AANU (MERCY)

 

My Mother called me 10 times that morning. It was Thursday, 10:00 a.m. My younger brother, Michael, had sent me a message at 7:39 that morning. He told me I was the main subject of Mum's devotions and prayers that day.

Everyone in the house knew what that meant. Whenever you featured prominently in Mum's prayers, you were likely to be jam-called, jam-texted or jam-prayed for, especially if you were physically around her.

So, I made up my mind not to answer her calls or read her WhatsApp messages and voice notes. If it was an emergency, Michael would call me.

At least, that was what I thought. Just as I settled into my decision, a thought came into my heart:

"What if the emergency wasn't your mum? What if it was your brother, Michael?"

Cold shivers ran down my spine. I immediately dialled Mum's number.

"Hello, Aanu. Why haven't you been picking up my calls?" Whenever Mum called me by my indigenous name, something was either wrong or about to go wrong. I apologised and gave her a flimsy excuse.

Then she said something that changed the course of my day and life forever.

"Michael is at the hospital. He was rushed there from the football field where he went for practice. He complained of a terrible headache, and he has been calling your name. I'm at our family hospital. Please come as soon as you leave work."

I started shivering. Fortunately, my boss walked in, noticed my condition, and immediately asked what had happened.

After hearing my explanation, he gave me three days' leave to attend to the situation. I was grateful. But nothing could have prepared me for what I would see when I arrived at the hospital.

The doctor on duty was someone I knew. Someone I had not seen in years. Someone I had spent years trying to forget.

His name was Segun.

Segun was my first love. We were the talk of our street and school. We had promised each other that we would abstain from sex until marriage.

Then, one day, things got out of hand. We got carried away and came dangerously close to having sex. Although we never had intercourse, semen entered me.

Weeks later, I discovered I was pregnant.

Segun did not believe me, or perhaps he believed me but was too scared to face the consequences. A few weeks later, his family relocated.

I was left to face the shame, self-doubt, and betrayal.

My family eventually relocated too, and Mum gave me an instruction: I was to introduce the child I gave birth to as my younger brother. When the right time came, we would tell whoever my husband would be and the child himself our little secret.

That child was Michael, yes, my so-called brother.

I had spent years keeping that secret. Michael grew up knowing me as his sister, and his grandmother as his mum. We carried the truth of being his mother.

When Segun saw me at the hospital, I knew he recognised me. I quickly walked past him and headed for our private ward.

Later, Mum told me that a kind doctor had helped Michael and assured her that he would be fine. Then she told me about a dream she had before the family devotion that morning that prompted the multiple calls.

Someone had told her in the dream that restoration was coming for me after all the years I had lost. Consequently, I had to let go of the old to receive and walk in the new.

I burst into tears.

I had no idea that the doctor who helped my brother was the same man who had once broken my heart.

And I had no idea what God was about to do with the secret I had kept for years.

Seeing Segun brought back memories I thought I had buried. The shame still haunted me and had built a home in my heart. It affected my relationship with God and with other people.

I kept wishing I had stayed away from anything sexual. I wished I had exercised better control over my actions. I wished things had turned out differently.

No one would believe that I had given birth to Michael while still a virgin in the sense that I had never had intercourse. No one would even believe I was his mother because my body had returned to its former shape after childbirth.

I had learnt to live with the secret, but I had never truly healed from it. A day later, I discovered that the kind doctor Mum had spoken about was Segun.

I hadn't told Mum that I knew him. I wanted her to figure it out herself. Eventually, she did. She called for a meeting between the four of us: Segun, Michael, herself and me.

Segun apologised profusely. He confessed that he had been scared when I told him about the pregnancy. He said he had given his life to Jesus a year after his family relocated and had remained celibate since then. He also confessed that he had never loved anyone else. He had continued praying that God would preserve me and, if it was His will, give us another opportunity to be together.

Segun apologised profusely. He confessed that he had been scared when I told him about the pregnancy. He said he had given his life to Jesus a year after his family relocated to Germany and had remained celibate since then.

He also confessed that he had never loved anyone else. He had continued praying that God would preserve me and, if it was His will, give us another opportunity to be together.

Then he brought out his journal.

It contained entries from those years, showing what he had been praying about and how he had carried the memory of our relationship. As I turned through the pages, I realised that what I had considered a forgotten chapter of my life had never quite been forgotten by him.

But there was something else he wanted us to know.

Segun had been living in Germany since he finished secondary school. He had come to Nigeria for a two-month break, but his decision to return home had been unusual, even to him. He said he had suddenly become restless and felt an overwhelming desire to spend his break in Nigeria.

He contacted a friend who had also studied in Germany and asked if he could have a brief sabbatical at his friend's hospital. His friend agreed. By the time he saw me at the hospital, he had less than two weeks left before returning to Germany.

Then he told us what had happened on the day Michael was brought in.

He was at the hospital when Mum ran into the premises with two young boys carrying Michael between them on a football stretcher. They had come straight from the football field. Michael was still wearing his jersey and football boots.

Segun was the doctor who attended to him. He had no idea that the boy being rushed into the hospital was his son. I had no idea that the doctor who helped my brother was the father I had kept hidden from him all his 17 years in life. I had just clocked 32 years the past week.

When I considered all the events that had brought Segun to that hospital at that particular time, I could only see the hand of God. He had come to Nigeria for a two-month break. He had secured a temporary opportunity at a hospital through a friend. He was already preparing to leave when Michael was brought in.

What were the chances?

I wanted to be difficult. I wanted to hold on to the hurt and remind him of everything I had gone through. But then, I remembered Mum's dream. Someone had told her that restoration was coming, but that I had to let go of the old to receive and walk in the new. I had spent so many years holding on to what happened that I had almost forgotten that my life could still move forward.

Today, we are united as one family.

Michael still calls me his sister, but he now calls Segun Daddy. He still calls my mum his mum, and we are expecting a younger sister for him. Something else happened. From that day at the hospital, Michael never experienced that kind of sickness again. No headache, no pain, nothing.

I was deeply hurt by what happened in my past. But I eventually understood that holding on to the pain would not change what had happened. It would only keep me from embracing what was ahead.

God showed me mercy.

And He is ready to show you mercy too.

Perhaps there is something in your past that you have allowed to define you. Perhaps you have prayed, cried, regretted, and wished you could turn back the hands of time.

Your past may be part of your story, but it does not have to be the conclusion.

God is still able to restore. He can give you the grace to confront what you have buried, the courage to release what you have been holding on to, and the faith to embrace what He has ahead.

Are you ready to let go of your past and embrace the new?

My name is indeed Aanu.

It means Mercy.