The doctor walked solemnly out of the critical care unit. It had been a long, tiresome night. He had stayed up with a team of nurses trying to sustain the patient. In the wee hours of the morning, her had spirit let go. Her lifeless body lain on the bed. Three decades of living had come to an end.
Doctor Cosmas stopped in his tracks. This was the part of his job he hated the most: delivering bad news to a patient’s family. He composed himself and continued. He saw her. Rehema had dozed off in one of the chairs in the waiting area. Fatigue was written all over her face. Clearly, this was going to be a tough one. He gently tapped her shoulders.
“Daktari, how is she now? Can I go in and see her?” mama Rehema asked hopefully. He swallowed hard. His next words were chosen carefully.
“Pole sana mama. I have some bad news. We did all we could to save her but her soul could not fight any longer. She was HIV positive and admitted not to have been taking her medicines for the past six months. The Tuberculosis was too much for her immune system to handle. Her pressure was too high as well. However, the baby survived. She is in the nursery. I am very sorry for your loss,” he said.
The news felt like a hard blow to the stomach. Rehema’s knees felt week. Her head was spinning in a daze. She felt faint. The world blacked out in front of her eyes. Doctor Cosmas had to quickly call the nurse and take her to the emergency care unit. When she came around, her family was by her side. She was coming to terms with the news. Her only daughter, Bahati was no more.
The funeral was planned for the weekend. It was a Saturday. Bahati was survived by two children; both girls. The eldest one Sifa, was ten years old and the youngest was only a week. Sifa dressed in a black cotton dress held on to her grandmother’s sweater. She could not comprehend why so many people had assembled in their compound wearing black.
“Shushu , what is in that long, white box with a picture on it? When is mom coming? She said she will take me to Mombasa to see the big, blue ocean. We will go by train. I have never been on a train before. Will you come with us?, Sifa asked innocently. Her grandmother shushed her to keep quiet.
“People of God, we are gathered here today to big farewell to our beloved sister Bahati. From dust we came and from dust we shall return. Naked we came from the Lord and naked we shall return,” said the priest.
After the sermon, family gathered to give their last respects as the body was lowered into the grave. A mother should never be able to bury her children. Rehema was beyond console.
At 50 years she never imagined standing over her daughter’s grave. It was supposed to be the other way round. That was the law of nature. Nature was a conformer to none. The world was changing. New diseases were coming up. The recent one HIV and AIDS was claiming lives both young and old. The doctors had said it had no cure. Bahati had been in denial when she was diagnosed with it. Now she was no more.
Sifa stood next to her sobbing grandmother over her mother’s grave. She did not know it then but she was saying good bye to her mama. Mombasa was no more. She would not be there to take her to school next term. She would not be there to accompany her to her first day in high school.
She would never know when she got her first crush. She would not be there to comfort her when she gets her heart broken. She would miss her graduation, her first job celebration and definitely her walk down the aisle.
Maybe one day she would understand what HIV was but for now it had robbed her off a lifetime. From now it was just grandma and her. She looked back once last time as they walked away holding hands. Goodbye mama.
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