The First Mother

I peered at the face of my little girl over the slope of my rounded belly. Her wide innocent eyes glinted inquisitively as she repeated the question that I knew she was bound to ask eventually.

“Mama, why is there a baby in your belly? How did it get in there?”

My swelling feet throbbed as I struggled to drop myself into the seat of the porch swing, the motion awkward in a way only expectant mothers could understand. Motioning with open arms, I beckoned her to sit in my lap as I brushed a wayward curl behind her ears.

“Sweet girl, I will tell you the ancient story of our people which has been lost over generations removed from the old customs of our culture. Though we no longer observe our traditions, your great grandmother told me the story of the first mother when my mama was carrying my brother in her belly.” I said, imbuing my voice with what I hoped was confident and believable wisdom.

She watched me expectantly with doe-like eyes and I know I piqued her curiosity capturing her undivided attention.

“In a time and a land long past and forgotten, the first mother roamed her fertile homeland free and unburdened. She had never known trouble or envy or evil, for she lived in a lush land of bounty where every plant was fruitful and nourishing, and the water was clean and fresh to drink.

Her long, glossy hair whipped wildly in the wind as she surveyed the green hillsides that she called home and was satisfied by all she saw.

Yet, she was not fulfilled. She felt an unknown ache she tried to ignore, a sadness she could not name deep in her soul.

One day, as she gathered fruit and picked bright berries, she came upon a man and was frightened. But the man meant her no harm. See, he too, felt an unspoken emptiness that ached in his heart. His sadness made no sense. He lacked for nothing as the land provided bountifully. Still, he felt he was missing something. He needed something more.

He raised his hands to the long-haired woman in a gesture of peace. His outstretched hands attempted to close the distance between them by offering the fruit and nuts he had gathered. The woman accepted and they shared their first meal together.

The sun rose and set many times over and their companionship blossomed into mutual love and respect. Together they welcomed new days wandering and enjoying each other’s company.

Still, they both continued feeling an unfulfilled emptiness in a part of their souls. This feeling was the only thing they never told one another, too afraid to share their sadness knowing they had no good reason to feel incomplete.

One day, many moons later, the woman curled in a meadow of wildflowers for a short rest. She closed her eyes and - to the songs of birds - she drifted off into a deep sleep.

She dreamed of a massive tree whose strong and tangled branches shaded the light of the sun. Then the wind rose from its resting place disturbing the stillness and the leaves. Suddenly, a beam of light burst through the thicket illuminating the ground beneath. There, at the base of the wide trunk, lay an iridescent pearl-sized egg, tiny but beautiful.

The gentle wind and the rustling leaves carried a soft voice echoing through the wilderness.

The voice calmly whispered to her, ‘This is the answer to the ache in your being. Your name is Amma Andaka – mother of an egg – and you must protect this fragile pearl as it will grow to become the fruit of your being.’

A clap of thunder rattled the wilderness in her dream scattering the birds from their perches and startling her awake from her sleep. As she sat up and gathered her surroundings, she unfurled her fisted hand to find the iridescent pearl nestled in her palm.”

At this, I interrupted my story producing a prop pearl in the palm of my own hand. She gasped and her child-like wonder was evident by the perfect “O” of her open mouth.

“What happened next, mama?” she asked excitedly as she grasped the small pearl between her thumb and her forefinger and held it up to the light for inspection.

“Like you, sweet girl, she held it up to the light of the sun in complete disbelief at it miraculously materializing from her dream,” I said.

“She examined the pearl and noticed the smallest pulse from within the tiny egg. It carried the breath of life that the wind from her dream had breathed into its core. In that moment, Amma Andaka knew that she would treasure and protect the little pearl with her own life.

The passing of time brought with it many changes as the seasons morphed one into another and the pearl grew. Together, the man and the woman nurtured it by offering it warmth and carrying it close to themselves.

They could never foresee or imagine the darkness that was coming their way in the form of another woman from a distant and very different land.

Mói Azalee was a thundering storm of turmoil.”

“What does turmoil mean, mama?” she interrupted with curiosity.

“It means a great disturbance,” I explained, “you see, Mói Azalee had come to disturb their peaceful haven. She swept through foreign lands violently stripping the fruitful bounties. Her homeland, like her name, was barren and dry. A drought ravaged her home for many years turning it into desolate wastelands.

The scarcity she had always known caused evil to root and spread through her veins until her core was darkness itself. She envied those whose lands offered plentiful abundance, and she ripped through pillaging what didn’t belong to her while leaving nothing behind so that others would share her misery.

On coming upon the man and the woman lovingly lingering in the fields, she lurked in the shadows of the wilderness watching from a distance. Mói Azalee coveted everything they shared which she severely lacked. It wasn’t just the land’s abundance that she resented, it was also the fondness and companionship she observed between them.

