The next day something new stirs within me; vitality. I feel it move from my spirit to my body. I can sit now.
“Tell my family I am getting better so they can come see me.” I told the nurse as she gave me breakfast.
“They are not allowed here.” she says gently. I did not know she had the capacity to speak so gently. “You are getting better.” She smiles. I see something I had not seen in her eyes before; hope. I am no longer a corpse waiting to die I am a human being now.
“When can I leave?” I venture to ask.
“Maybe tomorrow. We need to monitor you.” She responds. A whole two days elapse before I am allowed to leave the wretched clinic. The longest two days of my life. The little girl next to me was too weak to speak. I recognised her from school. Her name was Lwando.
“Lwando I know you are scared. Do not be. You will get better.” I told her. I don’t know if she heard me. I hoped she heard me. The old were there ones who were supposed to die not the young. Ebola had changed that. Now everyone was dying like cockroaches after fumigation. Old, young, rich, poor we were all dying. We were all dying because of the fumigation. But who was the fumigator? Some of the medical staff and patients said it was the devil. But some of them said it was God punishing us for disobeying him. That first he had sent AIDs but since people did not stop their wicked ways he brought Ebola to deliver retribution like the floods that Noah ran from. I gave Lwando a hug,
“I will pray for you every day. You will get better.” I whispered to her. “And then you too can go home to your Mother.”
“Let’s go.” The nurse said. She walked me out of the tent all the way till we were at the gate. I saw Thanda, My father and mother. I ran upto them.
They each hugged me slowly and reluctantly like they were afraid of me. Father did not press me against his chest as he always does. Mother did not kiss me on both cheeks as she always did. Only Thanda hugged me as she usually does.
As we walked home people moved from one side of the road to avoid me. I saw them starring and whispering. I was so excited about being reunited with my loved ones that I did not think much of it.
“We are sorry to have left you alone there but we were scared.” Mother said.
“I know.” I told her.
“I am so glad you are back.” Thanda said. “I was bored without you.”
“She cried every night you were away.” Father said.
“Why?” I said looking at my twin.
“People said that you would die. And I would never see you again.” Thanda said shyly.
“I will not die.” I smiled. “I will not die.”
Mother laughed and placed her arm in mine.
“I missed you.” She told me. “We thought we lost you.”
“God has been so kind to us.” Father said.
“Such a long queue,” Thanda sighed. “We will be here forever.”
As we approached the borehole the ten women who were queuing to get water all dispersed.
“Where are they going?” I asked Thanda. She shrugged. We drew our water and returned home. When we told mother what had happened she told me that “they had moved away because they knew I had just recovered from a big sickness and was too weak to stand on a line for too long.”
I smiled. I felt at ease. I feared that the women were afraid of me. I was glad to hear they were just being considerate. After we had finished eating our soya porridge Thanda and I went to play outside. I saw my friends from school playing fulayi my favourite game. I had dreamt I was playing this at the clinic. Remembering my many games had kept me entertained.
I ran upto the girls. They let me be the ball thrower. I was patiently waiting my turn to be in the middle so I could show off my ball dodging skills. It was almost my turn to get in the middle when Tadala’s mother came. She rushed to us angrily. She grabbed Tadala’s arm and pulled her away. “I told you not to play with her.” she screamed. “I told you! You disobedient child!”
From inside their house I could hear her mother whipping her.
That afternoon we returned to the clinic so the nurse could check if I was really okay. She put a needle in my skin near my elbow and took a lot of blood from me. It was painful I cried.
“Here you go my brave girl.” father said giving me a sweet. I wiped my tears and placed it in my mouth; letting its sweetness flow all over my tongue. It almost made me forget the pain.
“I wanted to ask you something.” I said shyly to the nurse.
“What is it?” the mean nurse was smiling again. Why did she treat me so differently now. When I was sick she was always yelling at us.
“Where is Lwando?”
She looked down at the floor, then my father. “Lwando…Lwando…is.” she said slowly. “She died yesterday.”
I threw myself and rolled on the floor. I could not hear my screams but I felt the pain vibrating out of my body through tears and screams. I abandoned her and she died. I should not have left her alone. I knew she was weak but I left her. I was thinking of only myself. I was thinking of being with Thanda and Mother and Father. I left her. I left her alone. She was only seven years old and I left her alone. It is my fault she died. It is my fault Lwando died. I should not have left her. Father and the nurse tried to calm me down. They told me Lwando was in heaven now that God had wanted her to return to him because he loved her so much. I heard Father tell me that Lwando was an angel now. That she was probably singing in the choir of God this very moment. I stopped rolling and looked at him. I felt dizzy and my limbs hurt.
