The morning was quiet. Too quiet. The nza birds had not awoken from their deep slumber and the pigeons had not started their salutations to the sun. It was that hour before dawn when evil was at rest and the world was truly at peace.
Or so it seemed.
The cry that rent the peaceful morn would have been normal if it had come from the mouth of a wounded tigress, but the woman who ran half naked into the street was no feline.
Her lappa trailing behind her like a macabre train, she held a small bundle in her arms, smoothing its hair and crushing it to her breast. It was a baby, a dead baby, hers. People drew near, shaking their heads as though they were bobble heads.
Only a few hours ago, these same people had rejoiced, drunk in the euphoria of the woman who now stared at them, unseeing, mouth open, unspeaking.
She was Eliza, and she had been barren for 14 years. Having tried and tried for offspring, she and her husband Samuel had surrendered themselves to the old saying that “God's time is the best.”
They forgot their misery and moved on. But misfortune was not through with them yet, for Eliza conceived and bore a child.
The neighbourhood was agog with jubilation, Eliza and Samuel’s gate was thrown open. Even their snotty neighbours were not given the cold shoulder. All was well.
In the dead of the night, their unfortunate chi struck again, the baby was convulsing, shaking like a banana leaf on a harmattan morning.
Once again they were in the hospital. The sleepy rude nurse on duty took one look at them and continued to thumb through her fashion magazine--let them wait. Finally, she stood up, cleaned the pool of spittle on her desk, and sluggishly went to call a doctor.
It was just malaria, he said. This injection would do the trick, he said. Don’t worry, drugs are still good until after 3 months from the expiry date, he said. No one questioned him, he was the doctor.
Now, the little hands did not hold her, the little mouth did not look for its mother’s breast. Thaddeus, their own compound acada, was jumping up and down, shouting thesaurus-level invectives and gyrating with righteous anger.
“Samuel, you must fight, court! This matter must enter court! Sue that malevolent hospital and its staff in their entirety. That doctor must be a stupendous ignoramus. Imagine! I say we fight! It is your right, and your child’s right too. What an infringement of man’s indubitable human rights, I say we-“
Samuel held up his hand.
“Human rights, animal rights, this is not abroad my friend. I don’t want trouble. I’m a poor man, I am powerless against them. There is nothing that can be done, vengeance is for God. It is just a child...”
He trailed off, and slowly walked into the house, the wails of his wife mixed with Thaddeus’ cries of “crass ignorance!” ringing behind him.
nza = sparrow
chi = god/luck
acada = Academian
They suffer and die in silence, their voices are not heard. They say it is for the sake of "avoiding trouble", but I say fuck it --pardon my French.
Well, what if you don't? You never know if you don't go.
And what if you did lose? Doing something is way better and healthier than swallowing the pain and letting the bile pile. It might even give you closure.
Your case could help other unfortunate people in your shoes. As a precedent, it'll serve to strengthen theirs and they'll know what went wrong and how to tackle it.
Yes, sometimes it could take good deal of money to hire a good lawyer. However, there are some private lawyers, firms and organisations that provide pro bono legal services and information.
For those in need of this, you could check out this site.
Sometimes it's not okay to be quiet, it's not okay to just leave it. Stand up and fight back.
That's my uncle's car. He was in the army. Not someone to mess with.
Have a wonderful Friday night! I know I will.
