The Birth In The Bus Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

The birth in the bus
was a birth in no manger.
Just with this cloth on her back
and the baby that threatens,
to tap its little feet on the floor
of life like any other baby.

The women come to her.
They surround her as if to hide her,
from a public that fears to see
the birth of a young one just there.

The bus is full of us onlookers,
our eyes widen with the angst,
that fills the bus with bursts
of talk about what to do.

Put a stone on her back,
and then we can get to
the hospital. Why this burden,
on a hidden burden I ask. Pigg's peak
is surely not about pigs,
nor is it about this one birth,
or what now could be a death.

All fear to see a life come or go,
with them all in one space and helpless,
for this time men will surely know the
urgency that makes women ask for
something, and want it right then.
Get this kitchen painted, honey, please
and it takes years and years and years.

This birth is not begging to come in.
It is on the birth canal and majestically there
as if it is the only person in the bus,
who should be talked about with wide
eyes, that look on with expectation,
for something surely must happen.

She is giving birth now let us be ready,
A life is raining from the sky of our talk.
I am anxious, but also curious,
surely baby once zygote should you,
get us all mixed up instead of saying to you,
with have been there before,
and then go on with our business as usual.

Who has not been there in the birth canal,
with mother, father, nurse or doctor?
Only you stranger that makes us these,
expectant passengers for surely we will
tell all people we saw a birth in a bus.

There's a birth in this bus you guys,
Even in the future we will point them back,
to a time of surprise and wanting to see,
and yet hoping not to see this birth
for the bus could do us one favor
And arrive at the hospital in town

Time stands still when there's an emergency,
as if it wants to wipe the plate clean like you
when you eat a meal where you have been invited,
to go yet you did not really want to,
like this baby that is being expelled,
out of the warmth of the mother's body.

Maybe it felt the warmth was woolen warm,
now we want the cold to get into its nostrils.
So unsure this human to be. Always turning
and rolling in the belly. Why pain your mother
all the time you little one, by deciding on a time
alone?

Surely the woman got in here,
sure she would reach the place,
where birthing people is normal,
and getting a hold of them for the
first time is the norm.

She has got to the bus stop!
Everyone is so relieved to see,
that this baby is the most obedient
citizen we have and will ever have,
for without a fuss she lay there,
when the whole world was in shock,
for right there was about to happen,
a deed that happened to us all,
in a privacy we carry in our little bodies,
and want to give to each other.

This battle was won by time,
or should we say time was defeated,
for it stood still and let happen,
what man wanted most.

Time is never defeated when we win,
for it is a servant of the moment,
where we stand with fingers crossed,
and say surely he will come not,
in the rush of this bus ride
for that would have been hard.

Swazi men never witness a birth,
they are exempt from seeing,
what they did to their women
who have to go to the birth place
and do the work of taking out babies alone.

Thy would surely have been sad,
sorry for the child and the mother,
sorry about the inconvenience of the hour,
where they worried about both,
knowing they rest and wait to see,
the little bundle in swathed blankets.
Now they have it all for she has left,
this place once tortured by the moment,
nobody wanted to be the way it threatened
to be, of making land a human on this runway,
which is mobile and endless, for such was
my journey, in sunny and dry walks of life,
I see passing in my mind even now.

Suppose the baby had been born,
could we have named it Busride Dlamini or
Landings. I surely do not know
but Swaziland surprises are many,
flor they land on your lap like all surprises,
and this was one of them.




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