Chapter 2

A crab does not know there are two kinds of water until it gets into hot water. (African proverb)

Love Under the Kola Nut Tree: What city moms didn’t tell you about creating fulfilling relationship

“What’s up?” I asked into the receiver after seeing Rose’s number on the caller ID.

“Micah has been hit by a car and he is in surgery at Pierre Memorial Hospital,” Rose breathlessly responded. I immediately felt the urgency of her words.

Now, one thing to know about Rose, if she reacts to anything you better jump. If there is a human being on earth I have met that controls her emotions, it is my friend and cousin Rose. If there were such a thing, she’d have a PhD in Emotion Control.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Listen, Niet, meet me at the hospital,” and she hung up the phone. I gasped. An explanation from her  would apparently have to wait. My aunt who happened to be visiting from Africa, aunty Maya Sophia, must have heard the tension in my voice, for she immediately rushed over to me.

Before I continue, I should set the foundation for you. This story is really about my aunty Maya Sophia and what she taught my friends and me about relationships, nature, and energy. If Micah had not been hit by Mrs. Williams’ car, I doubt we would have had a story to tell. But I now know there are no coincidences.

“If something has happened to a family member back home, just tell me. If you hide anything from me I’ll die,” Maya Sophia proclaimed to me and broke into sobs.

Maya might as well have been a psychic. In the eleven months she has stayed with me, I came to learn there is much about nature that I cannot explain. And just because I cannot explain it does not mean that it is not there or it does not happen. Maya and my father are cousins; however, don’t try to draw family trees when it comes to Africans, as you don’t have enough paper width. Cousins are like soapy ropes that go on and on and on. For example, Rose and I believed we were cousins until I came to America and learned to be individualistic and trace family trees. I then discovered we were not blood cousins but grew up together as such. Th at knowledge, however, did not change the relationship we had established since childhood.

How could I tell Maya Sophia that Micah had been hit by a car? I believed one of the main reasons she had stayed in the U.S. so long was because she had Micah, Taylor, and Kellie to hang out with once everyone left for work.

She hated the fact that we closed the door on her and stayed at our jobs all day and she could not even stroll in the neighborhood for fear of what she saw on TV. Micah loved her and she loved Micah and doted on him. A grandparent’s love is different and special, and she knew how to love even though she never uttered the word love.

Hearing Micah was at the hospital was hard enough for me, but telling Maya Sophia was even harder. I must have looked deeply saddened as she started that dance that only African mothers can do. She took one step, stood still, and then started tapping her right foot on the floor while undulating her torso gently.

“I can’t be in a strange land if someone has died back home,” she pleaded.

I was not ready for this today.

“Maya,” I said, “it is Micah,” but before I could complete my sentence she screamed.

“He will be okay,” I consoled myself. “He is at the hospital and we have to meet Rose and his parents   there.”

“If something happens to my grandson,” she wept, “you will bury me in America; you will bury me in  America.” She ran into her bedroom, put on her sandals, changed her head scarf, and charged for the door.

No matter what happened, Maya Sophia could never be buried anywhere except on a particular plot of land, as she is the queen. She is the female equivalent to the chief and if you know a little bit about the African culture, you know how hard it has been for me hosting her. But was her visit really what she originally told me it was? I was to find out otherwise later.

I would like to tell you I am a cautious driver everyday, but I would be lying, for on this day I had two eyes, literally. I had one eye on the road ahead and one eye scanning the rear view mirror and the environs for “crabs” with red and blue tops.

In the emergency room, Angie, Julie, James, and Rose anxiously waited.

Julie would sit down, and then stand up at the sound of any approaching feet, hoping it was a nurse or doctor with news for them. James came over and put his arms around his wife and felt her body shake within his hold. They silently prayed together for their son. James had a very uneasy feeling in his stomach, a feeling he had learned to recognize after the time his best friend was in a fatal accident in graduate school. He had that same feeling hours before he received the phone call about the accident. That loss led him into a two year depression. The feeling did not come often, but he knew to start praying when it did. To him it was a sign of tough times ahead. Right now that sickening feeling haunted him. He knew if he lost Micah he would lose the will to live, and he certainly couldn’t handle the depression again.

