When my time comes to share
Slowly I am becoming a hypocrite…
Connecting with friends is somehow becoming a burden;
The beauty of having affluent friends is that they inspire you with their dreams and fascinate you with their great accomplishments. They can give you the sense that everything is well with the world and they make you feel important.
But my reality is different.
With the pandemic, my world is falling apart. But when my time comes to share, and I’m asked how things are,
I casually respond that I am well;
I am well because that’s the easier thing to say.
I am well because everyone is well!
I am well because I hate to be the carrier of bad news,
I am well because it is hard to explain to everyone that I am a busy body who meddles in other’s people’s business. I live in a world where everyone’s problem is my problem. And that in my society – we are all products of charity; we all help each other to survive.
Although I say that I am well this is actually my reality:
I am burdened that yesterday we spent our last penny on pain relief drugs for the cancer patient, and now we wait for either a miracle or a tragedy to befall. Until then; we shall only watch him agonise in pain, maybe even until his last breath. Sadly, this is a story of many. At least 100 cancer patients were shown on NTV yesterday. They were all in a tent, with no food, mosquito nets, beds to lay on or doctors to tend to their sick bodies. They sat there as if waiting to add another dose to their tired and worn-out bodies.
How do you help hundreds of cancer patients?
I want to painfully acknowledge that I am fearful that my government may never bring food to my village. I am not sure if my eyes can contain the sight of hungry children.
I am worried that another mother won’t make it to hospital in time for the delivery of her baby, or that we might lose another child that is chronically ill due to the ban on public transport. I worry for teachers whose last salary was issued in Feb. With this lockdown, there is no guarantee for another payment because the parents have no money either. I worry because I feel too hopeless and helpless to intervene when men and women are trying to kill themselves in the name of domestic violence.
So, when my time comes to share, and I casually respond that I am well, yet at the same time I carry the weight and burden of my reality and world. Will you meet with me in my world in a moment of lament?
Written by Racheal Mutesi | 2020