Cedric Cobham - The Downs Freak

  

"Rebecca the child will be a freak.  Give it up or do away with it.  It's not even human yet.

I never wanted a child, I told you to take precautions so that we would never end in this kind of mess.  Honey, you know I love you.......but I can't do this".  I can't have a "Downs Baby”.  Think about it, he will be made fun of and bullied.  How will he cope? It will drive you mad"!  He seemed to have the future all worked out.  

5 Years of love had ended as if it had no value........and perhaps it didn't.  

 "It not even human yet".  Tears rushed to her soul and spilled onto nervous hands trying to convince her to end the life she carried.  Guitar hands.  Her baby was no freak.  Nothing was going to change her mind about him.  They would find their way back home.

 He was all human.  They connected in the most incredible ways.  She felt him. He was her baby.  He felt, He spoke. He sensed and knew.  Ah yes, the world and science would disagree but then again, I am telling the story. You could think me mad of course.....

He took comfort in the froggy voice that croaked along to Beethoven’s 5th then when they rocked to the beat of Mike Jagger's "Dancing in the Street".

It was no secret that his mother loved rock music.  She was a rock guitarist.
The melancholy of Bon Jovi’s , “I will love you" always touched him because he knew it made her sad. He sensed her tears always.  Time was upon them.

He prodded around and memorised the home he lived in for 9 months.  His safe haven.
"Cedric"....she named him after her grandfather, James Cedric Cobham.
One of the craziest names ever.
Why not just James?
He made a mental note to ask her about such madness.  Of course he wasnt really processing all the information, he wasnt even born yet for goodness sake. Maybe memories are way ahead of us........waiting for us to simply become visible in the natural world.  All this could become very confusing.  Pure nonsense too.  Giving birth to a human is confusingly extraordinary.  A miracle that never ceases to amaze.  

Cedric trusted the hands that would hold him;
the love that would keep him warm in winter,
sandal his feet in spring and cap his curly crown in summer;
protect his eyes from autumn’s foliage.
He was so much more than instinct and reflex,
He was a rock star.

His mother was silent but he heard her every word
felt her anxiety.
He lay very very still.
She placed her palm over her belly and spoke in tender tones,
"Soon we finally get to hold each other my precious boy, and I can't wait to look into your angelic face and tell you how much I love you".
She slipped into deep mournful silence as she remembered – “Rebecca the child will be a freak....”.
Such passionate words that ripped her heart to shreds.  Honey, you know I love you.......but I can't do this".

She screamed as pain wound its talons around her soul, squeezing the last breath from her throat.

Cedric's shriek brought her back to life.  3,5 kg and kicking like a fish out of water.  

The midwife tagged him –
“Cedric”. That name again..........he really needed to have a talk with his mother - when he eventually learnt to talk of course.

Romeo’s bark was more real, it all sat inside him.
the whistling kettle all too familiar.
Rebecca smiled at the marvel she cuddled,
at the perfect bundle her "Bed of Roses" boyfriend told her to abort.
She had made many mistakes but this was not one of them.
“Hello my Prince Cedric”.

It didnt sound half as bad to him when she said it.

He smiled back but his face looked more like a twist of fate.
She felt soft and smelled like orange blossoms - just as he knew she would.

Hello mom.
Cedric Cobham snuggled closer as he drank from the stream of life.

his little head rested against her bosom. He struggled somewhat to drink. His tongue kept getting in the way of his feed, but eventually got the hang of it.

His mother was a wise and beautiful woman.
He was Rebecca Cobham’s boy. No down-syndrome freak but her prince.  

Meatloaf chanted from among trees and castles, "I would do anything for Love".

 Cedric lifted his backpack and placed it on the ground where he sat to gaze at the boats chugging down the Thames.  Strong the river ran, like an eager beaver brownskinned teen.  The sun dancing upon its face and evoking swift kicks in the behind. The sleek bank was damp with london drizzle and goose poo stuck like glue to the soles of his sneakers.  He was the inhabitant of Putney.  A rower of note.  "Let it run, let it glide".  his life was much like that.  Stop start. Move along. Stop.  No real plain sailing. He learnt to manage the challenges and fully embrace the joys.  It wasn't challenging enough to be the son of a white woman and a black man...(I forgot to mention that part)....oh no, God saw it fit to bless him with Mosaic Down Syndrome.  In some ways he had more intellectual and physical ability than  someone born withTrisomy 21.   

Anyway, all these medical terms may really confuse you but I threw it in for good measure.  How he suffered for being different but his mother, who never married ensured he receive the best education and opportunity. Built confidence into him and introduced him to the Thames.  He had to prove himself but eventually he became known as the Chris Burke of Cambridge.  In case you don't know, Chris Burke is an American Down Syndrome Actor who later became an advocate for down syndrome and disability.

 Chris became Cedric’s hero and he set out to prove that persons with disabilities can conquer the odds.  Even the odds of being the wrong skin colour.  Brown was all wrong in blue blood Cambridge.  Rowing was for the aristocrats.  But Rebecca Cobham's boy had her tenacity and he soon earned the position of coxswain in a crew of eight.  Never in the history of a professional Cambridge race has a down syndrome athlete ever rowed in competition, neither steered his crew to victory.  But Cedric Cobham achieved what all the bullies at school said he could not.  

 At thirty one years of age he smiles up at me and pats the space beside him.  His speech is slow, at times slurred, yet well-modulated, indicative of years of speech therapy.  He is short, thickly set but muscular from years of rowing.  Incredibly sharp beautiful eyes playfully mock my grunt at having to sit on the damp lawn.  Rebecca Cobham had died from a fatal hemorrhage three months after his 30th and he had everything she owned, including the identity and details of his father.  An African musician who left her pregnant and alone in South Africa – his home.  She had returned to her own country to give birth and raise her son with the help of her family.  His father was 58 years old.  Married with 3 “normal” children.  Rebecca kept him updated over the years.  Cedric, in his childlike manner always felt that Sipho Mokoena was undeserving of such honour. In mail he had sent Rebecca he mentioned that Cedric’s condition was caused by bad white blood because black people do not give birth to down syndrome children. 

It hurt. It insulted his hard work and “never give up” spirit.  It scarred his identity.  He was Sipho’s son after all.  His skin colour bore evidence of such…..his curly hair a target at his pure white school.  Somewhere along the line his father needed to look into his slanted, upturned eyes and see something of himself there.  To look into his face and tell him he never wanted to see him ever again.

 That’s the reason I now found myself beside a young man who told me his story one cool evening over English tea, cucumber sandwiches and all.  That was 12 months ago. He was decided in his goals.  He wanted to accompany me on my trip back to South Africa. My home.  He needed to meet the father who had been silent in his life. 

 “It may be a while before we reach your father Cedric. There are people I have to see beforehand”. 

 “I know and I don’t mind, who knowth, maybe I will find me before I get to him.  Like you…..I too am searching for the truth of who I am.  Chromothomes may not have clouded my vithion but I am thill to dithcover my greater meaning in thith world”. 

 He was right.  Cedric Cobham had altered my perspectives.  His brain may be impaired but his thinking was clear as daylight.  Thought – that part of man no scientist can define. When I listen to Cedric I know that there is a reservoir within that is filled with a magic that lightens every space through which we journey.   

 I was looking forward to returning home with Cedric Cobham by my side.

 

(C) Jambiya Kai

 From “Spit in My Left Eye” – Shifting Identity and A Relentless People.