CONVERSATIONS IN MY HEAD - DIARY EIGHT
Tears were streaming down my face. I could not stop them. I didn't want them to stop. Ara came close and hugged me tight. Today, he was a she. I had just read the account of a mother who lost her 39 weeks and 3 days old baby. Through searing pain that I could almost feel across my screen, I cried with her. I could feel her loss, I could picture her movement from the hospital, in the ambulance, to another hospital.
"And they didn't even allow her see the baby she was induced for. Twelve hours of labour pain! That must have been hell." I wailed.
"I know. After bonding with that child week in, week out, picturing her face, giving her a name, she lost her precious daughter . . ."
"All because of the negligence of some people! When will we be a responsible, empathetic people? To think there were women present there and they stood by and allowed a fellow woman go through such suffering! The pains she was feeling cannot be compared to the one in her heart."
"Did you see where she said the baby's body was kept in a carton in her room? That was just mean." Ara chimed in.
"No one should have to go through that kind of torture, ever! But, what beats me is the way we handle human lives in this country. Why must mothers always run outside the country just to have their babies?"
"It's because of things like this that they do."
"But, does it have to be that way? You'll find that in some of those hospitals abroad, it is our people that run things. If we can do it outside the country, why can't we replicate same within?"
"You're going too far. There are institutions within this geographic enclave that run like they are suspended in the air, away from the madness that permeates the entire country." I could see that Ara's eyes had glazed over. That was a rare occurrence, it hardly ever happened. I was weak too. I was emotionally drained.
"Is this how we will continue in the African continent?" I asked no one in particular. "The average black man is selfish. We think about ourselves alone. How many black people are contributing to the development of the continent? Compared to the number of those that can, the number is dismal. Foreigners are more readily responsive to help us out of our self-inflicted issues, than we are to find solutions for ourselves."
"But they aren't perfect either", Ara responded.
"I'm not talking about perfection. I'm talking about genuine love for the other person, empathy, sympathy, the triumph of good over evil, consideration . . ."
"I know", Ara cut in. "I was just pointing your attention to the fact that foreigners also have their shortcomings."
"Of course, we're all human, that means we have shortcomings. But while some magnify and indulge in theirs, others push them to the background and play up the good parts."
"Can we have true patriotism in this country?"
"Of course! It just flows from the head."
"And they didn't even allow her see the baby she was induced for. Twelve hours of labour pain! That must have been hell." I wailed.
"I know. After bonding with that child week in, week out, picturing her face, giving her a name, she lost her precious daughter . . ."
"All because of the negligence of some people! When will we be a responsible, empathetic people? To think there were women present there and they stood by and allowed a fellow woman go through such suffering! The pains she was feeling cannot be compared to the one in her heart."
"Did you see where she said the baby's body was kept in a carton in her room? That was just mean." Ara chimed in.
"No one should have to go through that kind of torture, ever! But, what beats me is the way we handle human lives in this country. Why must mothers always run outside the country just to have their babies?"
"It's because of things like this that they do."
"But, does it have to be that way? You'll find that in some of those hospitals abroad, it is our people that run things. If we can do it outside the country, why can't we replicate same within?"
"You're going too far. There are institutions within this geographic enclave that run like they are suspended in the air, away from the madness that permeates the entire country." I could see that Ara's eyes had glazed over. That was a rare occurrence, it hardly ever happened. I was weak too. I was emotionally drained.
"Is this how we will continue in the African continent?" I asked no one in particular. "The average black man is selfish. We think about ourselves alone. How many black people are contributing to the development of the continent? Compared to the number of those that can, the number is dismal. Foreigners are more readily responsive to help us out of our self-inflicted issues, than we are to find solutions for ourselves."
"But they aren't perfect either", Ara responded.
"I'm not talking about perfection. I'm talking about genuine love for the other person, empathy, sympathy, the triumph of good over evil, consideration . . ."
"I know", Ara cut in. "I was just pointing your attention to the fact that foreigners also have their shortcomings."
"Of course, we're all human, that means we have shortcomings. But while some magnify and indulge in theirs, others push them to the background and play up the good parts."
"Can we have true patriotism in this country?"
"Of course! It just flows from the head."
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