On Thursday this week, I was having a conversation with a young friend who is expecting her first child. Towards the end of the conversation, she informed me that she was going out to buy “boflo and cold milk”.
I laughed a little because I couldn’t recall the last time I heard someone calling bread “boflo”. It is a term my generation used back in the day before sliced bread came along and made sharing out ‘boflo’ so much easier.
I assumed that she intended to buy bread and milk for the next day’s breakfast, but she actually meant what she said – she wanted to buy unsliced bread. And cold milk. To have for lunch. Apparently, that is what her unborn baby was craving at that moment… I was caught so off guard, I broke out in prolonged laughter. When I caught my breath, I asked her why the ‘block’ bread and not the sliced version, after all bread is bread, isn’t it? But she informed me, tone serious, that the taste wasn’t the same.
I know better than to argue with a pregnant woman, so I didn’t contradict her. There are many who believe that women use pregnancy to take advantage of the people in their lives, but having been there myself, I will tell you with all honesty that pregnancy cravings are not made up. They are as real as night and day, and to tell you the truth, even though one cannot help themselves, many women, including me, are glad that they are through with that nonsense.
I don’t remember whether I’ve ever told you this, but during my second pregnancy, I suddenly developed an abnormal liking for pork choma from a certain kibanda-like joint in Kinoo, which I would push down with ice-cold Fanta. Mind you, I don’t even like soda, any soda, but during that period, I would have robbed a bank to get money to buy it. I had to have that combo at least twice a week, or I would become mentally and physically sick.
After giving birth, that yearning disappeared immediately. I never went back to that place, and my dislike for soda returned. With my last born, out of nowhere, I developed an appetite for stones, which were conveniently sold in one of my local supermarkets. I would literally salivate at the thought of them. My taste buds would actually start to tingle with anticipation, and I knew that if I didn’t pop a piece into my mouth, I would go crazy.
I had a packet in my handbag, one in my bedside drawer, and another in a drawer at work. You should have seen me close my eyes in pure delight as I chewed one. Madness, right? Interestingly, just recently, I came across a post a Kenyan woman had done on Facebook detailing how she was desperately trying to cure her unhealthy love for stones. Her post had thousands of likes, as well as thousands of comments from women confessing to this bizarre craving. Someone even suggested forming a support group for individuals addicted to stones.
Before I clock off, I should also tell you about a friend who simply loved smelling her husband’s sweat-stained T-shirts, she even walked around with one in her handbag. We would often joke that was witchcraft, that her husband had bewitched her. Take it from me, there is no pretense here, ask the women around you who have been on this journey.
