby. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if urging them to tap into hidden reserves of courage.

With each gradual progression of the baby's body, Malina hesitantly attempted to redirect the child, her hands guided by a mix of intuition and hope. She grappled with the delicate balance between applying pressure and exercising caution, relying on her instincts and the strength of her connection with Neeya. In those critical moments, she yearned for a glimpse of progress, a sign that her fumbling attempts were leading to a safe passage for Neeya's baby. As the baby's head loomed, Malina's pulse quickened. The weight of responsibility pressed upon her shoulders, threatening to overshadow her limited expertise. She willed her hands to find the delicate balance between gentle guidance and protecting the fragile life about to emerge.

And then, a profound moment arrived, a precipice where doubt and determination converged. With bated breath, Malina once again witnessed the emergence of life. Neeya's baby's head, a testament to Malina's perseverance and Neeya's strength, graced the world with each cautious movement. Malina held her breath, fervently praying that their actions would not falter at this pivotal juncture. In the culmination of pain and triumph, the child was born, enveloped in a profound stillness. Their souls flooded with wonder and relief, as Malina's insecurities were momentarily eclipsed by the miracle before her.

Neeya was overwhelmed with the dire need to hold her baby. She gazed in awe at the fragile being that emerged from a portal between her legs. Her pain was momentarily dampened as she saw her precious child’s hazel eyes. Tears spilled from her eyes as she realised that her months of agony yielded a presence of innocence. Just then it scrunched up its face and opened its mouth. Both women’s eyes widened as they tried their best to silence the wailing child, but it was too late. The devil had heard.

The devil had a name, but that’s inconsequential. Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, Ash-Shaytān, Mammon – they are all the same: an embodiment of darkness and pure malevolence. The devil had a face, a voice, a body, yet all those are equally insignificant. The evil he perpetuated stayed the same. As usual Satan was accompanied by some of his disciples, a man and a woman. A husband and a wife. They both waited impatiently for the signal from their lord. Once it was granted, they ran to examine the newborn. Neeya stared confused as they snatched her baby from her arms and severed the cord joining mother and child. Her nails reached out to pierce the skin of the two intruders but the devil refused to allow its disciples to be marred by a common human. With a swift kick her hand was steered violently off its journey with an unmistakable crack of a broken bone. For the first time since she arrived, Neeya let out a piercing shriek from her inner banshee. She lunged at the couple to try to take her baby back – all to no avail. The new parents of the child walked away with their prize.

Neeya opened her mouth once again to unleash another shriek, but it didn’t come. Her mouth was left agape as she silently screamed for her baby. Malina watched the familiar scene unfold, with dry eyes. Her tear banks had long been exhausted. Neeya clutched her heart as she violently thrashed on the floor, like a woman possessed. The devil remained unmoved as he grabbed her arm and scratched in a single line. Malina examined her own arms with six lines etched into her own skin. In less than a month, another line would join the rest. She sighed in the midst of the chaos, and closed her eyes to find solace. There was no solace. There would never be solace. Nonetheless, she lay on the cold floor with a single thought in her empty head. They never got to know the gender of the child.

This week’s story is about child harvesting “baby factories” a place where women within the bearing age are kidnapped and impregnated against their will. The baby would be sold to the highest bidder: someone who didn’t want to go through the adoption process. It’s quite common in places where not having a child is a cause for embarrassment. Once the women can’t have children anymore, they are sadly killed. To learn more and see ways you can help, please visit https://www.humanrightspulse.com/mastercontentblog/child-harvesting-a-closer-look-at-the-rising-business-of-baby-factories-in-nigeria