By Jessy:

A new year has come, and there’s still no sign of me taking in—I am Barbara Olamikan, and have been without a child for fifteen years. My husband and I have been hoping so much for one—a child to call our own—one we’ll cherish and love. But my womb was yet to carry one, leaving me emotionally down.

Ever since Tunde and I got married, mama will never stop bothering us, and would always ridicule me and call me all sorts of names.

You’re a man! Not a woman, she would say, and my heart would get shattered on hearing her voice.

She wasn’t the only one who treated me like a nobody—my husband’s sisters were not left out.

I would cry and wet my pillow all night, with my husband comforting me, telling me that everything was going to be okay soon—but I doubted it was ever going to be.

We would fast and pray, work accordingly to our pastor’s words; all the prayer points he had given, not leaving anything out. But still… nothing!

I was starting to get tired of seeing nothing, and was giving up hope on everything.

Everyone in our neighbourhood jeered and mocked me for not being able to bear my husband a child. They would say all kinds of things, accuse me of killing my own children in the spirit world, and even stayed away from me, shutting me out totally.

I felt alone, even though I had my loving husband beside me. He was the only one that I knew now—the one that has never give up on me, and has always fought to keep us together.

I was grateful to Tunde for everything, and was sad that I had him go through all this. I’ve always served the Lord in every way I could think of. What other ways should I serve him? I would ask. This was too much for me to bear. All my mates were all married with kids. Why would mine be different? My thoughts wouldn’t let me rest.

For nights I had kept watch, hoping and praying that my prayers be answered. I didn’t want to question God because I knew it wasn’t right. But what was I to do? Seven years and still not a mother. When will this end?

I was starting to believe that I was cursed. I would lock myself up, throw things at every corner, and yet the pain still won’t leave.

My husband would always tell me, “Everything has a reason, my dear Barbara. You need not cry.” he consoled. “The Lord we serve will never forsake us.”

“But why do I feel forsaken?” my question would come. “It’s been fifteen years, my husband. Fifteen years!”

He would laugh as I went on. And sometimes I would join, though my heart throbbed inside.

I became a shadow of myself. I grew lean, owning to the fact I chose not to eat but to starve myself until death was ready to take me away from this cruel world—unaware of what tomorrow held for me.

One day, I decided to log in to Facebook, as it’s being long since I last went there. Having scrolled through the dozens of texts that awaited my return, I decided to go through certain posts, just so I could have something that’d let me not think of my problems.

Fingers moving—eyes unrest, I came upon a particular post, which had caught my attention. I stopped scrolling and fixed my eyes on it. “My God is good.” I praised, beaming with smiles. “My testimony is here indeed.” I proclaimed, continuously nodding, eyes glued to the three powerful words.

“My testimony is here… my testimony is here.” I continued, dancing with joy. “My testimony is here!” I rejoiced, still not letting go of my phone.

I wrote it down on a paper and began using it as a prayer point. I knew that it won’t be long before my testimony came knocking on my door—this time, knowing that I’d receive what the Lord has kept for me, whether the devil liked it or not!

I had Tunde join me in this prayer session, and he did, not opposing the dry fasting I had set. Though it wasn’t easy, we were determined to do it.

During this period, we never indulged in any sort of love-making as we wanted to keep it holy. Surprisingly, I began getting weak when it got to the sixth day… to the extent I fell ill. But that still didn’t make me want to give up.

The next day was a Sunday, so we had to round up our prayers in the church, like we always did. We went to Pastor Williams, pur area pastor, and he prayed for us, with assurance that our prayers have been answered. That we didn’t need anyone telling us… as we knew that our matter was already settled—it was left for us to believe.

One week after, I began noticing some changes in me—things that weren’t there. My clothes won’t fit. I would get tired at every little thing I did, and feel nauseous at just a sniff, which was weird. And if it just wasn’t enough, my monthly visitor didn’t come this time, which got me pretty worried.

I was starting to think it was happening but I wasn’t sure. Though I so wanted to believe—with faith and everything. And also wanted to keep it a secret until I was sure.

I bought a pregnancy kit, determined to check as my heart kept racing, with anxiety getting the best of me. A true Christian shouldn’t be scared of anything, I said to myself, waving off every negative thought.

Your testimony is here. It’s here at last.

I breathed a sigh and made to check. Getting my eyes closed partially, I prayed, hoping that this time it would show the line that I’ve been yearning to see—and it did!

“I-I’m pregnant!” short gasps escaped my lips as my eyes stood open. “Am I really dreaming? H-how…?”

The words felt heavy as I felt something move inside of me, the same sensation that I had felt before coming again.

“I’m pregnant—” I said, my right hand placed on my tum.

I was extremely happy about the news, and certainly couldn’t wait to tell my husband all about it…

Nine months came and I was delivered of three healthy babies—three hefty boys coming out of me… out of a womb people never believed will carry one—my God is truly alive!


A student of the popular Nnamdi Azikiwe university. A Human Anatomy stud—and a passionate writer, with the hope of one day making the world a better place.
~Authoress Ciara

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