Riding on his back: My story of books and babies

The year was 2014. Finally, I was enrolled in the Masters class of Journalism and Media Studies at Uganda Christian University. I had looked forward to this time. In our family strategic plan, we had been deliberate on completing any further studies before getting into serious parenting business if God was to give us children. My bid to join the previous year had been nipped in the bud by the conception of our second child that had come unexpectedly. It was not practically going to be possible for me to carry the pregnancy, nurse our first son that had just made a year and top it with school pressure. When I had a choice to make, I chose nursing our son and the pregnancy. Here I was one year later with another university offer to pursue my studies. With two sons, a good job, life couldn’t be any better.

One week into the school module, I felt super fatigued. I could easily guess why the fatigue. The university had just held the East African Communication Association conference in which I had played a key role in coordinating the event.  I imagined my body was screaming for rest. How could my body be so unreasonable? That was not time to rest – the long-awaited school had just started. I had only one month of face to face interaction with the course instructors, I could not trade anything for this one month. My body simply had to understand. My body went into defiance, forcing me to seek a doctor’s opinion.

‘Dr. Kajubi, my joints pain. I feel generally weak. Am sure this is malaria. Don’t give me strong tablets, I will have classes for the next three weeks.’ I ranted to the doctor that evening.

In his usual calmness, Dr. Kajubi could not allow me to be the patient, laboratory attendant and doctor at the same time.

‘Please go to the lab before we confirm that it is malaria.’ he calmly responded.

‘Fine. I will go just for just, but I am pretty sure these are the symptoms with which malaria manifests.’ I told him as I went out.

Half an hour later, I was in the doctor’s room again for interpretation of the lab results.

‘You are pregnant.’ Dr. Kajubi announced, with his usual cheeky smile.

I froze. I remembered that I was a student that was only one week in school. In a flash I also remembered that it is awkward to express discomfort of a pregnancy, yet you are married – I didn’t want to raise questions of why a married woman would be shocked out of her skin by a positive pregnancy test.

I feigned a smile, thanked the doctor and moved out of his room.

That was the beginning of my school journey. To say that it was such an eventful journey would be to state the least.

That evening I sent hubby a message. It was the shortest yet heaviest message I had ever sent to him in our four-year-old marriage by then.

‘I am pregnant.’ the message read.

‘Wow congratulations. That must be a girl……Deborah! This is exciting news. Congs!!!!!!’ hubby instantly texted back.

Its then that I confirmed that I had married the ‘sickest’ man. Had he forgotten that I had just reported at school? What was exciting about such news? Did he know that his two sons were enough work for me? Did he know how much society would ridicule me – who gives birth to three children in less than five years? Endless questions run in my mind.

That weekend hubby travelled home. I was still trying to figure out how I would balance school and the future. I clearly needed space. He offered it. We talked little about the pregnancy. The week that followed, hubby found me at my work station one morning and called me outside.

‘I have given my employer notice of my resignation that is effective end of this month.’ he said as soon as we stepped outside.

I opened my mouth to ask one thousand and one questions in one sentence, words refused to form.

‘I will sit and take care of you and the boys. Just concentrate on your studies. You definitely need support to pull through school and the pregnancy.’ he firmly said, as if to silently caution me on opening a debate on the resignation subject. 

That is the story of how my husband left his job. He then took on a new role. He chauffeured me to class, booked my antenatal appointments and nursed our two sons. Every trimester he escorted me to shop new maternity wear – I was the most stress-free expecting mother one could meet. Was this the only sacrifice he made for me to be in school? Far from it! That year he had taken a dead year from his masters program, to allow me to enroll. The birth of our second son had had a toll on our finances, we could not both be in school and sustain the family. He chose to take a dead year, even when he had just two modules to complete his studies.

Classes and assignments characterized my nine months into motherhood. Hubby religiously brought me food in class during break time, he waited for long hours as I worked on my assignments and joined my classmates for discussions in the evening. All he did without grumbling, or if he did, he never gave me opportunity to catch him doing so.

In April 2015 baby Deborah was born. We had not done a scan test to establish the sex of the baby. Afterall, it did not matter to us – a gift is a gift. That morning when the doctor announced that it was a baby girl, my mind ran to the text message hubby sent me the evening I announced the pregnancy news.

‘Hubby could have prophetic genes.’ I smiled as I heard the sweet soul bring out that first cry.

Three children, research, more study opportunities are what characterized my life after the birth of Deborah. The NORHED scholarship that I had received shortly after enrolling for the course came with opportunities, I will forever be grateful for. Two years in a row I travelled to Norway leaving behind a baby that was hardly a year old. For every opportunity that came my way, hubby was quick to remind me that it only knocks once. My biggest worry was the children. He paused his career to allow me to explore the depths of the opportunities that were before me. He fathered and mothered the children, each separated by just a year’s difference in age.

On October 25, I graduated with a Masters in Journalism and Media Studies. I look back and what a journey it was. Many people wonder how I managed to keep sane amidst such a tide, it was God and a focused captain in the form of a husband. There is no reward that can befit the level of hubby’s sacrifice in this journey. If I had what to give him, probably I would gladly do so. Unfortunately, on November 20, 2010 I vowed to give him all that I am and have. He already got all that I am and will be.

Dickson Tumuramye, thank you for being the back I rode on while I balanced books and babies.

©Prim K. Tumuramye

Prim is a Christian, wife, mother and Communications Specialist at Compassion International. She is passionate about reading, writing, youth mentorship and intentional parenting.