"It's Your Birthday," Says My Mom

It is in our nature as humans to lay claims to territories we do not
own. I just discovered that we erroneously pretend to know things that
we do not necessarily know. And what a day to find this out than on my
birthday.


It's 24th August again and goodwill messages are already flying in,
including the much dreaded HBD (I remember someone making a comment on
FB that HBD sounds somewhat like HIV & AIDS). But certain
mind-boggling questions keep tearing at my insides: How am I sure it's
my birthday? Am I truly a conscious witness to my being born on August
24th ... how many years ago, sef?



The bottom-line question is this: How do we know that we were born
when we claim to have been born? It's a simple one. For most of us,
our mother told us.



Our mothers do not only tell us when we were born, they are also the
true custodians of our truest paternity. Don't raise that eyebrow!
Hear me our first!



How does a man lay claim to a child? It's only through the endorsement
of the woman from whose body the child physically emerged. If you
doubt what I am saying and you are a mother, playfully tell your
husband that one of your children is not his. Once these words leave
your lips even a DNA test may not be able to douse the fire of your
husband's suspicion.

It's my birthday, folks. Let's celebrate. The most important thing may
not be when but the fact that we were born. I'm full of gratitude to
God, my parents, my wife and everyone who has contributed to making me
me. Please continue reading this repeatedly while I continue trying to
attach your share of the birthday cake. Enjoy!



Thanks for the Muse, Saliha.




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