It didn't take more than one peeled corner of fabric for me to know what was inside. I'd seen these familiar faces before. They were African fertility dolls.
The irony of these little faces couldn't have hit me harder. When I was in my twenties and studying at uni I worked part-time at a store that imported artefacts and jewellery from Asia and Africa. One of my clearest memories of that place involved presumably the cousins and friends of these little guys fresh off the boat from Africa. I remember walking through the store with my arms stretching out around five or six of these little carved people, laughing and remarking to one of my work mates "I better put these down quick smart or I'm going to be in real trouble - the last thing I want is a baby!!"
I was always fascinated by them. Their heads are huge, ridiculously out of proportion; but some researching taught me that their shape is no mistake. The large head, straight body and outstretched arms create a shape that is symbolic of the Ankh - the Egyptian symbol for life. Of course. You see I also have an affinity with the Ankh. The first piece of jewellery I ever bought myself at that very same store was a simple, sterling silver pendant of the Ankh. Before I even knew what it represented.
That's the beauty of symbols - they cross language barriers and cultures. They speak to us on an unconscious level. Something in our soul, or our heart, has the conversation with them. We're just a lucky bystander in it all.
So as my friend reads my page, talking about our often extreme avoidance of pregnancy in our twenties, little did she know that I was referring to the very dolls she was about to gift to me. The circle completes itself I suppose.
The girl who laughed and wanted to rid herself of those mysterious little bodies now has them placed with reverence beside her bed.
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