EPISODE 4
The old woman who had saved
Khadijat was called Madam Lagos
in her vicinity because, her son
was in Lagos and was doing well.
Everyone knew Madam Lagos as
a kind hearted woman of substance. She had lived all her
life in Oshogbo, serving in the civil
service. Now she was retired and
was living her life quietly, given to
public service. Madam Lagos paced up and
down the hospital hall way, it had
been an hour since Khadijat was
brought into the hospital, and no
one was telling her anything.
Nurses came in and when out, but none of them gave her the
information she needed. She
consoled herself with the fact that
if they were still inside, it meant
the girl was still alive. But things
escalated faster than she thought. A doctor rushed out and told
Madam Lagos that this was
beyond them, the pregnancy was
distressed and the girl’s life was in
danger. Therefore, they were
transferring her to the Lautech teaching hospital, where
specialized doctors could take
care of her. Khadijat was brought
on a stretcher, she was bleeding
but Madam Lagos didn’t know
from what part of her body she was bleeding from. There was
blood everywhere. At the teaching hospital, she was
taken to the Intensive care unit
immediately. Madam Lagos called
her church pastor and asked that
a prayer be raised for the girl who
was in an accident. Madam Lagos: “She is just a little
girl and she is pregnant, this feels
personal to me. Please pastor, let
the church pray for her, that she
would live” she said. She also kept up a vigil, praying
throughout the night for a girl
she had never met before now.
The doctors worked tirelessly, an
hour turned into hours, and
finally they came out to tell her that the girl was in coma and
would be watched. Khadijat’s mother: “How can you
be this heartless? Your daughter
is nowhere to be found because
you wanted to kill her, and all you
care about is that I leave your
house?” she screamed at the Imam, her husband. Damilola’s mother: “These rants
will solve nothing. We have to
look for Khadijat, if possible, put a
missing person notice on the
television” Imam: “I have nothing to do with
a daughter that has brought me
so much shame” he replied
vehemently. Khadijat’s mother: “I can feel it,
my daughter is in trouble” she
said holding her chest. With the help of other neighbours
and Khadijat’s brothers, posters
bearing Khadijat’s face were
made and distributed. Khadijat’s
mother pushed the poster in the
faces of passersby, asking them if they had seen her daughter. “This girl is your daughter?” one
of the passersby asked, as he
scrutinized the poster. Khadijat’s mother: “Yes she is,
have you seen her?” she asked
anxiously. Passerby: “Ha it is a pity, she was
knocked down by a hit and run
driver at Ola Iya junction, she is
dead” he said with a pitiful look,
shaking his head from side to
side. Khadijat’s mother: “It is not true,
my daughter cannot be dead”
she cried shaking the man, who
said ‘sorry’ over and over again,
before extricating himself from
the woman’s tight grip. Damilola’s mother: “What is it,
what has happened?” she asked
with wide eyes. The way
Khadijat’s mother was crying with
so much grief, told her that the
worst had happened. Khadijat’s mother: “They said
Khadi was in an accident, that she
is dead. But it is not true, my
Khadi cannot die just like that”
she said between sobs, “Khadijat!
Khadijat!” she wailed on the top of her voice. They went to Ola Iya junction to
ask around and they were told
that a girl who seemed pregnant,
had been knocked down by a hit
and run driver. Everyone they
asked told them that she was dead. It was all a
misunderstanding, many had
seen her lying there, but
somehow the ones they asked
did not see the ambulance that
came back with Madam Lagos, to carry Khadijat, even the ones that
saw the ambulance, assumed that
it was her dead body that was
being carted away. Khadijat’s mother: “Subhanalai!
My only daughter is gone. Why
has this happened to me?” she
wailed and rolled on the floor.
People watched with pity on their
faces, while the people who had come with her tried to console
and carry her away. Damilola’s mother was beside
herself, she blamed everyone for
the loss of Khadijat’s life, but
much more, she blamed herself. “If I had been more attentive to
my son, perhaps I would have
found out about the pregnancy
earlier, and it would never have
escalated to this point” she
muttered as she whisked teardrops away. She remembered
Khadijat as a beautiful, young
lady, who was religious but not
fanatic. She always had a smile for
everyone, and associated with
everyone including Christians. She didn’t deserve to die,
Damilola’s mother thought. Damilola’s mother: “She didn’t
deserve to die. That baby in her
deserved a chance!” she cried
out, unable to hold the pain
inside. Her grandchild was lost
forever. Things never remained the same
for the Imam’s family. When he
heard that his daughter had died
a horrible death, he felt the
weight of how his lack of
understanding had pushed his daughter to her death. He began
to remember Khadijat for what
she was before the whole
pregnancy saga. She was a loving
and caring daughter, the part he
should have remembered all along, and held on to, despite the
shame he felt from her
pregnancy. But now, it was a little
too late for him to be remorseful.
