‘Noti, why am I still lying here? Noti, why aren’t they taking me to the operating theatre?’ I ask her in a veiled whisper.

 Mum is standing in a corner with Priscilla; they are looking at me, looking as scared as I am feeling. I cannot tell what they’re thinking, feeling or seeing. Then it dawns on me that my situation must be grave. Their silence tells me as much. It is impossible for my family to remain silent in a situation such as this (or in any situation), yet here they are, just numbly staring at me. No one utters a word.

‘Noti, why am I not going to the operating room? Kin’gi hape,’ I repeat my earlier question.

 ‘Bo Mwangala, your Hb level is 3. Professor Mulla has refused to operate on you until you get a blood transfusion,’ she says with utter helplessness in her voice.

‘Then why aren’t they giving me blood, Noti?’ In my hazy crazy mind, it is not making any sense – why am I lying here instead of being taken to the operating room?

Her eyes are filled with tears and she whispers, ‘Bo Mwangala, there is no blood at the blood bank, but Bo Richard has gone to take another look,’ and this time, she cannot contain her emotions. The tears slowly roll down her cheeks as she looks at me helplessly and slowly buries her head into the side of my bed squeezing my free hand. I hear some muffled crying and turn to see my mother and Priscilla with both their heads buried in their hands.

Priscilla, the prayer warrior of the family. The one sister you call on at any family function or fundraiser to be the one to pray when no one offers themselves. Always ready, always faithful, always reminding us about the Grace of God.

Priscilla, my adopted sister, why are you crying?

Pg 18