I felt sick and went to the hospital for a check-up. They told me I was pregnant and in labor, but that it was still too early for deliver and I would have to come the next day.

A counsellor of sorts, an invisible figure because I never saw him or her, an angel perhaps, told me to go to the house of the mother.

The mother was a tall and slender black woman, very beautiful. We had a chance encounter nine months earlier after dancing at a nightclub. The woman was skittish and nervous, and my angel advised me not to try to make conversation with her.

At times it was her who appeared to be pregnant, and I worried about being a good provider. I thought: when she really gets to know who I am, she will love me. When it was me who was pregnant, I was fearful that she would leave me alone with the baby to fend it off on my own.

I was relieved that this had not been deliberate. It is when I try to make things happen that they go wrong. This pregnancy was not a project but an accident, and accidents tend to turn out alright for me.

I didn’t know if we would remain together to raise a child, and even though I liked the idea I knew everything would be alright either way.

My angel told me not to smoke or drink and everything would be fine.