Nobody cared about his remorse,
not even his wife, Khadijat’s mother, who had packed out of
his house. His sons and everyone
blamed him for his daughter’s
death. He blamed himself too. The
mosque that he was so
concerned about began to abhor him. He stayed away from
prayers, because people no
longer talked about his
daughter’s pregnancy, but about
his cruelty that drove his
daughter to an early grave. However, Khadijat did not die.
Whether it was the prayers of the
people praying for her, or it was
sheer luck, Khadijat woke up
from coma. But she did not
remember anything about herself. Khadijat had lost her
memories. Her mind was like a
Tabula rasa, blank like the mind
of a child. Khadijat: “Where am I?” she
asked, as she looked around her
with fear in her eyes. Doctor: “You are in a hospital, you
have been in an accident, and
you are lucky to be alive. Is there
somebody we can call for you?”
he asked and watched Khadijat
hold her head like she was feeling pain in her head. Khadijat: “Doctor, why do I feel
like… doctor, I cannot remember
anything” she said in alarm. The
doctor switched on a pen torch
and pointed it into her eyes. Doctor: “Young lady, you had a
concussion in the head, we are
hoping that with time it will
reduce, and you would get your
memories back” he said. But, days turned into weeks and
weeks into months, and Khadijat
did not recover her memories.
Nobody knew her name, and
where she came from. Nobody
knew that her family thought her dead and had given up on her, a
burial had even been conducted
for her according to the ways of
Islam. Madam Lagos took her in
and cared for her like she was her
own daughter, for she had once been in her shoes when she was
pregnant with her son, she had
been lucky that the father stood
up for her and married her.
However, Khadijat had a
turbulent pregnancy, she was in and out of the hospital. The
doctors said she had
preeclampsia, and had to stay in
the hospital until her delivery
date. Her condition was so bad that she
had become bloated. Every part
of her body from her hands, to
her legs to her face and eyes
were swollen like there was
water under her skin. She looked horrific. Madam Lagos: “Doctor, she is still
a young girl, why is she going
through so many complications?”
she asked. She was so scared of
losing the poor girl. In the few
months that Khadijat had stayed with her, she has seen how sweet
she was, and she made her wish
that she had given birth to a
daughter. Doctor: “She seems to have been
through a lot. You say she was
wearing a hijab when you found
her?” Madam Lagos: “Yes doctor” Doctor: “I don’t see any ring mark
on her fingers, and she is
probably not more than 17 or 18.
It could only mean that her
Muslim family did not accept the
pregnancy. I can only imagine what she has been through.” He
said thoughtfully, with a faraway
look in his eyes. “I think the
amnesia is not because of the
head trauma she suffered from
the accident, I think her subconscious wanted to forget
something really bad” he
concluded. Madam Lagos: “Oh that poor child.
Are you saying she might never
regain her memories?” she asked
anxiously. Doctor: “I have a psychiatrist I can
recommend you to, she is really
good. She can help the girl get
through the block in her
memories. But of course that is
after her delivery and recovery” When Khadijat went into labour,
after months in the hospital, she
was told to try and have a vaginal
birth. But after hours in labour,
her blood pressure was through
the roof, and it became imperative for her to have a caesarian birth,
to save her life and that of her
child. Khadijat: “Mother, can I call you
mother?” she asked holding the
hand of Madam Lagos, as she was
being wheeled to the theatre. Madam Lagos: “Yes my child, you
have been like a daughter to me”
she said as tears gathered in her
eyes. Khadijat: “I only have one wish,
that if I don’t make it out of the
theatre…” she started to say but
Madam Lagos interrupted her. Madam Lagos: “Don’t talk that
way my child, you are going to
come back” Khadijat: “Mother, let me talk, I
know what I am saying. Please,
tell my child, that he or she has to
fulfill the dreams that I could not
fulfill” she said, using the last
strength she had to bring out the words. Madam Lagos: “Dreams? Have you
regained your memories?” she
asked, anxiously. Khadijat: “Yes mother, I am at
death’s door, and I remember
who I am. I wanted to be a
medical doctor, I got admission to
study medicine, but I got
pregnant and brought shame to my family. My father wanted to
kill me, and now he is going to
get his wish. Take care of my
child, make sure he fulfills all my
dreams, for the curtain has fallen
for me, and my time on the stage is ended. I pass the baton to him,
help him, this is the cry of a dying
soul” she said. Madam Lagos was dumbfounded,
she held her chest and cried for
the daughter that fate had
brought to her, but death was
going to take away. She made a
promise to herself, that she would make sure that the child would
have only the best and fulfill all its
mother’s dreams. In the theater, the doctors did all
they could to save mother and
child, but only the child was
saved. A baby boy, squealing his
lungs out, was brought out of her
womb, but Khadijat’s soul had long left her body.
.
.
.
.
Will the child be able to
fulfill his mother’s dream, what
does fate have in store for the
newborn?
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