NINMAH: How I Mothered Your Ancestors’ Ancestors
Chapter One: The First Hybrid
Author’s Note: This narrative draws from Sumerian tablets as interpreted by Zecharia Sitchin, combined with additional research into ancient accounts of human origins. What follows is told from the perspective of Ninmah, Chief Medical Officer of the Anunnaki expedition to Earth, as she recounts the creation of humanity’s earliest ancestors.
The clay vessel felt cool in my hands, its African earth still damp from the river. I set it beside my crystal apparatus and looked across the laboratory at Enki. My former fiancé caught my gaze and smiled – that old spark still there between us, even after everything.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded. Behind him, his son Ningishzidda made final adjustments to the ME formulas on our computer interface. The crystalline display cast blue light across his focused face.
We’d tried everything else. The miners in the Abzu goldfields had rebelled again last month, and this time they’d nearly killed the overseers. We needed workers – beings who could tolerate Earth’s atmosphere and gravity, who could dig the gold we desperately needed to save Nibiru’s failing atmosphere. The powdered gold suspended in our planet’s upper atmosphere was our only hope against the radiation leaking through the breach in our protective shield.
But creating such a being? That required combining our Anunnaki essence with creatures already adapted to Earth – the two-legged females the ancient Lyrans had seeded here millennia ago and left to evolve. Homo erectus, Ningishzidda called them, using the classification system he’d developed.
“Since your previous measures failed,” I told Enki, “we must create a unique mixture in a different way. We can’t harm the Earth portion. We must shape the combination so it receives our essence gradually, not all at once.”
Enki had captured one of the Earth females – though he claimed she’d volunteered. I chose not to press him on that point. We had larger concerns.
I lifted the ovum carefully, placed it in my crystal vessel, and added the Anunnaki seed under precise conditions. The ME formulas guided each step – those ancient genetic programs our scientists had perfected over millions of years. When the fertilization took hold, I transferred the zygote back into the Earth female’s womb using techniques I’d mastered in my medical training on Nibiru.
She conceived. All our instruments confirmed it. We monitored her daily as her belly swelled. But when the appointed time arrived, nothing happened. Days passed. Then weeks.
Finally, I made the incision myself and used tongs to extract the newborn.
Enki shouted. Ningishzidda cried out in triumph. But as I held the tiny creature in my hands, disappointment flooded through me. Hair covered his body like the Earth creatures. His forearms bent wrong. Only his hind parts resembled ours.
We gave him to his birth mother. He suckled and grew with alarming speed – a full month’s growth in what felt like a single Nibiran day. But he couldn’t use tools. Couldn’t speak. Just grunted and snorted like an animal.
“Again,” I said. “We adjust the mixture.”
We repeated the procedure. Different ME sequences. Different timing. Different proportions. This pregnancy went better. When I delivered the second attempt, he looked more Anunnaki. Almost right. His hands could grip. But testing revealed he was blind and deaf.
Then came the parade of failures.
Paralyzed feet. Constantly dripping semen. Trembling hands. Malfunctioning liver. Arms too short to be useful. Lungs that couldn’t process Earth’s oxygen properly.
Each birth broke my heart a little more. Each failure meant more Anunnaki miners suffering in the goldfields while we fumbled in the laboratory.
Enki studied our notes for days, barely sleeping. Finally he looked up. “The mixture isn’t the problem. The crystal vessel – your crystal vessel, Ninmah – it’s too pure. These hybrids need minerals, trace elements. Let’s use Earth clay instead. Add gold and copper to the amniotic fluid.”
I shaped a vessel from African clay with my own hands. Prepared the purifying bath. Combined the Earth ovum with our genetic material, enhanced with the ME programs. Inserted the fertilized egg into the surrogate.
We waited.
“There is conception!” I announced, trying to contain my hope.
When labor began, I delivered the child myself. Male. Perfect proportions. Skin a deep reddish-brown like the clay. He cried with strong lungs.
