As I was driving out of one of the shopping complexes in Blantyre recently, a young woman with a baby on her back rushed to the front of the car to get my attention. When she succeeded, she stretched out her hands for alms. The first thing that caught my attention was the bundle of joy strapped on her back which apparently, was no joy for her. Seemingly, it was a burden she was ready to display to the world as the causative agent for her predicament and would go to any lengths to take it out on the baby. I was tempted to utter words I knew I would regret, but I was still persuaded to inquire why a healthy childbearing woman begged for a living. I went further to ask whether she was aware that the people she was looking up to for help had their own pressing issues and responsibilities, including several mouths to feed. She did not relent. She justified her actions on the basis that she had four other children at home waiting for her errands in town to survive. What?
Now, pardon my enthusiasm here, but children are not a disease that sprung up when we least expect. Every adult, I’m sure by this century, knows the full consequences of actions that lead to pro-creation or conception. These beings are not mistakes we can keep repeating each time we let our passions and desires get the better of us. Everyone who has had one child knows the cost of rearing it and would tread carefully before going back to the factory to manufacture yet another ‘finance ripper’ for the fun of it. After such an experience, we know about the need to plan and place limits to their existence as well as our incomes. But what do we do? We carry on displaying our antics on how best to bear a girl or boy and even boast about the ability to beat prolonged labour hours with years of experience. I have heard other women boast: “Sindizasiya kubeleka mpakana ana azathe mchiunomu” [I shall not stop bearing until I reach menopause]. What is the essence of overburdening ourselves with childbearing as if there is a prize to it all? Do we consider those children we are exposing to nothingness?
I read the other day a story in the Sunday Times about a 50-year-old woman who has 22 children. I was both amused and appalled. Amused that there are still some in this world, brave enough to embark on such a serious task of carrying 22 pregnancies to term and not tire of the vice. Appalled because her endeavours were to me, an exercise in futility because at the end of it all we ask, so what? What is the accolade for repeated visits to the labour ward? What does a brood entail at the end of the day?
Numbers are a matter of choices, but I would argue that they ought to be complemented with resources. Even with the availability of resources, consider the population and national resources. Let us take control.
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