Death on the doorsteps of Mulago (Part Two)
At the entrance of Mulago, we saw something that sunk our hearts deep in the bottomless sea of pain. From the hospital’s main entrance one can clearly see the road heading to Kamwokya. It is from this view that we were met by this disturbing sight. A couple hurriedly alighted from a taxi. The man held something to his chest, heavily covered. It was a baby. The baby’s lifeless head lay on his left shoulder. Beside him a woman tagged along, panting and one could tell that she hardly had time to dress in a better outfit.
The ‘bodaboda‘ guys, “bodaboda” is in reference to a means of transport by use of motorbikes. These usually come in handy during rush hour as they can easily at very dangerous speeds and maneuvers snake through traffic. The bodaboda guys watched from their stages. A scene of bystanders was slowly being caused as the couple moved out. The people inside the taxi must have prayerfully looked on as the couple alighted. After alighting, they moved to the shade, the man opened part of the thick sheets that covered the baby, looked into the face of the child, he put his hand around the neck, as though for temperature or any sign of life, something that they both could hold on as a sign. We anxiously looked on; I could hear my heart pumping with all its might.
At this moment, I wished I was a Doctor, I wished I could be of help. Despite not having any medical knowledge. I went through the many numerous options available and finally, the pain of being human led us to inch closer to them. Like everyone else, we urged them to rush to the hospital. The gates of Mulago hospital stood wide open, therein stood the hope of this child beckoning. The man seemed to be already weak from the ordeal, He moved but with a hurried slow difficulty. He was carrying a life that was only held together by a loose string. This string would snap any time if he did not hurry, walking beside him we urged him on in the direction of the open Hospital gate.
As they moved, he pushed his hand through the sheets to reach for, the baby’s chest….as though to check for the heartbeat. He needed a final reassurance, that the baby was alive. He stopped walking, he seemed to be checking for the heartbeat, a look of confusion ran all over his face. He shook the baby frantically while at the same time trying to open the baby’s eyes…but they seemed not open… he turned to the woman and said, ‘Omwana Atufuddeko’ loosely translated to mean: “the child has left us”. Maybe in the now lifeless body lay a leader, doctor, or teacher. We will never get to know that.
The woman broke down. The weight of the news and her already fail frame weighed down by tension, worry and pain slumped to the ground. She probably knew the inevitable would come, but not in this way. Her screams wailed in the wind as she rolled on the dusty ground. The man simply sat on the ground seemingly lost for words. He too cried the kind that comes from deep within. the kind not spoken by any word. His sad frame still haunts that place. Tell me how do you console a parent who’s just lost a child? How do you tell them that, all will be okay? Having no answers, we failed to keep a sane composure, we too broke down and cried. I cried for the lost soul, for the mother whose screams filled the place, I cried for the man whose pain was only in the silent tears. This could have been my child, I kept crying. Hot tears rolled down and to my mouth leaving heavy a salty taste. How could we be so hopeless to another one in need? We looked on helplessly, biting our teeth in anguish. The pain of being human!
I do not know this couple, but like someone who has a child, I could only imagine what they were going through.
Someone tried to take the dead child away from the man. He held tightly onto his dead child. He turned violent and would not let anyone touch the lifeless child. People stepped back and watched in sympathy. Some “boda boda” guys advised that they continue to the hospital while others advised against it, “if the baby is already dead”, they argued “Do not waste time because you will be charged extra money, to cater for the bills accumulated in the morgue”
I looked at the man. In a society where a man is seen or expected to be strong, emotionless, and not supposed to cry, I watched a fellow man trying to stitch his emotions together to hold back the already rolling tears. I knew I had to be strong, so I folded my lips to contain some of my tears. Other people attended to the woman who was now motionless, while others gave different views to the man on what to do.
He covered the lifeless body of his baby still held firmly to his chest, speechless, lost, angry, sad, and broken. His eyes oscillated from one person to another. Looking directly into his eyes, you could see that he was struggling to keep some sought of sanity. He bent from time to time to scratch his face against his shoulder as though something was itching him. He was doing this to contain the tears. A bystander lent him a phone, he made the phone call. Sad news carried through the airwaves to his home. He then gathered strength, His wife too had regained some consciousness.
They sat on bodaboda still holding onto the lifeless body and sped off. Sneaking through the morning traffic bearing the news of death. I watched the bodaboda as it gathered speed and then distanced blurred it and wiped it out of my sight. a sad feeling hangs around me like an ominous garb.
I looked on and felt so hurt. I remembered the words of Jay Neugeboren who once said;
“A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. Is there a word for a parent that loses a child ?”