Micah was their only child and it had taken them three years to get pregnant. At first they were not serious about getting pregnant, but when they decided to, it was hard for Julie to conceive. They had nearly settled into the fact that a baby was not in their future when Julie got pregnant. Micah was their miracle baby.

“Please, God, save my son, my only begotten son,” James prayed. His prayer interrupted when Dr. Arthur Morgan walked briskly towards him.

Before he could ask how Micah was doing, Dr. Morgan said, “We need another sample of your blood right away, Mr. Walker.”

“But,” James began, “I just gave some blood a few minutes ago. Is my son dying? Why does he need so much blood?”

“Yes, I know you just gave blood,” Dr. Morgan answered, “but we just need another sample to be doubly sure.”

“I am the boy’s dad, for God’s sake! Why do you need to test my blood before giving it to my bleeding son?” James argued. Pierre Memorial hospital was one of the best hospitals in the area, so James couldn’t fathom a mistake.

Why would they mess up my first blood sample? James wondered. He hoped they had not given his son the wrong blood type from another person. He had heard in the news and read on the Internet that  hospitals these days were making lots of mistakes. If so, this hospital would be hearing from him and his lawyers.

Was Micah going to make it? His heart beat fast, but before he could ask about his son, Dr. Morgan disappeared back into surgery room 3 and a lab technician led him away through double doors to prick his vein again.

In the OR, Dr. Morgan discussed the situation with Dr. Pat Naor, Dr. Moris Genesis, and two residents. Micah’s left leg was broken, his right arm sprained, and he had a severe concussion. So far he had lost a lot of blood.

“Micah’s blood is type O. The blood type taken from his dad was AB,” Dr. Morgan reminded them. “Micah is not adopted and from all we learned in medical school and practice, we know James Walker cannot possibly be Micah’s dad.” Dr. Morgan determined.

Since Micah’s blood type was rare, the immediate donors, who were luckily present, had to be blood-related parents. However, based on the report given by the lab technicians, James was not a match for Micah’s blood.

“So the lab technicians may have made a mistake, the first they have made in years. Nevertheless, if it is indeed a mistake, it could cost little Micah his life, as time is of the essence here,” Dr. Pat Naor stated, checking Micah’s blood pressure again.

Micah’s blood pressure was dropping while that of his father was rising.

Beads of sweat dampened James’ brow while Julie paced the waiting room talking to herself. Dr. Morgan had a feeling if he lost the boy, they might have another emergency room situation with the dad.

“What about the mom?” Dr. Genesis inquired. “What blood type is she?”

“The father was here first, so we sent him to the lab immediately. We should get the mother’s blood type in a few minutes. We don’t need her blood anymore anyway, but we need to figure out if this boy belongs to them,” Dr. Morgan explained. He had already ordered blood from the hospital blood bank. Memories of his past flashed through his mind. He, too, had a sense of foreboding.

Nurse Janet had worked by Dr. Morgan’s side for years. She understood him more than anyone else. Not even Dr. Morgan’s wife had the type of understanding Nurse Janet had of Dr. Morgan. It was almost like she could read his mind, eyes, body language, and anticipate his every move. They were like seasoned poker partners. She could predict all his quirks, down to his habit of humming under his breath while doing surgery.

Over the years she had come to know the different tunes and what they meant as far as the difficulty of the emergency surgery they were performing.

He would give instructions, explain the procedure, ask for equipment, and immediately switch back to a hum. Today he was humming a tune she had come to realize meant life or death for the patient. But on this day he kept repeating the chorus over and over and she had a strange feeling the life and death was not only for this kid who lay unconscious under the skillful tiny fingers of Dr. Morgan.

Just like MaryAnn, Dr. Morgan’s wife, had noted that his head was oversized for his body, Nurse Janet had noted that Dr. Arthur Morgan’s thumbs were oversized compared to his fingers. They were, however, perfectly suited for medical manipulations. One such example was that time in an African village where, to stop a woman that had miscarried from bleeding to death when nothing else would help, he manually massaged her cervix with his tiny hands to initiate clotting. This was not your traditional Western doctor. In desperate situations he pulled out of his healing hat techniques he learned in the South American, Asian, African, and Native Indian villages.

He got into trouble many times with the hospital administration for some of the techniques he used, but he had yet to lose a patient because of those unconventional methods.