“You know when children die they become angels.” He told me.
“Daddy, would I have become an angel if I died.” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Then I wish I died so I could be an angel with Lwando. So we could sing together.” I told him. He wiped the tears off my face.
“Let’s go home.” he said leading me outside the nurse’s office.
We were singing Amazing Grace, Lwando, Mayi Mabvuto, the other little girl who died and me. We were all in white flowy dresses that covered our toes and hands. On top of our heads were golden crowns. Mai Mabvuto was holding her daughter in her arms. Her daughter would coo and giggle when we sang. The choir master had wings but we had not gotten ours yet. After we sang the choir master took us to another room. He gave Lwando small wings, he gave Mai Mabvuto big wings, he was about to give me two big fluffy white wings when I heard:
“Mago…Magodise!” I opened my eyes. It was Thandanani calling me.
“We should get ready for school.” she told me.
No one would sit with me at school. They all whispered ‘ebola’. When the teacher came, he took me to the headmaster’s office. He told the headmaster that I should not be allowed in his class because I was a danger to other students and I could make them sick.
“She is infected. People like her should not be allowed back into the school.” he rumbled on. “I feel sick just being in the same class with her. I feel ill just breathing the same air as she is. Don’t you??”
I opened the door of the headmaster’s office. I ran home, swimming through the waves of dust on the road home. The headmaster was calling after me but I was kept running. I could not be bothered by the tears that dripped down my face or his call or the stares of my schoolmates. I needed to be home. I was home for a long time before Mother came back from the market.
“What are you doing here?” mother asked. I did not answer. I just stared at the wall in front of me. She asked me again, I was silent. She asked her again. I could not hear her. He called me infected. Why did he call me infected when the doctor’s said I was better? Did the doctor lie to me? Was I still sick? I felt the pain of the stick hit my back.
“You insolent child!” mother screamed. “How dare you ignore me? Return to school immediately.”
I lay down. I did not cry as Mother hit me again demanding an answer. I closed my eyes. Lwando, I wanted to be with Lwando. I wanted to be where she was. When I awoke, I found myself in a hospital bed.
“You fainted because your mother foolishly whipped you.” Father said.
“I am sorry,” Mother said. “Your headmaster told me what happened. I should not have whipped you. I had a long day at the market and no one bought my tomatoes. I am sorry.” she was crying.
“No one would sit with her in class.” Thanda said.
“They look at me as though I am a ghost.” I told them. “They look at me with fear. Why do they think I am still sick?”
“They are ignorant and afraid.” Father said.
“No one wants to play with me because their parents told them not to. My teacher fears us sharing air.” I was a storm inside a storm of rain and lightning and thunder but my voice was calm. “I wish I had died like Lwando! I would be in heaven. I would be singing in a choir. I would have wings. No one would look at me as though I was a ghost. I would be with Mai Mabvuto. I wish I was dead. I wish I had died. I wish I was in heaven!”
“Don’t say that!” Mother cried angrily. “Don’t say that.” She was shaking her head. “Your sister would be alone had you died. We would be parents of one child instead of two. We would be without a part of our hearts Magodise. Do not say that. Do not wish such sorrow upon us.”
Father was crying. I had only seen Father cry once at his younger brother’s funeral. Uncle had died of Ebola.
“Listen to your mother.” he pleaded.
The following month, Father sold his farm and we moved to the north. Here no one knows I had Ebola. Here no one knows I beat the disease. No one looks at me as a Ghost anymore. I can play with my friends. No one gets in trouble for being my friend. On some days I think of Lwando and Mai Mabvuto. I wonder how beautiful they look with their wings. On those days I want to be with them but on most days I want to be here with Thanda, Mother and Father.
Creator's Note
Patients that survived ebola were often stigmatised by their communities.
I have been told this story is dark. Are you finding it to be that way?
Is it depressing?
Did you enjoy it? Please let me know.
I realise that some of you are wordsmiths. If you are interested, could you write a synopsis for this story. Send it to writtenbywongile@gmail.com. I will post it with acknowledgements.
thank you for reading.
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