...when everything changed

....we’ve just arrived home for my mum’s burial. Its 8am-ish, a cold and dry Thursday morning. There’s about 100 seats arranged sparingly. The health officers are around to make sure we adhere to the restrictions. A number of mourners have arrived and are seated randomly, most with the hands in their chins. A really heavy sadness engulfs me. I remember thinking, this is not how she was meant to be buried? She was larger than life my mum, she was energetic, lively, always laughing and everywhere. At only 54, my mum chaired and sat in at least 10 committees , I think they were more. Her colleagues in the school she taught for 30+ years, the villagers, her church mates, her friends always called Chairlady, a name she must have earned for chairing the church committee and any other committee you could think of in the village and its surrounding. She was tired this woman. I remember thinking. I must get out of the car now, but I don’t have the energy to, I am in shock, I am sad and I don’t have energy to get through the day. Just then a car parks next to ours and my cousin Eunice Kalove gets out, I get out and I embrace her and break down badly. I must have cried for 2 minutes . Crying that time seemed to rejuvenate me. I feel better and am ready to take on the day.

Until the previous night, my dad had been isolated at Makindu Hospital, the hospital my mum passed-on at. How traumatic must it have been, sleeping in a cubicle for 3 days knowing your wife of 35 years lies lifeless a few meters away. It had been a tough week for him, exactly 7 days since he rushed his wife to the hospital, 7 days since I received that call from him. ‘They are suspecting Covid, kondatelema(I am in panic)’ his voice faltering. I have never seen/ heard my dad this panicky before. He was always quiet, calm and in control of everything in our lives, a complete opposite of my mum, and I 

My mum had been put in isolation immediately, her oxygen levels were 58, the doctors didn’t understand how she was alive. But she was stable, talking and all. She was put on oxygen that Thursday and my dad would refuse to leave her side, saying if it’s infection he must already have it. He was her nurse, he fed her, cleaned after her and took her to the toilet. By the time her results came back on Sunday , her oxygen was upto 85, her stability slightly improved but not yet there, she’d faint if not on the oxygen mask. My dad, believing she was getting better had hoped for the results to delay, he reasoned that if they came out positive, they will have to transfer her to the Covid hospital in Makindu and separate them and the doctors will not be able to take care of her like he did. ‘She will die’ he said. Eg if my mums oxygen mask failed for whatever reason, my dad was always there to clean and fix it, the doctors will need to be called, and if you are lucky there’d be a ready kit for them to put on, it took btn 45 mins and 1 hour for a doctor to put on that kit and be ready to visit the isolation ward, a kit could not be reused and given how limited they were, especially in a government hospital, it would be totally necessary for a doctor to do a visit to the ward, and so my dad provided that gap and he didn’t want to leave her side. That Sunday, the results must have come positive for both of them because it wasn’t a big fight for the doctors to agree to have him go with her to the hospital, but my dad, from wanting to protect us, would leave out this information. The transfer to Makindu hospital was chaotic, something straight out of a movie scene. An hours drive away, Dr. Jacob had called to let them know they are transferring a patient who’s permanently on oxygen, only to arrive and the hospital doesn’t have oxygen. My dad calls us in panic, ‘we must stay in the ambulance for a few minutes as they restock’ at least there’s 2 tanks in the ambulance. My dad is not allowed to leave the ambulance, and he must sit there helplessly and watch his wife slip in and out of consciousness as the oxygen levels in the tank reduce with every breath she takes. At some point even having to change the tanks himself when the 1st one runs out. Dr. Jacob (God bless him) whose gone beyond his call of duty to fix the oxygen crisis, at some point threatening everyone that if his patient doesn’t make it he will sue everyone in that hospital, must support him do this on phone, because he only has one kit remaining. My husband who these past few days has become my dad’s therapist is constantly on phone with him. ‘Has she started breathing again? Is Dr Jacob back? Have you wiped the oxygen mask? Keep talking to her’ all these I can overhear while I pace up and down like a possessed witch; helpless and not with any energy to pray, all I keep saying is . God heal her, God heal her. At that point I remember when we were growing up , my mom would be every ones caregiver, if anyone was super sick and needed to be fed or cleaned up after, they would call her to do the work, she was very bold and compassionate, how ironical that when she needs care the most, even us her daughters cannot be there to do it, doctors have to put on special kits to approach her. Damn you Covid 19! Damn you.

