When she was old enough to speak, “Onyi Ami ma nehi (Mummy I Want to go home” was her first sentence.
She was always falling sick. If it wasn’t Ovangoro (Fever) it’ll be Ineva (diarrhea). If it wasn’t an Ine (Stomach) it’ll be her Iresu (head). There was always something wrong with her and she was always saying “Onyi Ami Ma Nehi”.
It makes me sad all the time, why cant she make me happy for once, this is not what i wished for while i was pregnant! this is never what i signed on for with my creator! It scared me for a while why she would keep on repeating the something over and over again until I figured it out.
I used to work long hour and she goes to a private nursery school at Inoziomi, It breaks my heart to leave a sick child in the hand of strangers in the name of education, but what can i do? i must work to provide for us, I’m a single mother that can’t afford a house-help.
As i turned up at her school gate to pick her up, she’s bounding out with her little backpack strapped at her back, and she was shouting “Onyi Ami Ma Nehi (Mummy I want to go home), It was as if she has been waiting forever to get out of there.
she was six years old when she fell sick again and had to be admitted to General Hospital Okene. All the doctor tests proved inconclusive.
As I kept vigil at her bedside she would drift in and out of consciousness muttering “ mummy I want to go home”. With tears streaming down my face I would re-assure her that as soon as she was well enough I would take her home.
One night I woke to her gasping for air. As I cradled her in my arms I summoned the duty nurse who came running. She took one look at her and dashed off to find a doctor.
When the doctor came he did all the usual checks: took her pulse, listened to her heart beat and flicked open her eyelids.
By the time he got up from the side of her bed the look on his face said it all.
He pulled me away, to the ward’s side office, and gave me the news I was dreading.
She was sinking fast and there was nothing he could do. Hopelessness was written all over him.
How long has she got, I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders: he didn’t know.
It was too late to call anybody so I rushed back to her side with the doctor in tow.
Her breathing was becoming shallower and laborious and all the equipment she was hooked up to were beeping away in a language of their own. With tears streaming down my face in torrents I turned to the doctor for an interpretation.
He didn’t say anything. He shook his head slowly, put his hand on my shoulder, as if to re-assure me, smiled weakly and walked away.
She looked so peaceful and serene as she lay there: you wouldn’t think anything was wrong with her.
She must have heard me sobbing for she opened her eyes and what could be described as a smile crossed her face.
“ Onyiami…”, she began, struggling to get each word out,”…Mesuhu Anehi” (I am on my way home…
She closed her eyes and was gone.
No parent deserve the death of their child, May God be with everyone that has lost someone…
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Also Read: The Ebira Concept Of Ozi Emasu And Enebe.