This piece talks about the saga of a bereaved mother and serves as a tribute to all the women out there who have suffered the loss of a child regardless of the circumstance. Losing a loved one, regardless of whether it is a parent, partner, sibling, or friend, can be painful but none compares with the loss of a child. Consolation must come from drawing on the recesses of inner strength fashioned by a firm conviction in God’s faithfulness.

It’s been five solid years since Soba lost her only child Bolade to a senseless death occasioned by a stray bullet from those expected to protect lives – the police and today she is commiserating with a family who lost their breadwinner in similar circumstances. The death of Bolade had marked a turning point in her life and had birthed her current occupation – an NGO whose objective is to deliver justice and succour to families who have been victims of senseless killings through armed violence and conflicts as well as the brutality of Government agencies.

Bolade, her only child and a promising young surgeon at the age of 27, was returning at about 2 am from his stint at the hospital where he had been called to attend to an emergency when he was caught in a crossfire between the police and some armed cultists. Before he could say “Jack Robinson” a bullet had pierced through his side glass and lodged in his brain. He lost control and the car careened into a ditch beside the road. He was left unattended, either unnoticed or ignored and it was not until the early workers heading to their offices caught sight of his car around 6 am that help came. By then, he was dead and the unsuspecting mother – Soba, was contacted. She had no premonition especially since his duration at the hospital was largely dependent on the complexity of each case. She shudders as she relives her emotions on that day and the subsequent days that followed.

She remembers, the call to inform her there had been an accident involving Bolade and that he had been moved to a morgue. Her benumbed mind had been too shocked to process the news, so she had called her sister – Toru, who drove over to identify the corpse and took charge of everything else. She was in shock for weeks and kept thinking…” This must be a bad dream, a nightmare from which I will awaken to see Bolade’s goofy smile and feel his strong arms around me to shield and protect me”. Bolade always reminded her of his father – Goke, who had left her for another woman because as he put it – he needed more children. Unfortunately, Bolade’s birth had been both complicated and traumatic and the doctors had advised that she tie her tubes. Tears rolled down uncontrollably as she reminisced about his childhood. He had been a gifted child, brilliant at school and talented at sports. She remembered the ball games, prize-giving awards, and many medals received. She felt so alone and lacked the willpower to live. The weeks that followed his demise were the hardest she had experienced in her lifetime and though she had frequently had “well-wishers/sympathisers” in the first two weeks, the numbers had gradually dwindled in the subsequent weeks till she was left with those she now considered her core friends, her support circle – Toru, Magda, and Halima.

She classified the well-wishers into 3 categories:

1. Those who had visited from a sense of compunction – “it was the “right thing” to do.
2. Those who came to confirm and experience her sorrow firsthand while sneering behind her back. Some had even complained that she had lavished too much love on Bolade while some blamed that as the cause for the breakdown of her marriage…Hmm…the heart of man!
3. Then, there were those who genuinely felt her loss, commiserated with her, and found ways to lessen the pain in prayers, words, works, engagement, etc. To this third group, she remains eternally grateful.

Soba brings her thoughts back to the present situation and can understand the pain surging through the mother of this latest victim particularly as she stares into the faces of her late son’s colleagues and friends. She has been there, and she knows this kind of pain never goes away even though it dulls over time as a result of activity and a strong reliance on God, which are the panacea for all pain.

Once again, Havilah raises a toast to all the strong mothers out there who have at some time, or another experienced such pain.

Love

Havilah