Joy exploded through the laboratory. Enki and Ningishzidda embraced, slapping each other’s backs. Then Enki pulled me into his arms and kissed me – a brief moment where all the old feelings rushed back.
I gave the baby to his Earth mother. He nursed. Grew rapidly. Developed into a beautiful child. His limbs worked perfectly. He could grip, manipulate, learn tasks.
But he still couldn’t speak. Couldn’t understand our language. Only grunted.
Enki paced the laboratory for hours, reviewing every step. Then he stopped and turned to face me.
“We’ve never changed one variable,” he said slowly. “The womb. We always implant in the Earth female. But if we want this child in our image and likeness, perhaps we need an Anunnaki womb.”
The words hung in the air between us.
“Where is the Anunnaki female who will volunteer?” Enki continued. “Who will risk carrying either the perfect worker or a monster?”
He started to say he’d ask Ninki, his spouse. I cut him off.
“No. I made the admixtures. I should face the reward or the danger.”
Enki bowed his head. When he looked up, his eyes were wet. He embraced me gently. “So be it.”
That night, alone in my quarters, the fears came flooding in. Would the other Anunnaki shun me for carrying a hybrid? Would foreign DNA corrupt my own genome, affect any Anunnaki children I might bear later? Who would raise this child if it survived? Evolution required both nature and nurture – would it ever learn to speak if raised by grunting Earth creatures?
And the larger question haunted me: were we breaking Federation law by creating a new species without authorization?
We’d need hundreds of these workers. Thousands, eventually. How many Anunnaki wombs would we require? How many volunteers could I find?
Exhausted, I finally slept. In my dreams, Enki showed me the future – billions of these beings covering Earth, building magnificent cities. They traveled between worlds. Created art, music, poetry. Advanced civilizations based on love and beauty, not just survival. All my children. All existing because of what I was about to do.
When I woke, Enki stood beside my bed. Somehow he’d known I needed him.
“The Primitive Worker we create,” he said softly, “actualizes the divine will of the Creator of All. You benefit all Anunnaki, all future humanity, and the Federation itself.”
“Enlil will say I’m breaking Federation rules.”
“You’re fulfilling your destiny. We’re not just saving Nibiru from atmospheric collapse. We’re saving Anunnaki from extinction. Our North-South war’s radiation has damaged us. We’re losing hybrid vigor. Many of us are becoming infertile.”
He took my hand. “Maybe these Primitive Workers will save us while we ensure their survival with our technology. Together, we could build something greater than either species alone.”
I looked into his eyes and saw the man I’d almost married, before duty and politics separated us. “Let’s begin.”
Ningishzidda prepared the clay vessel. I provided the Earth ovum. Enki contributed his essence, carefully measured and combined according to the refined ME formulas we’d perfected through all those failures.
Then Enki inserted the fertilized egg into my womb.
I closed my eyes, focusing inward. I felt it implant into my uterine wall – a strange sensation, carrying life that was part me, part him, part something entirely new.
Would the pregnancy last nine Nibiran months or nine Earth months? Would I carry for years or just weeks? Nobody knew.
Fear flickered through me daily. Doubt whispered that I was insane. But my core conviction never wavered. This would work. For all of us.
I carried the embryo longer than any Anunnaki pregnancy on Earth, but shorter than our normal term on Nibiru. When labor began, Enki delivered our creation himself.
He lifted the infant, examined him quickly, then slapped his small bottom. The newborn made sounds – real sounds, not animal grunts.
Enki handed him to me. I raised him above my head and shouted in victory: “With my hands, I have made it!”
But one detail caught Enki’s attention. The infant’s penis looked different from Anunnaki males – skin covered the tip, creating an unusual appearance.
Enki smiled. “Let the foreskin distinguish the Earthling from us.”
The baby cried at that pronouncement. I pulled him to my breast and he latched on immediately, suckling with fierce hunger. My heart melted.
