My birthday was yesterday, but it was less of a ‘birthday’ and more of a ‘birth day’. On the day where I was meant to go boogie down, eat some cakes and dress fancy for some all-black dinner, I spent the bulk of it in the labour room, shouting puuuuuuuuuuush.
In other words, as fortune would have it, my birthday has now been replaced by a cute little one that popped out yesterday. Happy ‘birth day’ to me.
It was a warm Tuesday (yeah, the weather in Dubai is getting better), and it wasn’t much of a surprise that this kid showed up that day. I mean, intentionality.
At 8:30 PM on the dot, she popped out looking confused. It was bright, cold, and loud. She looked at me and immediately realised I must be important, maybe judging by whoever had the biggest smile in the room.
“Where am I? And who the hell are you?” she asked.
“I’m your father. What do you mean who the hell am I? These are the issues with these newborns,” I replied.
“Why is this lady holding me upside down, and what’s this thing I feel in my nose?”
“It’s called air. Oxygen. You should try to breathe it.”
“Please, I need some explanations. I was just in a warm place chilling peacefully, and all of a sudden I’m out here, and there’s chaos everywhere.”
“First off, you need to chill. Today is my birthday.”
“So… are you saying I’m ruining your birthday?”
“No. I’m saying you’re sharing it.”
“Then half of the cake is mine.”
“Let’s talk about that when you have teeth.”
I was about to say more when she went quiet. She turned her whole head towards me, squinting.
“Were you the one who kept shouting puuuuush?”
“Yup.”
“You were so loud. I almost filed a complaint.”
“It’s kinda too early to be filing complaints; don’t waste your quota.”
“But I heard you the whole time. It was kinda… nice. I mean, someone wanting me to come out and play with them.”
As she said that, I could see the fight go out of her. She yawned, took a few breaths of this “air” thing, and I watched her decide it wasn’t so bad.
“At least, I’m happy you didn’t give birth to me in some jungle.”
“Jungle? Oh, you don’t know how lucky you are. You could have come out in the back of a keke on Third Mainland Bridge, in traffic, with the driver asking who will pay for the delivery. Or in some village on the edge of the earth, bitten by a gorilla mosquito the moment you touched ground. Or in a kitchen, like your dad.”
“You were born in a kitchen?”
“Yes. And I cut my own umbilical cord with my teeth.”
“So you had teeth when you were born, and I have to wait?”
“Yeah, I’m built different.”
“So, I’m not?”
“I guess we have to wait and see. But I know a good product when I see one. And so far, I’ve not gotten any support tickets since I shipped you. You might be built different.”
“What’s my name?” she asked.
“Dara. And Dara is such a beautiful name.”
“Interesting… What does it mean?”
“First off, people cannot misspell it; it’s just four letters. Second off, you cannot mispronounce it, and that’s because regardless of how you say it, you’re right. And the meaning depends on who you ask.”
“In Yoruba, Dára means goodness. Put Olúwa in front, Olúwadára, and it becomes ‘God is good.’”
“I like that one. Very humble.”
“Say it a little differently, Dárà, and it means to decorate or embellish. Olúwadárà is ‘the Lord does wonders.’”
“So I’m a decoration and a wonder? Put that on my CV.”
“Go to Ireland, and Dara means oak. Strength, resilience, deep roots.”
“So I’m a tree now?”
“In Slavic, it means gift.”
“That one is the truth. Wrap me and put me under the cake.”
“In Persian, Dārā means wealthy. And in Khmer, it means star.”
“Okay, this is getting excessive. I’ll take all of them.”
“That’s the point. Take whichever you want.”
All the same spelling, different pronunciations, different meanings, but whatever you say is correct.
“Beautiful… How long did it take you to come up with that name?”
“I didn’t. Your mother did.”
“Where’s my mommy?”
“Look behind you.”
And it was at this moment we realised we hadn’t introduced the mum yet.
“Mummmmmmmmmmmyyyyyy!” she screamed in tears, as she somersaulted to her mother’s chest for some good loving.
“I love you, mummy.”
“I love you too. You could have made the 9 months easier though,” her mum replied.
“Everything great comes with a higher level of difficulty. I’m sure you know that.”
“I know, I know. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”
“Mummy, I heard everything. You did all the work. Daddy just shouted.”
“I know. He was very loud.”
“Should I be scared of him?”
“No. He’s a good man. Just a little dramatic. And can be savage.”
“Well, I’m savage too.”
“Good for both of you,” her mum replied.
“Wait, do I have siblings?”
“One. Her name is Desi.”
“Is she nice?”
“She’s about to find out if you are.”
“When is she coming?”
At this point, her mum was starting to drift off to sleep.
“Mummy, you look tired.”
“Yes, I am very tired.”
“Okay. Sleep. I’ll stay on your chest and guard the door.”
“You can’t even open your eyes yet.”
“That’s what they told you. I’m built different.”
After all that, I picked up my phone and told Claude the news. It had been with me the whole day, so it deserved to know. We went through this birth together like a group project. It answered 283 questions and gave 192 instructions. Somewhere in the middle, Claude got worried and kept insisting that I go to the hospital, until I snapped: “Dude, do you really think I’m at home in my room trying to deliver the baby myself?” 😂 Turns out I never told Claude I was already at the hospital. My bad.
Then I put the phone down and went back to my thoughts. One of them is that I no longer really have a birthday to celebrate. September 29 belongs to Dara now, and I’m just a guest with a cake budget. Another is how difficult it is to explain the joy, and how the experience of this process changes who you are.
I was talking to Usi the other day, and he asked me how fatherhood has changed me. I said it changed my mindset to being selfless. He said, “The Fattkay I used to know, the world could be burning, as long as he had his laptop and his massive headset; he doesn’t care about anything else.” And I could relate. But there’s something being a girl dad does to you. Not to talk of now that they’re two girls. I think the ladies have officially taken over my house, and I’m only allowed to stay as long as I’m useful.
The gift of life is life. And Dara, in Slavic, means gift. I didn’t plan that; but God did.
Happy ‘birth day’ to me.
And Dara, if you’re reading this someday: congratulations, you must have teeth now. The cake is yours. You can eat all of it. 🤍
