Yesterday I received a very touching message from one of my Nigerian readers based in the USA. I will not disclose her message or name because I take my reader’s privacy and confidentiality very seriously, when people write to me, I do not disclose their details. But this message was very personal to me.
In a nutshell, my sister said to me…
“Mary-Tamar, I want you know I support you and happy that you are pregnant. Maybe one day God will grant me a child, maybe not. I had two abortions, so I feel and know I am slightly cursed. I love the love you have for your family and your man, never give that up.”
I had to reply my sister openly, for the benefit of so many black women who have this similar story of regret of abortions. It’s not a topic that is openly discussed, but so many black women today walk with such scars of having their unborn babies murdered and there is no healing for them.
“A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more.” This prophecy in Jeremiah depicts the genocide of black babies in this world.
I felt the pain in my sister’s voice, and I couldn’t sleep until I had penned this. Since I am Mary, Mary-Tamar, I will call my Nigerian sister Elizabeth, and I pray my story will be an encouragement to Elizabeth and other women like her out there…
Thank you for writing to me, and encouraging me to continue loving my children and my King, that’s all I have in this world, so I cling to them with all my might.
Let me share with you the story of my journey to childbearing. When I was a young teenager, only 17, I came to the UK to study nursing. I then met my first boyfriend at University, he was Zimbabwean, he showed me attention I had never received, and I thought I was in love. Within three months of starting University, I fell pregnant. When I found out I was pregnant, I panicked and felt so scared, because I was so young and had just came to a new country, but a big part of me was so excited and I wanted to have the baby, I had no other choice. When I told my Zimbabwean boyfriend, he told me that the pregnancy was disgraceful, I would be a laughing stock to people, and I will be kicked out of nursing and would be homeless and deported to Zimbabwe.
I never knew that there was such a thing called abortion. I thought abortions were illegal. He then told me that in England, women have the right to abort their babies, so he said I had to go to the doctor and tell him that I wanted an abortion.
“But it’s murder”, I told him “I don’t want to abort. I want to keep the baby.”
“Then you will be on your own, you are not married. The University will kick you out. You will be deported. And imagine the disgrace you will be to your parents.”
I felt so scared and alone, and I remember being walked down to the doctor surgery. I told the GP, who was an Asian male, that I wanted to confirm if I was really pregnant.
He did not see me as a black girl with an unwanted pregnancy, he smiled at me and said, “Congratulations, you are 8 weeks pregnant, and you will be a mother in 7 months.” That’s exactly how he said it.
My boyfriend was sitting out there in the waiting room, and he had threatened me that I was to come out with assurance that the abortion was booked.
“But I can’t keep the baby, I have to have an abortion.” I told the doctor with so much pain in my throat, and my heart was beating so fast because I didn’t want to say it.
The doctor looked so shocked, “But you can’t make such a rush decision, don’t you think the father of the baby has a right to know and decide.” His eyes was literally pleading with me to keep the baby.
“But my boyfriend does not want the baby, he is the one who told me to have an abortion.”
I could tell the doctor did not believe me, he thought I was lying. He looked so disappointed, almost disgusted, and told me that I would receive the letter in the post for the abortion.
I fought back tears and left the room, and was greeted with a, “Is it sorted?”
“Yes, the doctor said I will get a letter for the appointment.” I told him.
A month later, the appointment was booked. I was about 12 weeks pregnant.
I remember going to the library, and getting books about pregnancy.
The night before the abortion appointment, I made a decision that I was not going to do it. I said to myself if I am to be homeless, or kicked out of nursing or whatever, I did not care, I am keeping my son. Yes, my instinct told me it was a boy.
My boyfriend walked into my room, I was laying on the bed, crying. I said to him I am not having the abortion, I am keeping the baby.
“The baby is already 3 months old, he knows my voice, he moves inside me, he sucks his thumb. He is alive, and he wants me to protect him.” I wept.
“Then you are on your own. Where will you get the money to feed it. They will stop your bursary as well you know. Where will you live?”
“I don’t know, but I am keeping it.”
His eyes bloodshot and red, he walked out on me and banged the door.
I knew I had no choice.
“I am so sorry.” I told my unborn son. “I love you, I really do. Please forgive me, but I have to let you go.”
The next day, in hospital, this man stood next to me. Before I was about to receive the general anesthetic, I started to cry, and I told him again that I can not do this.
