Blood, Sweat and Tears

This is the story of a man recalling important parts of his past. Struggling through the toughest part of his life yet choosing to focus on his family.

Blood, Sweat and Tears

It is warmer than usual today, I can see the heat and dryness on the open savanna, yet I lay here and freeze. It tastes of iron in my mouth, still I don't dare spit when Jamilah stands beside my hard gurney-like bed. She looks like an angel, the sun behind her black hair resembles a halo. You can tell that the last few days have been tough. She hasn't been sleeping recently; I see it in her dark green eyes and the darker rings that surround them. The shining white teeth, that I have seen so many times before, have long been hiding behind the closed lips. Despite it all, she has never been as beautiful as when she risks her life to stand beside me during the last day of my life. She shouldn't be here. She can't be here. But she is.

Soon after both Nuru and Alika died, I made my decision. We could not stay in the small village in northern Sierra Leone. Jamilah and I left the day after we burned our children's still bodies. We went to a deserted place in the nearest savanna. That is where we setup our tent. We have lived here for almost three weeks. It took three days to get here; on the second day, I felt the first symptom. One minute I was warm and the next I was freezing. My head was pounding with pain. Never has my throat been as dry as it was then.

"Rashidi?" A tear slowly glides down her golden brown skin as she whispers my name. I understand that she is scared. Scared to never be able to say goodbye. I open my eyes; it is not easy. The dried blood around my sore eyelids is like rust on hinges. She exhales a sigh of relief.

"I thought it was too late." Her dry lips wear a forced smile.

"It is never too late." My words sound raspy and hoarse, but she hears, she understands.

"They said that they would take care of her!" Jamilah shook with terror.

"There is nothing we can do about it now." I tried to calm her.

"Do you hear your words, Rashidi? She was our daughter!" The whole village heard her desperate cries. For the first time, I actually did. Alika had died like so many others, she was infected. She only survived a week and a half. Her young, weak body couldn't take the abrasive disease. And there I stood, saying that it was a lost cause. I said it about my own daughter, after I had seen her suffer. After I never took the chance to say goodbye.

"I do not want to live without you." Jamilah is looking out of the tent's opening. "And I won't have to." 

"What do you mean?" The worry builds up inside of me. My heart beats faster.

"It has happened now, Rashidi." She turns around and looks at me, her sad eyes twinkle in the sunshine.  

"What has happened?" I understand what she means, but I am afraid to admit it.

"I have met the same fate as Nuru and Alika." She pauses for a long while, then continues with the

words I fear. "Like you."

I sat outside of the shabby mud hut and tried to keep in the tears. Nuru was lying on his deathbed, only three days after his sister, Alika, had died. Jamilah came out of the house and rested her hand on my shoulder.

"It is time," she whispered in my ear. I dragged my feet as I pulled away the sheer curtain that hung in the entrance. My heart broke when I saw Nuru lying in bed. Sweat running down his forehead, blood running from the corner of his mouth and tears running down his cheeks. It hurt just to look at him, but he still looked strong.

"Do not shed any tears for me, Papa," he said weakly, when he heard me sniffle.

"It is hard, my boy," I answered with a heavy heart.

"I am relieved now." He was good at confusing the people around him, even during the last minutes of his life. He was very wise for being so young and inexperienced.

"What do you mean, Nuru?"

"I am finally being relieved of this burden." Those were the last words my son spoke. I put one hand on his soaked forehead and closed his green eyes with the other.

Jamilah is sitting on the stool beside my bed. In one hand she holds an old rag; it has been colored red from the merciless coughing. The same symptom I, myself, have experienced. Yet again, she coughs violently. I reach out my hand and she grasps it, hard. My eyes immediately go to the tattered piece of straw gently wrapped around her ring finger.

"I don't have any money, but my love for you is raw." For every word I uttered, I became more nervous. "I can't buy you a ring, but I can offer you a piece of straw."

Jamilah laughed. "Have you been working hard on that poem?"

"Only two weeks," I answered with an embarrassed, but honest grin. 

She stroked my cheek. "I love you too, Rashidi, now and forever, in sickness and in health." No words came, I just held up the piece of straw.

"Yes," she answered simply to my wordless question. She understood what I meant. She always understands what I mean. She held out her hand and I tied the piece of straw around her finger.

The worst is over, but the hardest is left. Saying goodbye. To see daylight, but then glide into an eternal darkness.

"Now," I say to Jamilah, who stands with her back to me. Her whole body freezes. She turns around, silent tears dripping from her chin. She kneels beside my bed.

"No," she whispers weakly.

"I can feel it."

She repeats the same word. "No." Then again, and again. Her feet touch the ground once more. She reaches for a sharp object. I see the blank blade shine in the sunlight. Simultaneously the disease tears me apart, more than it ever has before. It is suddenly hard to breath, my lungs are collapsing. My heart beats slower and slower.

"You won't die alone." Jamilah raises the knife and aims it at her chest. "I won't live without you." I want to stop her, but I can tell that it is useless. The decision has been made. I see it in her eyes.

"The end is close now." I stare into her tear filled eyes. "Don't cry."

"It is too hard, it hurts too much." She looks hurt as she wipes the sweat from my forehead. We share a last look, it speaks a thousand words.

"I am finally being relieved of this burden." Those are the last words I speak. I close my eyes. I hear as Jamilah's hand plunges towards her chest. I hear how she takes a large breath, her final breath. Everything is suddenly dark. I no longer hear the birds' death song. I will never suffer again.

Ebola has now claimed yet another victim.