My mother used to always say that I was her joy. That I was the only one that brought her happiness and I was her whole world. But I think I was the exact opposite.
The evil witch that killed her husband and used her male children for money ritual. That was my mum, at least that’s what everyone on the street called her.
They were very wrong. The reason they made their terrible assumption was because my mum was a strong woman. When my dad died, she didn’t break down and wait for people to comfort her. She rejected all the contributions they made for her because she was a widow. She cleaned her tears and went to work the next day. She said she needed to work harder now that she was a single parent, not sit around and cry
Few weeks later, my brothers died in a car accident. Those were the darkest days in my family history. The villagers came and took us to the village. They shaved my mum’s hair and dressed her in all black. She was instructed to carry a Calabash on her head and go round the village seven times everyday for one week. I cried all night for that whole week and my mum would hold me in her arms and tell me it would soon be over.
They didn’t let her leave the house for a whole year, all the while spreading the rumor of how she killed my father and brothers.
For years, my mum was all I had. She worked hard to put me through school and all I wanted to do was make her happy. I helped her at her shop when I could and for a while, things were good for us.
Then I clocked eighteen. I began to fall sick very frequently. I could see the pain in my mother’s eyes anytime I was in the hospital. I was soon diagnosed with underdeveloped lungs. They doctor said, after a few years, my lungs would fail and I would die.
Again, I cried all night everyday. My mum would hold me in her arms and tell me it would be fine. She said we would use the time we had left to the fullest until we found a donor.
I clocked twenty five and by this time, I couldn’t even leave the hospital. I hated the fact that my mum was in pain more than the fact that I was sick. My mum was by my side all the time, reminding me how much she loved me, reminding me that I was the whole world to her.
Last week, I got a donor. Just when the doctor said I wouldn’t survive the month, I got a donor. My mum was over the moon with joy. She was by my side up until I was rolled into the operating room.
By the time the surgery was over and I woke up, I immediately asked for my mother. That’s when the doctor told me. She was my donor.