“Is there a problem?” The nurses asked me.
“No she is fine, just emotional.” The Zimbabwean man answered for me.
The next minute I woke up, and my precious child was gone.
I felt cursed, I felt broken. I was never able to be comforted over the loss and what I had done.
Prior to this, I was an agnostic. I did not really know God, I never prayed or anything. I never went to church.
But I remember feeling a strong sense of the supernatural, that there was a God. I felt a strong sense of Hell, of fire. I felt a condemnation I can not explain. When I slept, I could hear the voice of a baby crying.
I made my first real prayer to an unseen God, and I asked for mercy over the blood of my baby. It was even more horrifying to me, when I learnt how my baby was killed. That he was crushed, vacuumed and thrown in the bin.
I was more horrified when I learnt that in the UK, no one is deported for being pregnant. I was more horrified when I learnt that I was never going to give birth homeless, that I would have been given a house, and food for the baby. I was more horrified to learn that I was never going to be kicked out of nursing. I would have continued with my studies, then take a break to have the baby, then I would have come back to complete the course.
I was never able to forgive the Zimbabwean man for the blood of my child and the lies he told me so he could kill the baby. He never showed any remorse, and not once did he ever comfort me throughout the whole ordeal.
I don’t know why, but I continued the with the relationship, and within 2 years I was married to the monster.
I had this fear, that God would never open my womb again.
But a miracle happened, and my womb was opened.
The Zimbabwean man never celebrated that pregnancy. He told me that we didn’t have a house, and we were not ready for a child. I had just graduated as a nurse, I hadn’t even started my first job as a qualified nurse, but I told him that this baby was for me, to be my friend, my companion and my first love, in a world were I was hated by so many, and he was not taking this child away from me. Not again.
The day before my first scan appointment, I was walking in town, Southport Town in England, and I bumped into my then husband’s mother, and her two daughters.
I stopped to greet them, then my then mother in-law pushed me so hard on my shoulder, and walked past me, I stumbled and almost fell.
I then told my husband at home that his mother pushed me and I almost fell. As I was telling him, his eyes turned red and he grabbed my neck, he swung me on the ground and sat on my tummy so hard, and started punching me in the face me and strangling me.
“Don’t you ever speak about my mother like that,” he was screaming at me.
All I could think of was my baby, I could not feel the pain of the beating or strangling me, I just felt him sitting on my stomach. I was praying that the baby doesn’t die.
I had never been beaten before. It was my first beating from a man. I remember sitting there in shock, asking him why he had beaten me. He didn’t answer me, he just went to bed and acted as though everything was normal.
The next day, I woke up with a black eye. It was my scan appointment, I had been so excited about the scan.
I decided not to go, but I ended up turning up late, I needed to know if the baby was okay.
I was asked what had happened to my swollen face, and I said I had fallen and banged my head. The baby was fine, and that’s all that mattered to me.
Today, my daughter says to me, “Why did you even marry him mum, the moment he forced you to have an abortion that was a sign that you shouldn’t have been with him.”
“Then I wouldn’t have had you.” I always tell her,”God allowed me to be with him, a monster he was, but look what beauty came out of those ashes.”
6 years ago, when I was going through a painful separation from the monster, praying that maybe God would take away my reproach and bring the monster back, for I knew no better…
A prophet from a black Hebrew church GOCC, said to me, as he anointed me with oil,
“Forget that man, for he is not your husband, he has blood on his hands. Everything which has happened to you is his fault. He does not love you. Believe me Jean, God will give you a husband, a husband who will never put you away.”
The prophet never knew that the man killed my first baby, yet he said it, “He has blood on his hands…”
I remember literally weeping as these words were spoken over me, And within a year, that prophesy had come to pass.
God forgave me, and blessed me with a man who worships the ground I walk on. My Boaz.
So my dear Elizabeth, God sympathizes with women like us. If God could still open my womb 7 times and bless me with such beautiful babies, it shows He has grace.
Most black women who abort their babies do so not out of their choice, but the satanic system is designed to kill black children, and even our black men contribute to the mass genocide of black babies. This is the only reason I like Donald Trump, his love and protection for unborn black babies makes him a better saint than any president of the USA.
Believe you are forgiven.
Believe that the curse is broken.
Believe you will be with child one day.
The Genesis Of The Revelation By
Mary-Tamar was Jean