4:00 A.M. - by Gift Chioma Imaga-Oleh

Friday afternoonI came home from schoolstill in my sports uniform,dust on my socks,carrying the ordinary weight of a normal day. Mummy was on the couch. “Good afternoon mummy,”I said, hugging her. “Good afternoon,” she replied.“How was school?” “School was fine, mumm.” I asked if she had eaten,if she had taken her medicine. She said no.But she had eaten cabbage.A traditional healer said cabbage works. I went to batheand changed my clothes,believing evening would passlike every other evening. Later she was still thereon the couchtalking with my brother and my dad. I served dinner.Oha soup and swallowshe cooked the previous day. I gave her a plateand brought the medicinal teashe always drank. For a yearmy mother had been fighting somethinga disease with no name. Hospitals tried.Money tried.Doctors tried. But answers never came. So we tried prayer.We tried hope.We tried a traditional healer. And she got better for a whilelong enoughfor me to believeshe would come back to us. Eight o’clock came.Her food was untouched. “I’m not hungry,” she said. My brother called the healer. “Make her eat something,” he said.Anything. So we made custard and bread. She took a few spoonsa few bitesand drank the tea. For a momentthat felt like enough. Nine o’clockDad went upstairs to rest. Ten o’clock. Then eleven. The coughing started. At first it sounded smalllike something that would pass. But it didn’t pass. By eleventhe coughing grew louderheavier until I saw blood. “Mummy please look at me,” I said.“You will be fine.You will be fine.” She looked at mewith tired eyes. Her mouth openedas if she wanted to speak but the coughing came againand againand again. I ran upstairs. “Daddy, mummy’s condition is getting worse.” The estate ambulance was called. My brother and my fatherrushed her to the hospital. It was midnight. I cried begging themto let me follow. They said no. So I stayed behindwith fear sitting beside melike a shadow that would not move. I prayed. I cried. I waited for the sound of the gate. I tried to stay awakeuntil sleep finally took mearound two a.m.,my face stiffwith dried tears. Then at four a.m.the bell rang. I ran downstairsand opened the gate. My father stood therewith bloodshot eyes. My brother was sniffing. Behind themstood our family friends. The wife hugged me. She was crying. “I’m sorry,” she said. My life never remained the same.

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