In a village

I arrive home and, at the sound of the little kids joyfully running to welcome me, my mother-in-law comes hurrying out.

“How was the visit?”

I smile at her brightly. “I feel the prophet has really done something,” I say.

“Praise God!” she says, raising her arms to the sky. “They say he has worked many miracles – especially to do with bringing pregnancy.”

I smile again, wondering how many of the prophet’s children are running around these local villages and farms.

But, oh no – my child was not going to be one of his. I had managed to come to my senses as the prophet’s hands started to push me down on the floor and pull up my skirt.

“No! This is not right!” I whispered, and jumped up. I suddenly felt very sure of myself. It was as if a spell he had cast over me was broken. I grabbed my small bag, smoothed down my skirt and turned to leave.

“A curse on you if you reveal God’s secret plans outside this room,” the old man hissed at me from the floor.

“I’ll say nothing, Prophet, as God is my witness,” I promised, and I meant it. He was a powerful, powerful man with thousands of followers. I was just a childless, pitied young woman. I knew no-one would believe me. They would say no wonder God punished me like this, with the evil lies I spread. His secret was safe.

And as I walked home, and a plan formed, I was glad I had been to the prophet. He could help me get a miracle, after all.

I have decided what to do. I will solve my problem myself. I have been a good woman. I deserve a child and I will have one. Nothing will stop me now.

From that day, I double, then triple the amount I eat, keeping a secret store of food in my room. I halve the amount of hard work I do. I start to lie in my room in the afternoons, dozing and planning and daydreaming about my child. When the children pester me to play with them, I shoo them away, and say I am tired and need to rest.

For a while, in the early morning, I put my finger down my throat to make me vomit loudly. I tell the lazy young mothers that I don’t feel well, and can’t walk their children over the hill to the primary school. They look at me differently now. They are all wondering … and some are disappointed, I can tell. They can’t rely on me any more to be their nanny.

And when my husband comes home at the end of the next month, I shyly tell him about visiting the prophet, and that I think our deepest wish has come true. But I need to be very careful and look after myself.

He can’t help it: he sheds tears of joy and he hugs me tenderly, tells me he can see I have put on weight and am glowing with pregnancy, and places a hand on my growing stomach. I love him even more.

And soon, my mother-in-law is fussing all over me, giving me special treats to eat, sending the younger daughters to water the vegetables. I know the prophet is in her prayers of gratitude every night.

 ***

Tell us: What might the woman be planning?