‘Good evening, Moomi.' My knees trembled as they touched the concrete floor. ‘Are you pregnant now?' She said without looking up from the tray of groundnuts. [...] ‘Why won't you allow my son to have a child?' She slapped the tray of groundnuts on the floor and stood up. ‘I don't manufacture children. God does.' [...] ‘Have you ever seen God in a labour room giving birth to a child? Tell me, Yejide, have you ever seen God in the labour ward? Women manufacture children and if you can't you are just a man. Nobody should call you a woman.'

The main character ponders over her education and career: “What else can I do? Once you've gone this far you aren't fit for anything else. Something happens to your mind. You're overqualified, overspecialized, and everybody knows it.”