That feeling when you send a message to someone’s phone and anxiously await their reply suspecting seriously that the worst has happened…
On the night of February 23, I experienced just that when I sent a greeting message to the WhatsApp inbox of Rose Onyimowo Ekwunyi (fondly called Onyi), after my last communication with her left a deeply sad mood.
For hours, no reply came increasing my anxiety. However, at 5.07pm the following day, February 24, a reply did come. I was excited, but only briefly.
Readers may recall that on Wednesday, November 12 last year, I used this column to make an appeal for financial help to a 39-year-old mother of three who had been widowed two years earlier to enable her continue with her breast cancer treatment. She later told me that the appeal yielded fruit as she received some appreciable contributions via the bank account she supplied to me.
However, one night, she sent a WhatsApp voice note to me accompanied by photos from clinical imaging. Her message was not a cheering one: the liver scan she did preparatory for breast surgery showed that the cancer had spread to her liver. The dreaded metastasis – which we desperately sought to beat through an urgent raising of funds – had finally set in. “Put me in your prayers because now that it has spread to the liver, there is indeed trouble,” she appealed in the voice note. According to her, she started experiencing excruciating pains in her stomach region and could neither sleep at night nor eat well as she experienced bloating as soon as she ate even a few mouthfuls of food. The scan confirmed the cause.
Onyi followed up her voice notes with a few lines of typed messages: “Thanks for helping me to raise money. Thank everyone that contributed for me. Thank your students especially for me, they tried so much.” I had earlier told her that I extended the fund appeal to my undergraduate students and she must have observed their humble contributions trickling in by way of little sums that eventually added up to something big.
Back to the WhatsApp reply I got on the evening of February 24; it read – “Good afternoon sir
you are chatting with the daughter Angela. Onyi is no more she died last week Monday.”
Angela is the first child of Onyi, 17 years old or so, and currently an undergraduate at the Anambra State-owned Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu University. She told me that she now stays with her two younger siblings in the apartment where they lived with their late mum, and that she had to pack out of the hostel to be attending school from home in order to run her mother’s provision store which is their only means of livelihood.
Angela told me that her mum informed her of the money I helped her raise and that she was grateful, but unfortunately money alone couldn’t save her life. This last expression of gratitude came at a time that it had become obvious to her that she was departing this earth – SHE WAS GRATEFUL UNTO DEATH.
While Onyi’s death is tragic, especially considering the consequences for her children, it is comforting that help came when she needed it. She did not die because no one could help – she died because the help alone couldn’t save her. That she was grateful unto death was a testimony of her recognition that some people around her tried their best.
This is exactly what we all owe to each other in times of difficulty. We may not be able to solve the whole problem but we can at least alleviate it. We may not be able to remove the pain, but we can surely offer comfort. It is not only by material giving, but by any gesture that soothes pains, eases burdens, and wipes tears. This is what gives this life meaning.
Rest in peace Onyi.
This is my meditation this midweek.
Henry Chigozie Duru teaches journalism and mass communication at Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka, Nigeria.
