Gaia, Mother of All

My name is Joris

Light of life

After growing for roughly 115 days in mommy's tummy, I'm born early in the morning. It's a Tuesday, I think.

Mommy has 19 kids this time. When I see the first light of life, already three brothers and two sisters have been born. Some are yawning, we're all covered in slime. One of my brothers isn't moving. Is he still asleep?

What a big world! I see a bright light that shines in my eyes, it's quite warm. And yet, it's cold. The cool air tickles my wet skin. The walls of the world are tall and dark, the floor is bleak.

There's a lot of noise around me, I hear yelling and crying, children are being born, mommies are moaning out in pain, babies are crying, ...

Mommy is stuck between metal bars, this way she can't crush us on accident when she's asleep. It's not fun for her. I can't imagine mommy crushing any one of us; if only she would have more space to roll and turn, then it wouldn't be a problem.

If she eats too much, the metal bars will press against her belly and back. And it's already so tight.

When all my eighteen brothers and sisters have come into this world, it becomes apparent that six of them didn't survive. Mommy is wailing, we do too.

One of my sisters is very weak, one of my brothers too. Mommy fears that they won't make it to the night. Mommy sobs even more. Mommy laments the entire day while we try to drink from her milk and cry with her.

Our first steps out of mommy's tummy are weird. It's a strange world out here.

Mommy is heartbroken.

I see other mommies with their kids. All mommies are mournful. Our dark world is somber. The bright, warm lights are not enough to make our mommies content.

We get a lot of food, we all grow into little chubbies. Soon we become bigger chubbies. Our childish bodies aren't meant to eat that much, to take up so many nutrients, but what else can you do? There is nothing to do around here. We can't play, we can't run, we can't frolic, ... we can only eat and sleep.

When we get bigger, even though we are still small children, a man comes to take some of us away. Each one of us that's a bit sick, is taken away. Each one of us who doesn't eat enough, is taken away. We are all so very afraid.

This goes on for a couple of months. Eat, sleep, eat, sleep. Be afraid. Eat, sleep.

Drive

The doors slide op. There's a light that feels different from the light in our living quarters. This light feels warm, even though it's cold outside. It feels refreshing and nourishing. Is this ... sunlight?

We are pushed and moved with sticks. If we aren't fast enough, we are hit. Sometimes we are even beaten without any reason. Our dry skin breaks easily. We are also stumped with boots. Or slapped on our heads. Or clubbed with some blunt object. I also saw a sharp object, but I can't tell if someone was hurt with it, even though I can only assume as much.

They force us into a small corridor. They keep on squeezing. We're cramped up with around 200, divided over several compartments. There's hardly any space left to turn. Everyone is hurt, some are in worse conditions than others. Henk, for example, limps. His leg is infected. But they don't care. What's even worse, he wasn't fast enough, so he got a beating. Even on his infected leg.