I witnessed a mother taking her deathly ill daughter (to the hospital, I imagined) on the back of a boda boda, this morning.
Precariously balancing her own weight on this wasp of bolts, wheels and a motor engine.
Cradling her sickly daughter in her arms (understand that the daughter is a full grown adult, the disease has wasted her) who is seated side-straddle on the same bike. The rider is doing all he can to get them to their destination in the shortest time possible and as safely as his banged up, reconditioned motorcycle can wheeze through traffic at the height of Kansanga’s early morning rush.
My heart came away from this sighting, feeling a certain kind of way.
I feel useless thinking back on it. There wasn’t anything I could do in that time and space.
If it was up to me, I’d have commandeered one of those lead cars that clear the traffic for overly conceited officials in leadership; pile mother and daughter into that car, pay the motorcycle rider a generous tip, and proceed to rush them to one of those high end medical facilities whose parking lot is littered with posh vehicles bearing official licence plates; have a garney brought out; get the best physician to take a good look at her, prescribe meds, and follow up on her progress…
I said a prayer for her, may she make a full recovery. I know my God hears my cry for help for her, which is more than I can say for the officials who take up space in office, for terms on end,while mothers continue to die from avoidable complications.
Till next time,
Easy does it.
Be kind to everyone you meet. The alternative is easy.
Do the harder thing.