Chapter 3

Dr. Arthur Morgan

Dr. Arthur Morgan was born in the African village of Malah. His father was fifty-five years old and his mother forty-five years old at the time of his birth. He was their retirement baby. His parents were not expecting a child and when his mother Ruth Morgan got pregnant, they believed he was a gift from God for their steadfastness and devotion to Him. He was their only child.

His father Dr. Paul Morgan was a Christian missionary who had been sent to preach the Bible to these so-called poor atheist villagers to whom salvation was supposedly denied just because they had never heard the name Jesus.

Young Arthur was enrolled in the local daycare and eventually attended elementary school. He was tutored by his mother and other missionaries.

He got the best education in an environment where there were very little distractions and progressed way ahead of his grade. He was an exceptionally gifted student and excelled at all he did. At age eleven when most village kids went to the mission boarding school, he was quickly sent to study in the United States where he eventually went to medical school.

By age twenty-four he was already practicing medicine. His vacations to Africa to see his parents had enabled him to practice medicine in the local clinics and also learn unorthodox procedures which he from time to time used now that he was well established in America.

After medical school he joined Doctors on the Move, a non-profit organization for those in the medical field. They traveled around the world healing and educating those less privileged. By age thirty-one he was ready to set up his own practice in the U.S. He opened his office at Pierre Memorial Hospital where he also worked as an emergency room doctor and taught at the medical university. That was where Julie, James, and Micah Walker met him on that preordained fateful day.

One thing that always troubled Dr. Morgan’s mind were some stories his father told him about his   experiences in the village of Malah. One story in particular had remained on his mind…

“The women in this tribe had all the power in the land.” Dr. Paul Morgan retold the events to his son. “They could control the winds, the rains, and talk to the trees and cattle.”

“Dad, as a Christian, you know that is not possible,” young Arthur argued.

“Son, I know what I saw happen in Malah. I wish I could explain in scientific terms.”

“Maybe you were hallucinating. You know Africa is a hot continent; Malah, especially, is not far from the equatorial belt, Dad.”

Being a scientist, if things could not be reproduced in the laboratory or a controlled environment, it was not true to him. What the Morgans had been too educated to know was that the Malah Villagers were scientists also. While Dr. Morgan used a man-made office for his laboratory, the villagers used their natural environment as their laboratory.

While he used rulers, slide rules, and chemicals as his ingredients, the villagers used all elements of nature—grass, stones, wind, water, earth, fire, and air—as their ingredients.

The villagers would wake up in the morning and gaze at the rising sun and give you the weather forecast for the day. They would examine the new moon and tell you more women than men would die that month. They would wrap a string around a man’s neck for measurement and give you the dimensions of the rest of his body parts. They would point at a man’s chest and know exactly what measure of herbs to give him. They would follow a dog into the forest, watch the herbs it ate, and study these herbs for medicinal value. A dog, they said, would only eat grass if it was sick and needed a cure.

They would send out thunder and lightening to warn and destroy and then safely bring it back to source. They used animal fur to heal serious burns, leaving no scars.

The beautiful symbiotic relationship the villagers shared with nature was about to be compromised by “Civilization.” Because Civilization had outgrown its Source, it also lost its sight. Thus it lost its way back to the Source. But it did not know that because it believed the world revolved around it.

Civilized Dr. Paul Morgan came to teach the natives the Bible; he came to teach the natives their very culture.

“The women were powerful but they let the men lead them and be the head of the household. Then men did something awful and the women, using this strange power they possessed, herded all the men like cattle to prison,” Daddy

Morgan continued. “The king rule, but the queen had all the power.”

He showed his son pictures of the king and the queen. Even from the pictures Arthur could see that the woman commanded presence and power.

But he also noticed a very loving demeanor about her. He felt like touching her skin. From time to time he would look at that picture after his father died and run his finger over the queen’s face.

“Why was he king then, instead of the queen; just sitting on the throne?”

Arthur wanted to know.

“They believed that was the order of things. Man was the cocoon, and the woman the spirit behind it all. She was the very essence of what man did and accomplished,” Dr. Paul Morgan went on. “You see the trees, but you never talk about the earth. Without the earth, there would be no trees.”

“These must have been some weak men to be led to jail by village women,”

Arthur retorted, finding this story by his dad foolish and unbelievable.

