The birth of a child has always been an important event in the history of a family. The birth of the first baby is expected with new sensations, strong emotions, huge expectations, and great joys. Only the woman, who carries him during nine long and sometimes painful months, knows about the difficult moments of pregnancy. On the other hand, she feels intense happiness in giving birth to a creature that brings light and happiness in a house and represents the symbol and proof of love between two persons. Their existences are welded and strengthened so that the father can share the same emotions and deep joys.
My birth coincided with the end of the Second World War. It was a difficult period for the population of Reunion Island, French Colony at that time. The shortage of goods had allowed dishonest merchants to take advantage of the situation. The island didn't succeed in pulling out of misery. People gathered early in the morning in front of the shops, with ration coupon in their hands, to buy a few kilos of cassava root, corn or bacon. Several unscrupulous persons were arrested, prosecuted and fined. The black market was a common way of selling. Times were tough and relentless. However, I felt comfortable there, tiny, stark naked, letting out a piercing scream as soon as the umbilical cord was cut and I was moved away from the maternal warmth. This could be interpreted as a distinctive sign of freedom. For Mom, it was a relief after nine long months of pregnancy. I was heavy, three and a half kilograms at least and delivery had lasted long. Several persons were present that day to assist Mom to give birth to me.
It was a Friday, just after the great prayer. My father came back as I was still in the arms of the person who made my first treatment. When I was put in the brand new cradle that was near the bed, my father came close to me and gave Azan in my right ear and ‘Ikamah’ in my left ear. Every Muslim child who was just born must hear the evidence of faith and the call to adore the creator. When I was born, I was particularly admired by the amusing face I had when weeping for my food. My mother didn’t feel well enough to satisfy my daily needs. She had to give me powdered milk that my father bought from the merchants he knew in town. He worked as a storekeeper in a company specialized in the importation of building materials that just opened its door in Saint-Denis.