Martha

At one of the sites where I work - the one where Simon and I have our own office - there is a horseshoe of one-storey buildings (containing all of the offices). Where the horseshoe opens is where you'll find a big double gate as the entrance to the site, and by the entrance there are usually a handful of women selling food, snacks and cold soft drinks from large tubs.


One of these women is called Celeste. I started chatting to her one day because she had three beautiful children, so I asked what their names were. The little girl was Janet, the boy Emmanuel and the baby strapped to her back was called Martha. Since then I've been talking to her when I pass or buy a drink, saying hello to the children and once even having a quick hold of Martha who was fascinated by trying to grab my earrings and glasses.


Celeste disappeared for a while, but that's not unusual - we had a sallah public holiday and normally it takes quite a while for people to come back to work here after a holiday. When I came into work on Tuesday I was pleased to see her again, and asked her how she'd been. "Fine" is the obligatory and ubiquitous response to that question in Nigeria. I noticed she didn't have the baby strapped to her back, so I asked, smiling, where Martha was, expecting to hear that she was with a relative or something. "She died".


Martha died on 9th October. When I asked Celeste why, she simply said "She got sick". I assume she couldn't afford healthcare, or not the sort of healthcare which could have accurately diagnosed whatever life-threatening (life-taking) illness she had.


I know that death is a part of life, and an even bigger part of life in developing countries. I know that that's the reason people traditionally have large families here and I know that people - children - frequently die out here for unknown reasons. But this really took the wind out of my sails. 


Celeste looked more drained than usual, but there were no tears in her eyes. I had no idea what to say, apart from 'I'm so sorry'. Maybe the lack of tears are because the grieving process has to be over more quickly out here, where people die all the time and if you don't get back to work, your family doesn't eat. Maybe. Maybe the unquestioning, all-consuming belief in God and an afterlife helps. I don't know. But I can't believe that, inside, Celeste is in any less pain than any other mother would be if they lost their child.