The Uncle

It’s 16:45pm, I’m in a place where I didn’t plan to be. *I had a friend’s wedding meeting to attend.
There are baby cries in this cubicle, little kids with running noses and a devastated lady on the waiting bench.

The lady. She must be in pain, I feel my heart skip a half beat.
I can’t help but think about how painful it must be to be sick. To lose control of your body, to feel weird.
Then again It’s LIFELINK. My mind goes to the Mulago corridors, where on a bad day the sight alone leaves you nauseated.

Many things run into my head, why could the pretty lady be this devastated.
• Is she having crumps? No I don’t think so, for the last 10 years of my life I’ve nursed enough ladies to know every symptom, the different pain intensities, the remedies, and every other nitty-gritty about that. I almost feel like I’d know much more had my uterus grown.
She’s headed to the Laboratory, so all can’t be very well. I only hope it will be over soon. I hate seeing people in pain.
Maybe she was raped and she’s here for PEP Treatment. I silently pray she wasn’t. Because rape is torture. No one should go through that traumatic experience.
I begin thinking about how friends rape friends; husbands rape wives. And the worst, a filthy stranger forcing his way.
I begin convicing myself that if she was atleast she’s in the right place, that kind of lessens the evil.
She picks her Meds and leaves, but like a bird with a broken wing.

All this time I’m carrying this little 1 year old Angel who has a stomach infection perhaps. If she’s been puking all afternoon, what else could it be?
Well that’s why we are here. The medical insurance card formalities are done, and before us is a young woman of probably 30+ years. In a cute red and black short dress, with high heels and the best of legs. She’s our doctor today.
Ever realised how nurses and doctors have a certain sex appeal, regardless of looks.
My shirt reeks of puke, like a I fell in a big bucket of cow juice. Well baby puke doesn’t smell so bad, it’s like spoilt JESA milk. Smells not bad.
The pores on my face are slowly sudating, I can’t feel my face and when I begin to, it feels wet. I like wet but not this wet, not today.
The baby I’m carrying is one year and weighs 14kgs, she’s so healthy and pretty. And all eyes are on me. I’m black, turquoise black and this little one is brown. Brown tending to yellow. I pray she doesn’t cry for they might suspect me of a kidnapping. Gladly the Mum is back.

They go to see the youthful doctor, I remain behind, carrying a ladies bag, car keys and trying to finish this. If it wasn’t for the kids that are asking me to help them spell, I’d go on and on. Write to the end of the rope.

I have to call Ronah or text her. Explain to her why her closest friend has missed her first wedding meeting. I’m dying deep inside. I should have attended. But for being an uncle. The Uncle.

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