SWEET MIRACLE

By Favour Okere

Sweet Miracle,

I am writing this beside your grave. I can’t do this at home because all the show of pity and sympathy is almost choking me. Indeed, most humans are hypocrites. Yesterday, I watched some of them shed genuine tears whilst others wept like crocodiles. Remember Mama Ejima, the woman that said you were an imbecile because I had used you for money rituals, she was one of the weeping crocodiles. I can swear I had heard her laughter ringing in the compound some minutes before she came in, wearing a ridiculous long face and cursing death atop her voice. They expected me to wail too, and curse death for snatching you but I didn’t. I smiled instead. You should have seen the bemused expression on their faces. They all think I’m going mad but I won’t stop smiling. Your life should be celebrated, not mourned.

Baby, I will never forget the beautiful moments we shared; even though the ugly ones still remain entrenched in my memory. Like when your teacher called you mad.

‘Madam, we don’t train mad children here. Miracle doesn’t know anything! You should take her to a psychiatric hospital or a rehab,’ she mouthed.

Did you know I felt like yanking off her wig or tearing her fat face apart? But instead, I calmly told her that you were not mad, you just had Down’s syndrome. And she shrugged as if to say-what’s the difference? Or when that prophet had almost raped you. He claimed your case was spiritual so he had to ‘enter’ into you to deliver you. How your condition made us wander from pillar to post, from prayer house to shrine. Sometimes, I wish I didn’t make you take those potions, that smelt like urine; or those drugs, that almost took your life. But don’t blame me too much for I was just a desperate mother who wanted to see her child be like every other child. I was tired of the rejection, shame and sleepless nights.

Lest I forget, Dr. Aisha, the founder of Rainbow foundation, came around yesterday morning. Yes, the same woman that made me realise you were very special. The one that caused me to rip off my garments of ignorance and put on light; when she told me you could attend a special school and do special things like every other child. She caused me to stop wishing for what would have been and start appreciating what was. Did you know I shed tears of joy when I saw you running, playing and getting injured like other kids? Did you know I cried the day you gave me that necklace you made for me? Dr. Aisha made me rise up and inform the world about Down’s syndrome.

‘The extra chromosome is neither a punishment for sins nor a curse. Let them live life!’ I would chant on World Down Syndrome Day.
I know you would have done more special things if leukemia hadn’t come. Everyone says you fought bravely but I really wish I had fought it for you. Perhaps, you wouldn’t still have won if I had done the fighting. I’m glad you took your last breathe in my arms, with a big smile plastered on your face.

Honey, mummy deeply misses you. She misses your infectious smile and cute almond eyes. She hopes life over there is as perfect as they say it is. Just a little more patience and mummy will be with you. She will make your hair again, fix pretty ribbons in it and tell you about Jesus’ love for little children. Kachifo.

                                                        

Love,
                          Mummy.