What I learned in Nigeria

I’ve been home for a few weeks now from Nigeria, and it’s taken me forever to post, because i’ve been processing so much. The trip to Nigeria had multiple purposes the obvious was the birth work retreat. But going to Nigeria was something I’d been trying to do for years. So this trip also served as my return (when Black folks go to Africa for the first time, especially when it’s to their ancestral lands), and a fulfilled spiritual purposes as well.

Let me just say that I had the most amazing experience and my only regret is that it was so short.

First, the location. We were in Osogbo, which is known for the Osun Grove and for it’s reference of the orisha Osun. Osun is the orisha of fertility. The entire area is known for it’s reference of women and womanhood. It’s understood that without women, there is no one. We were able to witness parts of the Osun festival and it was just amazing to see Black people worshipping a Black woman deity. It was beautiful to see Black folks worshipping gods that weren’t forced upon them by their oppressors and tormentors.

Second, the goal. We were able to go hear from traditional midwives and herbalists, most were women, but there were a couple that were men. (We did also get to go to the birth clinic and hear from the pregnant women int he community and how they feel about the midwives.) They spoke about the role of the community in birthing. They spoke about the ways in which they care for gestating bodies, postpartum families, and even premature babies.

As you can imagine they don’t do surgical interventions. In fact, they do everything they can to prevent them. So much so that often times OBGYNs will bring their wives when the hospitals try to perform c-sections. We spoke about lactation and how there is no substitute for human milk. (In the case of premature delivery, the infants are wrapped and given herbs, while the mother pumps. But they don’t save the milk. The herbs used are to help heal the infants of whatever ails them.) We did talk about tongue ties, and how they don’t perform surgery, they just yank them out. LOL We discussed the placenta and how they examine it, because the state of the placenta informs them of how to care for the new infants. But they don’t ingest them or encapsulate them. Usually they’re buried.

*CW: infant loss

At one point the discussion turned to infant loss. We discussed how to stop milk when there’s a loss. This is where we get to the most important part of why I was in Nigeria now.

Third, spiritual experience. As many know I experienced infant loss 8 years ago. I had extreme preeclampsia which resulted in delivery at 26 via emergency c-section. Then after 45 days we allowed him to transition. Something I don’t talk a lot about is my personal feelings about death. After our son died I was filled relief. Relief because I knew he’d know longer be suffering, because up to that point he was in so much pain we couldn’t hardly touch him. Relief because I didn’t have to live in fear that we’d receive a call that he’d died while we were gone, that he would’ve died alone. Relief, because I finally knew what would happen. One thing I remember is realizing he wasn’t ours, and this is why he didn’t stay. At the time this feeling came from a Christian viewpoint. That he was going to Heaven, etc. But that wasn’t ever really true, because it’s not a widely held/ understood belief. So I mostly kept it myself.

To me death has always felt like compassion and the closing of a circle. It feels necessary. And it feels harder for the livng than the dying. Often times our loved ones will hold on long enough for the living to come to terms, but at what cost? And that was ultimatley the deciding factor for us, when we decided to let our Osiel transition. He was suffering and we couldn’t justify is continued suffering simply because we didn’t want to let him go. (I actually spent a lot of time angry that I had to make the final decision. Eventually it turned to gratitude that I had a say and that it was on our terms and that, because we chose it, we were able to be there and prepare him for his homegoing.)

As the midwives spoke they explained how different babies have different roles. How babies like ours have a different role to fulfill and therefore we can’t keep them. They explain how premature babies prepare the womb for future pregnancy(ies). For me it was a confirmation of all the l things I had secretly held in my heart, but felt out of place sharing. When I left for Nigeria I had packed the names of as many Black ancestors as I had, and some of the ashes of Osiel. I wanted to bring with me my ancestors because it’s because of them that I was able to go to Nigeria. Because they lived and prayed and fought so that one day one of their children would return. I thought I’d release Osiels’s ashes somewhere, but what I did was much more than that. For 8 years the combination of grief and unknowing had me hold him captive in a way. After learning that my feelings surrounding his transition and the role it’s played in my life since then wasn’t unheard of, and was actually normal in Nigeria, I realized that I had to release him completely. I knew I wanted some of his ashes to be in Nigeria, because, as I stated this trip was my return, and the idea of being able to return his ashes to our original home brought me so much peace and happiness.

On my birthday, while supported by Black women, I was able to leave his ashes in the grove, which couldn’t be more perfect. He’ll be watched over by Osun, “the mother of many children”. It’s sacred ground. It’s honored by all those that visit. And therefore, it’s protected. And I can now move forward with the furthered understanding of why I had the experience I had, and why he truly wasn’t meant to be here. I am filled with gratitude, because I’ve always known that he endured those 45 days for me. Allowing me the time to argue with God, come to terms with what needed to happen, and thankfully, spend those final moments creating a peaceful departure for him. I thanked my angel for all of that and more, and allowed him to go peacefully, knowing that my heart is finally healed. And I know there will likely be times I’m sad still, because it’s sad and hard, I’ve since realized that the trauma was rooted more in the physical experience I had during the entire ordeal, and not so much in the losing of him.

Needless to say I’ve been forever changed by my experiences in Nigeria. And there’s so much more than happened and that I saw, but it’s deeply personal. I share this part of my story, hoping that it can give hope to others than have lost, that maybe some day they can have transformative experiences that allow them to find peace and healing in their loss.

Grief is hard and deeply personal. And the experience will always vary depending on lived experiences and faith practices. It took me 8 1/2 years to get to this place, and that was with an extremely conscious effort to not let it take me over, and searching for “the lesson” in all of it. It was hard. But I couldn’t ask for a better culmination to the whole experience. I’m so grateful for the community support that allowed this healing to transpire.