my new son

Last month, I spent a couple nights dashing to and from the hospital with Shammah and Ketuah, eagerly anticipating the arrival of their first child. You know in the movies when the pregnant woman gets that look on her face and everyone goes into panic mode rushing the lady to the hospital? Well, it was nothing like that. I received a very calm phone call from Shammah saying, “Yes, sister René, could you come to the house by 7? Ketuah is feeling some different movings and I think we need to visit the hospital...” (side note: Shammah and Ketuah, like many Nigerians, don’t own a car and live a bit of a hike off the main road. Plus, due to the 7pm curfew on motorbikes, their main mode of transportation, they didn’t have the freedom to move.) I cancel the game night about to be hosted at my house, jump into my car, and zip over to their place. Do I find a panic-stricken fat lady and her anxiety-ridden husband? No. They are just as calm as can be and Ketuah even refused to let me carry her bag to the car. As I squeeze my Toyota 4-runner (on loan from a fellow missionary) through the cinder block neighborhood and then past 4 military-controlled check-points (still in place 5 months after the crisis), I’m thinking, “How exciting to be on the front row for this momentous event in their lives!” I missed out on being present when my brother and his wife had their first child (though Ali’s picture-taking/sharing obsession ensures I know what my niece looks like nearly weekly), but perhaps I can be a part of my Nigerian brother, Shammah, and his wife’s first birth. What would have been REALLY cool was if I insert a picture here of Ketuah giving birth in my car...instead, for two nights in a row we made these trips to the hospital with nothing to show for it. S & K ended up sleeping in my bed (knowing that the military dudes might try to extract a bribe for letting me pass, albeit with a legitimate excuse, after the 9pm vehicle curfew, I opted to avoid that unpleasant situation). Each ensuing night I expected to get another call, but none came. Fast forward a couple weeks...

While I was off in Obudu, little baby Shammah decided to make his grand entrance into the world. Since I was out of town, Shammah looked at his wife at 2 am when she expressed the need to go the hospital and said, “Well, do you think you can manage to climb on the back of the bike?” I don’t know about you, but I can think of better times in life to ride a motorcycle than when I’m going into labor! Like I’ve said before, Africans are incredibly resilient and Ketuah said it would be no problem. In retelling the story Shammah said, “Sure, it was fun, somehow!”

Naturally, I was bummed I couldn’t be part of the actual delivery but heartedly congratulated Shammah when I returned and heard the news. “So what is his name!?” I asked. “Not yet.” Was Shammah’s reply. I thought that was a pretty funny name until I remembered that Nigerians typically wait for a naming ceremony before revealing the baby’s name. With a twinkle in his eye Shammah said, “We’re not going to have a ceremony, but we’ll announce it on Sunday.”
Meet Reborn Marshall Shammah.

Yes, that’s his name. Now, some of you may not be aware of what my name means. René = “reborn” in French (think renaissance) and Marshall = “leader” somewhere in its etymology. SOO...THEY NAMED THEIR FIRSTBORN AFTER ME!!!

I cannot tell you how honored I am for this gesture. They said they had decided they would name their first child after me sometime last year, secretly hoping it would be a girl (contrary to societal pressures to have a boy first) so they could name her René. Ketuah explained that being a leader means being a servant and they saw this exhibited most poignantly the night I gave up my room for them. Plus, now that they’ve met my sister, Kari, they felt like honoring my dad (who is late) by giving his name to their son. Tonight as I visited Shammah, Ketuah, and RebornMarshall, they told me that he is my son too, since he bears my name. Their prayer is that he’ll grow up fully embodying his name and following in the footsteps of his namesake. Even though I’ll only be around (definitely) for the first few months of his life, they plan to tell stories of his “Auntie René” and the impact she had here in Nigeria. My eyes were brimming with tears, my smile spreading all over my face, and my heart overwhelmed with joy in hearing this. No award I have ever received comes close to honoring me the way Shammah and Ketuah did tonight. So much more could be said, but I think you have a sense of the profundity of this moment for me.

“Ina da farin ciki da murna da tawali” = I’m joyful, happy, and humbled.”