Four years ago, it dawned on me that I was going to raise a child on my own for the second time. It was not funny. I was distraught, angry at myself and I personally thought God didn’t want me to be happy. It was just a slip-up, a moment of, “No be me holy pass.” If I was suicidal, I would have ended my life. 

My first son was just turning 10 and I had looked forward to that age. My plan was to give Timilehin 10 years, after which I could send him off to a boarding house while I concentrated on how to better myself. But now, another pregnancy. I didn’t know where to begin from. My parents were mad at and disappointed in me. I was given two months to leave home and I barely had enough funds to get an apartment let alone have a blueprint of how I was going to handle my seemingly chequered life. No part of it was easy. If I was a regular ‘jaiye’ girl, it wouldn’t be a problem. 

Here I was, a preacher’s daughter, committed in church and the ‘whole works’. Like a friend put it then, “Shame sow better cloth for me.” I knew abortion was a No, but this time, I asked God to please “excuse” me on this one. I picked up my phone and sent a BBM to my Pastor saying that I wouldn’t be able to go through with the pregnancy. *Wrong move*. She immediately ordered me to her home and gave me a good sermon, mixed with begging, threats and toasting (God bless her heart). From that day, I decided I was going to just do it “by God”. 

I sat down lately to think about how far God has brought me and my boys. I thought of all the help He brought our way, the amazing people He’s used to minister to us; how deals show up to settle last minute expenses. I honestly fail to comprehend it.