“No, the men were strong men. They were warriors and wrestlers. These men put into today’s world would be envied, for they were well built and muscular. If you take away the power of the earth, the trees would die a natural death. There is a lot in the dirt that we don’t see.”

“Were the women carrying weapons?” Arthur pretended to believe his dad for his father’s sake. Something about the story evoked emotion, but Arthur fumbled to put the pieces together.

“No, the women were carrying eggs,” Daddy Morgan explained.

“Eggs?” My dad is getting too old and I am sure he is losing his mind. Arthur made a mental note to have his dad checked at the hospital.

“Yes eggs, and the eggs were spinning in the women’s hands and they were all chanting.”

“And the men did not break those eggs or eat them?”

“It was at one of the inter-village wrestling matches and all the men were there. This was like the Super Bowl of wrestling. Wrestling in this village was everything to the men. These men could control their muscles so well they could get any muscle in their body to dance for the crowd. You should have heard the drums. Intoxicating…”

“And what happened? Who won the match?” Arthur reflected on his days in Malah when wrestling in this village was not only a sport, but was also used for rituals and initiation of young men into manhood.

From when Malah boys could crawl, they were also taught wrestling moves. They became so good they even picked up dance moves from animals like cats, monkeys, tigers, lions, leopards, and snakes. It was amazing how much one can learn from animals if given respect. For example, before he got  married, Arthur dated so many women his friends were jealous. They could not understand how a diminutive man like him could get so many women. And not just any women. These were smart, beautiful, and successful women. He had a little orange book where he numbered all his conquests, sexual styles, and positioned used. When asked by his friends what techniques he used to captivate so many beautiful women, he would jokingly say, “I learned that move from the rooster; or the grasshopper thought me that.” Of course everyone thought he was kidding. However, Dr. Arthur Morgan meant what he said, but a person needed to truly have ears to hear him.

Before Arthur Morgan’s father died, he explained to his son why Arthur had to get married and the  spiritual benefits of marriage. While he learned a lot from the Bible, Dr. Paul Morgan acknowledged he learned the practical application of these biblical stories from Malah, which shadowed an Old Testament-like culture.

“If you want to achieve certain things in life, you have to find the right woman and marry her. She would bring you all the success you need. Drop her without merit after you are successful and it is only a matter of time before you are back to square one,” Reverend Dr. Paul Morgan once warned his son.

“The men of Malah were led to jail and the doors slammed on them,”

Reverend Morgan continued his story about Malah.

“Really?” Arthur asked, again doubting his dad.

“Shortly after that, I left the Malah village, as with the men in jail the energy seemed to have changed and the women were getting hostile. I learned things in Malah that no book could teach me.” Daddy Morgan elaborated on the spiritual practices he learned from the village, thus initiating his son into the spiritual practices he once experienced.

Dr. Paul Morgan also stole things from Malah which he could not write in any book. When he figured out how the women wielded power, he broke his own Christian doctrines to steal this knowledge. He left Malah running.

What he took from Malah destroyed the power that women held and hence the society, families, and the threads holding relationships together. The people started walking in darkness. Women became weak and men fathered kids and abandoned them. Distraught women destroyed men unconsciously and men destroyed families unconsciously. Men distrusted women and women distrusted men. Laws made to safeguard the family instead created increased insecurity, hence more separation. Eventually men swore off marriage. Women stole kids from their fathers and fathers stole kids from their wives, all of this legally.

This loss of power and binding energy by woman propagated and replicated around the world. Millions of women were single and millions of men were single. They were like parallel lines—all going in the same direction, hardly to meet anywhere. If they did cross paths, the magical threads that held relationships together had been taken away so these relationships eventually crumbled. Millions of books and recipes were written to remedy this breakdown, but families were still breaking up and kids were controlling adults. Because parents had lost the knowledge of whom they were and what they knew, they were ready for any new recipe. In desperation, many well meaning new recipes were made; but the potpourri of ideas ended up convoluting the relationships more.

Unbeknownst to me, Maya Sophia, the queen of Malah, had come back to get this power and hand it back to the women. I was to be reeducated. I was about to get an education on the laws of nature that govern relationships.

This is the story of what my village queen aunt taught me about nature and relationships that city mothers did not.

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