It was on that dreaded Wednesday forenoon back in primary school, I was about 8 years of age and in boarding school. Back then, falling sick was regarded a blessing in disguise as it usually meant going back home for a while, and here I was a young bookie with golden eyes and a well shaven head like that of a monk as it was a requirement, I was the only primary one kid in boarding school as I had started boarding way back in baby class(nursery). The matron always kept a keen eye on me, being the youngest among many old is not as easy as it sounds, I had to sleep quite late and wake up pretty early every day. It was in those days when parents feared taking lower primary chaps to boarding school whence Ithe dormitory had kids of mid-upper prmary, from P.4.
It all started with a simple headache as many call it, then came the dizziness it was like I was cut in the substance of a star. I was feeling utmost weakness my mental strengh like my physical strength overpowered by illness.
It’s from this point that I get to write only what I recall and abit of what I was told.
I started sweating profusely, I felt soft hands lifting me from the floor onto a soft substance, probably a bed. Then I heard voices after what seemed like a phone call, rough hands lifted me from a soft substance into something abit rough and hard, a moving object, I think it was a car. Next thing I feel is something pricky first on my sitting apparatus(bum) then my hand.
I then blacked out completely, I shifted into a soft coma, one that lasted a straight 6 hours. Tired and into beauty blown, sweet dreams flowed through, the best dreams I ever had, the best peace I ever felt. It’s like my blood started simmering, I felt hot and cold in the same moment, my mind went into a rash and brittle gabble with my body and slowly I felt memory ebb.
Then came the voices, from mummy, from gramps and granny, telling me to hold on, to hold tight and not let go. I was alone but I felt loved, I couldn’t say a word but I felt the love go down my spine. In a moment, I wanted to go and join dad, but then I didn’t want mum to hurt again, to cry again. Mum placed my hand into hers and I felt the fret and worry straight through her heart. In the moment, the decision was mine, I had power of death or so I thought. One of the first decisions I ever made on my own at an early age, the decision to either leave or live and the latter, I chose.
I have written this piece sauntering, tied to memory and its like I have gone through it all over again. Thanks to my family that stood by me through it all and to the God, who made my decision to live for me.