Malice surged through her as she plotted the best way to destroy these contented strangers. Having noticed the way that they both treasured and tended to the growing pearl holding it close and passing it from one to another throughout the day, she intuited its great value to them. She knew that if she stole the pearl for herself, she would break their spirits in the deepest way.

Mói Azalee devised a plan to snatch the pearl and take it for herself. If she could not know joy, then no one else should know any joy either.

On an overcast afternoon with rain brewing in the nearby distance, Amma Andaka roamed in satisfied solitude collecting her bounty. She quietly hummed as she inhaled the rich scent of moisture in the air. She knew by the way the birds and critters hid and the taste of the wind that rain was coming and so, she hurried along to complete her gathering.

She was startled when Mói Azalee angrily exploded from the trees to confront her. Mói Azalee wielded a weapon dangerously close to Amma Andaka. Her eyes, dark as a pit of despair, dared Amma Andaka to resist.

She bellowed into the clouded sky, ‘give me that precious pearl you carry, or I’ll use this weapon against you and take it for myself. Leave with your life, but the pearl stays with me.’

Amma Andaka stood frozen in place. Having never encountered such hostility, she could not understand its nature. She tried to make sense of Mói Azalee, but her pure heart only felt sadness and pity at the darkness that stood threateningly before her.

At Amma Andaka’s hesitation, Mói Azalee repeated herself with seething venom dripping from her voice, ‘Give me that precious pearl and I will allow you to leave with your life.’

Immediately, Amma Andaka understood in her spirit what Mói Azalee’s rotten spirit would never understand. Her life and the pearl were irrevocably entwined. That precious pearl she was tenderly nurturing was her whole life, the very essence and fiber of her being. She had poured her love and devotion into that tiny pearl watching it grow. They were one and the same. Amma Andaka felt as though she would never survive being separated from her precious pearl.

She knew she could not allow that pearl to fall into the hands of such a wicked soul as it would destroy its purity. She would rather surrender her life than allow Mói Azalee to take possession of her little egg.

In an impulsive moment of inspiration, and fueled by pure and protective love, Amma Andaka said nothing but responded by doing something Mói Azalee never anticipated.”

I paused my story, building suspense as my sweet girl held her breath awaiting the next part of the story.

“What mama? What did Amma Andaka do?” she exclaimed, adorably mispronouncing her name.

“She swallowed it.” I said, matter-of-factly, as I watched her eyes grow wide.

“Amma Andaka quickly swallowed the precious pearl knowing that it was a part of her very being and not bearing to have it taken from her.

Mói Azalee stood in stunned disbelief that Amma Andaka would choose to risk her own life rather than to surrender the pearl. There was nothing that Mói Azalee would protect more than herself. She only knew her own self-interests.

‘Then I shall cut it from your belly and take it for myself!’ Mói Azalee viciously growled.

Just as Mói Azalee raised the weapon in her hand preparing to lunge for Amma Andaka, lightning struck a nearby tree distracting her. The man, who had come upon the terrifying scene, took advantage of the momentary distraction to defend his love. With one swift and sure swing of the lightning-struck tree branch that had fallen, he took down Mói Azalee. The destructive storm brewing inside her was her own demise, it’s as if she had summoned lightning itself with her cruelty.

Fearing that she had been harmed, he rushed to Amma Andaka’s side only to realize that the pearl was nowhere in sight. Panicked, an unspoken question passed between them which Amma Andaka answered by placing a gentle hand on her belly where the pearl now burrowed.”

I placed her little dimpled hand on my belly where her little sister jabbed in response.

“Amma Andaka realized that, for the first time in her existence, she no longer felt that unnamed ache. She felt fulfilled. She felt complete. And she trusted that this is how it should’ve been all along.

The little pearl egg planted itself safely inside Amma Andaka where it flourished as she grew large and round.

Some time later, the pearl-egg – which had grown to the size of a watermelon – was ready to hatch.

To the welcoming rays of a rising sun, a beautiful baby girl was born. They named her Almeta in remembrance of the tiny pearl they once treasured and protected.

Amma Andaka knew that one day Almeta would have her own pearl-sized egg to nurture and protect.

From then on, all mothers would keep their pearls in the safest place imagined: in their core at the bottom of their bellies.”

I paused as I affectionately touched the tip of her button nose.

“That, sweet girl, is the story of the First Mother. One day, when you have your own little pearl sitting in your lap, it’ll be your job to tell her about the selfless love of Amma Andaka so that her legacy lives on. By then you’ll understand a love like no other, a love that grows in your belly and expands beyond. The love of a mother.”

She giggled as I tickled her soft tummy, then she planted a gentle kiss at the top of my bump as she whispered to the baby within, “it’s me, little pearl, your big sister.”