As a comedian I have many times spoken about how I would react if I walked into the labour ward to see my wife giving birth.
One of the most famous stories I told goes like this: “My vriend bel my nourie dag en sê sy dogter was gebore en dat hy gefaint het toe hy die kop sien uit kom.
“Hy sê toe vir my hy is versieke dat as my vrou gaan birth gee, dat ek oek sal faint.
“Ek sê toe vir hom: “Faint? Ek? Nooit! Ek sal innie ward in loep, ek sal vra waar is my mask? Ek sal vir my vrou se ‘asem in en druk oppie pyn, asem in en druk oppie pyn’.
“En soes dai koppie uitkom sal ek kyk… ek sal nader loep… ek sal ’n pencil uithaal en ek sal voel en as daai hare styl is dan, en net dan, sal ek faint.”
On Sunday I was faced with this task, and no I didn’t faint, I’m happy to say.
My wife gave birth to our baby boy at 1.20am at Somerset Hospital.
TE OULIK: Onse klong ons bundle of joy
There were no jokes and no time to worry about hair
The only thing that goes through one’s mind is, laat die kind tog net gesond wees, in sha Allah.
In the run-up to this momentous occasion in my life, I used to tell people in jest, just to check their response, “ek wil nettie hê hy moet my hare hettie”.
And most of their responses were the same: “ Ag, hare issie alles nie, so lank die kind net gesond is.”
This is true, but like I said in my stand-up show, Laughing Halaal: “Cape Malay tieties love to say hare issie alles nie maar julle lieg, as julle kleinkinders gebore is trek julle die mooiste abayas aan, stiek julle doekies en rush hospitaal toe. As julle in die ward loep waar die kleinkind lê is die eerste ding wat julle doen, julle lug daai kappie op en as daai hare nie styl is nie, dan se julle ‘nee, ha-a, daai is nie die Shaboodiens se hare nie”, and then only, “maar so lank hy gesond is”.
This was the case with my son, too, except it was me who lifted the kappie en said “algamdulillah, jy beat darem jou pa, sê shukran vir jou ma.”
As Muslims, we are taught to make the athaan(Islamic call to prayer) when the child is born. My little one was crying, but what amazed me is that when I made the athaan in his right ear he immediately kept quiet. Then promptly started crying when it was done.
And when I performed the iqaamat (the chant performed before commencing with prayer) in the left ear, he went silent again, and then afterwards he was completely relaxed as his mother fed him.
This experience has taught me much, and it definitely strengthened my faith.
The little guy was due on 23 April as predicted by the doctors, but in the end he arrived two weeks later, which just goes to show soes die ou mense altyd sê, “die kind sal kom op Allah se tyd”.
The afterbirth is another story, we are taught to bring it home with us and bury it, something I wholeheartedly agree with.
To me it’s a spiritual issue; after all it was the connection between the child and the mother for such a long time.
People who know me personally would know I don’t do much with my hands, but we as parents quickly learn daar’s niks wat ons nie vir onse kinders sal doen nie.
When we eventually got home I found myself in the yard met ’n graaf en afterbirth.
And then, the all important name-giving.
I could have given my son’s name at the hospital, it can be done that quickly.
But we mos live in Cape Town, so we have decided to give him a proper ‘doepmal’ (Cape Malay gathering to name a child), which also gives us a chance to see if the name we have in mind suits him.
We are taught as Muslims that the child has certain rights over its parents, and one of those rights is that you have to give him or her an appropriate and good name.
HEED: Thanks to my wife for her strength
So once my wife and I have decided on this I will let you know what his name is.
In my opinion, after watching my wife give birth, I think women are definitely the stronger gender.
Daar issie ’n man op die dunya wat daai pyn sal kan handle nie.
So much respect to all women and shukran to my wife Shameemah for your strength.