How do you react when your 6-year old suddenly walks up to you and asks by what means you were able to sire her and her little sister? Well, in case you are wondering what this is all about, here’s my story. My little daughter walked up to me two days ago and the following conversation ensued between us.

Keji: Mummy, I want to ask you a question.

Mum: Go ahead, I’m listening.

Keji: How did you get pregnant for me and Mobola?

Unwilling to accept as true what I felt she was asking I employed the tactic of answering her question with another.

Mum: How do you mean?

As you would expect she repeated the question and again. This time I resorted to pretence and calling her slowly by her full name, I said, “Morenikeji, I don’t understand your question.

Then came the bombshell. In plain unambiguous language she asked, “Who got you pregnant for me and Mobola?” Failing to find a quick exit, I answered as sincerely as I could, “Your daddy”. Thinking that had done the trick, I turned to move away from her so I could at least put an end to this unwanted and embarrassing conversation but not so quick. Not with my Morenikeji. In quick sure steps she ran in front of me to block my way and then went for the kill with one loaded word, “HOW?”

Ladies, I had no answer (and I still don’t, at least, for her age) to give her so I just did a quick buck passing, “Go and ask your daddy”.

Of course I knew my daughter well enough to know she would not let the matter rest until she had a satisfactory answer so to pre-empt her I made a quick dash for the sitting room where her daddy was watching the television to warn him of the coming inquisition. My husband was shocked to say the least and just threw up his hands in exasperation, “I’m in trouble, God help me o”.

Well, we succeeded in “stalling” her question as my husband resorted to “parental intimidation” when she came down the stairs to put the question to him.

“What is the time? He roared at her. Are you not supposed to be in bed? Will you get your butts to your room before I catch up with you or I’ll thrash you so hard, you’ll be sorry.” And with dad’s words spoken with the sternest voice he could muster, she made a dash for her room.

Instinctively, my husband and I looked at one another and exchanged a conspiratory wink and heaved a sigh of relief. Why not? After all we had succeeded – or didn’t we – in putting the matter at rest.

Now did I hear someone ask, “For how long?”