We had a deal before consummating the marriage – that we would prevent pregnancy until things had become relatively rosy for us. Although our parents had promised to be by us but we wanted to be independent of their compassion, not even helping to raise our children. We really meant it. We were resolute and tenacious. But we were rather ignorant of the skills to employ, explore and exploit in realizing the dream. We thought coitus interruptus (separation of the genitals at the irresistible wave of the oceanic sea) was as easy as pronounced. We should have consulted those who had the practical know-how for tutelage. The two of us were absolutely unskilled and inexperienced. We thought what we had read of the subject in books would suffice but we were wrong. Amateurism makes one act like a professional, unfortunately, to one’s peril. Quackery pushes one to acting the punditry script, regrettably, to one’s demerit.
A few weeks into the union I had anxiously longed for, I was called up for the awaited national service. I left for Kwara State amid joy and its opposite. While it was dream come through, staying away for long from a new wife was rather sorrowful. The love was fresh and original.
At the Yikpata camp of the three-week orientation exercise, my queen informed of the non-visitation of her monthly guest. It was like a bomb detonated. But I consoled myself as though it were a mere gunshot in the air. “Does that mean you are pregnant?” I asked confusedly. “Maybe. I’m not too sure. But I have never missed my period for once in my entire life. This is my first experience.” My heart beat so hard. I wondered how since we would never mate except withdrawal was done. That was when I realized how starkly quack and amateurish we were at the style we adopted.
I had nothing – no job, no house. Rather than feel bad, I approached the masjid to humble myself before Allah for guidance as usual. I prayed like never before. For every Salah thereafter, the issue became a prayer point.
At the completion of the orientation course, I made it down to campus to check on my queen and to seek medical attention into the non-appearance of the monthly august visitor. Right in the doctor’s office, scan was conducted, and lo and behold, she was six weeks pregnant. We weren’t caught by surprise. Our minds were already made up. The doctor did well. He admonished us professionally and counselled us passionately, perhaps he thought we were fornicators. When I told him we were legitimately married, he narrated his personal experience similar to ours. “It is medically better to marry young. And you may not have money now. Just know that with steadfastness and sincerity towards each other, the sky will be you starting point,” he said. The admonition was glued and gummed to my memory, and it served as a source of motivation for me till the moment.
We had our nikaah mid-May and by mid-July, her womb had been filled up with a six-week old baby. What a miracle!
I went to dad to inform him of the miracle. Hmm!
You want to know what happened, then watch our for the
Part Two of
MY SUNNAH STORY (MSS).