Still Crying for Mama

This week, I decided to take a break from politics, to pay tribute to the most instrumental woman in my life -- my mom. Mama was my best friend and she was a million times better than diamond, gold and silver and may Allah the most merciful shower His mercy on her soul. Amen.

I decided to write this piece after a chat with a friend in The Gambia, whose dad is terminally ill. I want to point out that like most journalists, I hate writing about myself and am not seeking sympathy from anyone. Instead, I want my readers to understand how sad it is to have a loved one dying from a disease that you cannot cure.

January 27th, marks the third year since mama departed this world after a brief illness. It all started in November 2004 and like all village boys, I went to my peaceful village (name withheld) to spend the Muslim feast of Korite with Mama and other family members. I love life in the village which enables me to chill away from the hectic and ever busy journalism life.

Everyone home loves to see me and the kids would normally run to welcome me at the gate like I use to do when I was a kid. But on that day, everything was quiet and the kids who love playing football in the compound where all sitting on the veranda. All were in a sad mood and did not even run to welcome me.

"Something must be terribly wrong," I told myself. As I got to the veranda I was told by one of the kids that Mama was not feeling well. I busted into her room without even knocking at the door, where I found Mama lying on her settee. Our eyes met and she tried to assure me that the illness was not serious. "Its only tummy pain and the doctor assured me that everything will be fine if I continue taking the medication," she said with a reassuring smile on her face.

Despite taking the medications, I realized that Mama's conditions were not getting better. She eats less and complained of pain below the chest. With the help of my sisters, we took Mama to the Royal Victoria Teaching Hospital in Banjul, where she was examined and prescribed with some tablets. The doctors told us that her conditions were not life threatening and that it was better for us to take her home.

Two weeks later, Mama's condition continued to deteriorate. Some relatives who visited her from the village suggested that we take her to my ancestral home in Casamance for local treatment. Looking at Mama's situation, I strongly dismissed the suggestion and took Mama to the Westfield Clinic, where she was admitted immediately. The doctors there did a fantastic job and by the following morning Mama's condition began to improve. And by the third day, she could eat and walk in and out of the ward without help. Two days later, she was discharged. With our hearts full of hope, we took Mama home.

However, a few days later, things took a dramatic u-turn. Mama's pain kicked up again. She could not walk to the bathroom or even sit up. We again took her to the Westfield Clinic, where she was admitted. Dr Peters, who is in charged of the hospital, took the responsibility to conduct a thorough medical examination on Mama. Some minutes later, the examination was done and Mama was wheeled back to the ward.

Dr Peters later invited me and my sisters, who were with me into his office where he told us the unpleasant truth. " Ehem! he cleared his throat. I have done the examination and am very sorry to say that your mum has a tumor on her liver. The disease is at an advance state and has damaged a large part of her liver. The treatment is not available in the country. It is only available overseas and even with that, there is still a big problem. Flying her abroad is expensive and secondly there is a shortage of human organ donors......She has a few weeks to live am sorry, and I would suggest that if there is any money, it will be better to keep it. At the moment all I can do now is to remove a fluid like substance which is dripping from the liver....."

I felt like a death sentence was pronounced on me. With tears, I stormed out of Dr Peters' office and cried like a baby. My sisters later joined me outside and consoled me. As I was the youngest in the family, my sisters tried as much as they could not to cry. "Be a man," one of them said. "If you who is the man is crying, how do you expect we the women to do," the other one added.

With shame, I quickly composed myself and agreed with their decision that we must on no occasion broke the news to Mama. According to them, breaking the news will only make matters worst to her. Some minutes later, I went back to the ward and found Mama lying on her bed. I tried to assure her that she would make a swift recovery, but I was betrayed by my weakness. Mama could tell when am telling lies since I was a kid. And as I tried to explain to her that she would be discharge within three days, Mama looked at me and smiled.

"It is OK my son, she said.”You don't have to hide the truth from me. I am a Muslim and I believe the Qur'anic teaching that every soul that tastes life must taste death. I know that I will die soon but I don't know whether it is today or tomorrow. But even if I die today, I am happy that Allah has blessed me a loving family. So please continue to love and care for each other as both of you were fed from my breasts" she added.

I tried to assure her that she was not going to die, but the more I tried, the harder it was for me to control my tears. We were later joined by my sisters who also tried as much as they could to convince her that everything was going to be alright.

We kept Mama at the hospital for over a week where she was given pain killers and other medicines to ease the pain. During that time, I visited her in the mornings before going to work at the Daily Observer. In the evenings, I would take an hour break from work to visit her and in most cases I do found my sisters and other relatives there, who give support and comfort to her. I must say that Ndey Tapha Sosseh, who was my Editor-in-Chief at the time, was very helpful. She would in most occasions do half of my work while I was away at the hospital. Her successor, Momodou Sanyang (Sanyang Ba), was also helpful. They never complained when I made silly mistakes at work. They were very understanding and I say thank you all.

As days turns into weeks, Mama's health started to go from bad to worst. She started finding it difficult to speak, eat or drink. Dr Peters, who was so caring to her, decided to discharge her on the ground that there was nothing much he could do to reverse the situation.

With a heavy heart, we took Mama home and began counting the hours. This was the most painful period in my life. I found it difficult to concentrate at work or sleep at night. I shiver anytime a family member calls my cell phone.

Then the final hour came. It was on a Monday. I woke up early as usual and said my prayers before going to see how Mama was doing. Mama was then staying with one of my sisters, who lived opposit from me. I found Mama lying on her bed. She was on a vegetative state and could not even eat solid food. My aunty, who was nursing her told me that Mama had a good sleep. I stood beside her bed for God knows how many minutes and wondered how can life be so cruel. With a heavy heart, I said bye to Mama and left for work.

At a round 10:30 while editing the opinion page of the Daily Observer on a computer called DaCosta, my cell phone rang. It was my sister. "Pa, am sorry to say this but you got to come home. Mama has just departed this world," she said. The whole computer room went dark. All the compositors who were busy typing scrips for the next day's Observer edition stopped all what they were doing. I could feel their sharp eyes on me. It was terrible. Tears started pouring down from my eyes but I quickly wiped them.

"PK lahlah?" Sainabou Fofanah, our chief layout editor asked.All I could say to her was suma yai. The compositors all expressed their condolence to me. I have to state here that the ladies in the computer room (Mariama Danjo, Betty Quacco, Marie Gomez, Aji Sagar Mbye, Nyima Marong, Mariatou Faal, Jainaba Baldeh and Yasin Faal) are among the best people I have ever worked with. We were like a family and the working atmosphere was very friendly.

As the news began to sink, I informed Andrew DaCosta, Observer's deputy managing director, who led a delegation of the company's staff to sympathise with my family.

At home, I found the compound crowded with sympathisers. The required Muslim bath for the death was already conducted on Mama. With tears running down my cheeks, I knelt beside her head and prayed for Allah, the most merciful, to shower His Mercy on her and blessed her in His heaven.

A few hours later we drove Mama to the village where she was laid to rest. Hundreds of mourners attended her funeral many of whom spoke well of her. The local Imam could not hold his tears when he was praising Mama for the good work she did to the community more so to the our mosque.

Yes, that was Mama's character. She have always put others first. She was more than a friend to me. She was there for me when Daddy wants to flex his muscles on me for being naughty. She struggle to raise me and my sisters single handedly when daddy died and did all sort of jobs to feed and pay our tuition fees. She never abdicated her responsibilities as a parent and has encouraged us to be God fearing, respectful, tolerant, caring to others, and to be responsible.
Rest in peace Mama.