“We have attained perfection,” Ningishzidda announced.
Enki watched me nurse the child. His expression shifted – he no longer saw a laboratory experiment. He saw mother and son.
I stroked the infant’s deep reddish-brown skin, so different from my own pale tone. Everyone in the lab gathered around, smiling.
“Adamu,” I said. “I name him Adamu, because he is like the clay of Earth.”
After Adamu fell asleep in the crib we’d prepared, Enki leaned close and whispered with barely contained excitement: “We have our model. Now we need a host of workers like him.”
Ningishzidda nodded. “Whose wombs will carry them?”
“I’ll summon my doctors from Shurubak,” I said. “I’ll explain the task and let them choose freely.”
The next day, seven Anunnaki physicians arrived at our African laboratory. I stood before them holding Adamu, letting him nurse as I spoke.
“I’m asking – not commanding – that you volunteer as surrogates. Though I’m a Princess, daughter of King Anu himself, I make this a request. Your choice. If you bear these children, we can duplicate this model, create the mine workers we need, and send the Nibiran commoners home from the goldfields.”
Seven stepped forward immediately.
“Let us remember their names forever,” I told Enki. “Their task is heroic.”
Ningishzidda recorded them: Ninimma, Shuzianna, Ninmada, Ninara, Ninmug, Musardu, and Ningunna.
I extracted Adamu’s essence carefully. Ningishzidda prepared seven clay vessels with seven Earth ova. I added Adamu’s genetic material bit by bit to each vessel.
Then I made a small incision in Adamu’s penis and collected one drop of blood.
“Let this blood be a sign,” I intoned, “that flesh and soul have combined forever.”
I added one drop to each vessel and chanted: “In this clay’s admixture, I bind Earthling with Anunnaki. Two essences unite – one of Heaven, one of Earth. What is of Earth becomes bound by blood to what is of Nibiru in kinship.”
I implanted each fertilized ovum personally, looking each volunteer in the eyes, blessing her, thanking her, sending her love and warmth through my touch.
All seven conceived. All seven gave birth to perfect male Earthlings with excellent features. They made gentle sounds, not grunts. The heroic mothers nursed them at their breasts.
“Now we repeat the procedure,” Ningishzidda said.
But Enki shook his head. “This is too demanding. Too slow. We need thousands of workers, not dozens. The task exceeds what we can ask of our women.”
“Far too demanding,” I agreed. “Beyond enduring.”
Enki looked at me. “We must create females as counterparts to these males. Let them procreate themselves. Through their own childbearing, they’ll make Primitive Workers. Our women will no longer need to serve as surrogates.”
I considered the implications. Yes, we needed to act quickly – Nibiru’s atmosphere deteriorated daily, and our species faced extinction if we failed. But the genetic exchange went both ways. What effect would less-evolved DNA have on the Anunnaki women who carried these hybrids? Would we become less ourselves? Would others shun us? Would foreign genetic material affect any Anunnaki children we bore later?
And who would raise all these children? Did their evolution depend equally on nature and nurture? Would they reach their full potential?
Yet perhaps Enki was right. Perhaps these Primitive Workers would save us while we protected them with our advanced technology and knowledge of cosmic dangers. Together, we might create a civilization neither species could achieve alone.
A kinder civilization.
One built on cooperation instead of domination.
I looked down at Adamu sleeping peacefully in my arms, his small hand curled against my breast.
“Yes,” I said finally. “Let’s create the females.”
To be continued…
About this series: “Anunnaki: Life on Nibiru” presents dramatized first-person accounts based on Sumerian texts as interpreted by Zecharia Sitchin, combined with additional research into ancient astronaut theories and human origins. While presented as narrative, these stories draw from thousands of years of recorded history and cross-cultural creation accounts.
For more on the Anunnaki and human origins, visit enkispeaks.com and schoolofancientwisdom.com.
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