From Yei: Moments I’ll never forget Pt 1

There’s a difference between remembering something or someone and not forgetting­­- Some events and people in our life’s journey cannot be forgotten. No effort is needed to remember them.

Patricia, yes, that’s her name; I’ll never forget her.

On account of a wild life and unfettered pursuit of fleshly pleasures, she caught the dreaded HIV/AIDS sometime ago. Her case soon became a messy international crisis, as she was accused of deliberately infecting many, within and across the borders.

After several arrests, detentions, interrogations, deportation and back onto the streets; she finally made it into a hospital here in Yei, critically ill.

When Pastor Stanley asked me to go pray for her, I didn’t know her or even what to expect. Arriving at the hospital, I connected first with Patricia’s emergency care-giver; the adorable Mama Grace.

She’s experienced in such cases. She told horror tales of this young girl’s journeys and shared on her present condition.

She was all bones, a very sorry sight. Bad bedsores and skin rashes ravaged what remained of her wasted form. Death was lurking beside her.

Much work had been done to cleanup Patricia. The floor of the private room she occupied was still wet, having just been washed and the linings were hanging outside.

Despite this, the stench still lingered and I couldn’t but imagine what it was like before the odours were subdued.

Mama Grace said to me, “I’ve not slept all night. She’s mourning and crying endlessly and wouldn’t let me leave.”

I pulled the broken chair set there, sat beside her and began to assure her of Jesus’ love. As I tried to hold her hand, she pulled away and wouldn’t make eye contact.

Holding her again, I began to stroke her hand and arm, still speaking to her. Unable to make audible words for weakness, I managed to read her lips. She kept asking for water. On giving her a few drops, I saw the blisters on her pale tongue and struggled to compose myself.

Several times while talking to her, her eyes would roll up as if to die and I’d squeeze her hand hard and call her name over and over. She’d return, and seem to reset. I’d start talking again.

Suddenly, help arrived.

A young man from her tribe walked in. He is a trainee nurse at the hospital. I asked him to interpret for me. It was a God moment. As soon as he began to relay my words in Acholi, she started responding. I promptly led her to Jesus and prayed for her. Everyone around heaved a sigh of relief at the final Amen.

But it was not over.

Slowly, I tried to pull my hand from hers and then, Patricia held me. She knew I was about to leave and didn’t want me to go.

I stayed. Stroking her hand softly and comforting her.

When eventually she let go of my hand and I stood to leave, she gave me the most beautiful parting gift.

She smiled.

Earlier, what we saw was the look of sorrow, pain and shame, as she tried severally but in vain to cover her face with the only wretched piece of clothe on her.

Now, she smiles. It was a moment I’ll never forget.

Shortly afterwards, Mama Grace called me to say Patricia has gone home to be with Jesus.