My thoughts are interrupted by another call; they’ve found oxygen and it should arrive in 20 mins. It’s been almost 4 hours of waiting, my mum is still in the ambulance. We’ve made calls to anyone we know could help including the County Health ministers wife who used to be a classmate in high school. She’s trying her best given she’s supposed to be supplying oxygen to that hospital, heads are rolling. How the government works, sigh. Its not until 6 hours later that they manage to connect oxygen and transfer my mum to her ward. Yes, she waited for 6 hrs in the ambulance. 6 hours of trauma, of holding our breath, of her fighting for her dear life as her husband watched helplessly.

Dr. Jacob calls us to assure us, ‘your mum is now ok. I’ve spoken to her and she’s stable. You guys rest we’ll talk in the morning’. We call dad and he’s confident as well. It’s almost 1 am and we should try get some rest, it’s going to be a long night. We are woken up at 6.30 am by a call, her situation deteriorated overnight, but the doctors says she’s stable, she’s still on oxygen, she will be fine. No she wasn’t, she passes on 4 hrs later. Last night’s horror must have taken a toll on her, she fought really hard. Dad says she woke up and he was getting ready to feed her some porridge. She looked at him, blinked twice and closed her eyes. FOREVER!! Our lives changed. FOREVER!! Damn you Covid 19. Damn you!!

We must plan the burial in 48 hrs, without my dad, he must be transferred into isolation for 14 days, that’s the protocol. Where do you start? First we must get tested, because the previous weekend we went to visit her, she’d been misdiagnosed for typhoid, and we’d not seen her since the lockdown, to go see her that weekend it was the best decision ever. Atleast we spent time with her. Our results don’t arrive till after the burial.

Back to the burial, health officials agree to give us 72hrs as long as we keep the mourners to 100 max and adhere to restrictions, social distancing and no cooking. They inspect our home a day before the burial. A decision is made; my dad can isolate at home, there’s enough room for him to keep distance from everyone. Which means he can attend the burial but we must head back to Nairobi immediately after, and leave him alone. All the choices are horrible, after all he’s gone through, he can’t be left alone after the burial!! But we must make the choice and we can’t deny him the chance to bury his wife. Everything is set, but when we get home, there’s some murmurs, first, they transferred my dad overnight to a different isolation centre, is it a ploy so the hearse doesn’t come with him. I am very worried, and my uncles who’d accompanied the hearse to the mortuary are worried too, only they are doing something about it; they are not leaving the place until they see my dad, its a stand-off, he must be brought to identify the body and accompany the hearse, it’s our tradition.

They manage to leave after they are assured that they are going to pick him on their way. Its happening, one of my aunts sends me a pic of him boarding the hearse just before they leave, my dad has lost so much weight, he looks miserable, atleast he will bury his wife. I cry once more, alot.

We are behind schedule, but they arrive 2 hours later, I didn’t cry when I saw the hearse, it was the sight of my dad when he alighted that will stay with me forever, he is thin, like a 23 year old boy. My first instinct is to run towards him and give him a hug, he needs it, I need it, we both need it badly. But he stretches both his hands to stop me, he’s a stickler for rules and he’s not about to break any now, he MUST keep his distance. To say my heart is shattered to completely downplay my emotions at this time, I can’t even cry, I can’t even feel my heart. Damn you Covid 19. Damn you once more.

He looked confused, he’s been alone for over a week and certainly did not expect to find so many people at home. He would later confess that he was worried people will not come. But people came, a lot of them, so many that we had to lock the gate, because the officials were to be feared. People followed the proceedings from the fence, the number of people outside was way larger than the number inside. They had to bid goodbye to their teacher and friend. They had to bid farewell to their chairlady, the Matriarch