HOW CAN LITTLE CHILDREN DIE?

I was 7 years old when I learnt that children walk the path of death – a path only old people with their walking sticks should walk. That incident scarred me and took from my innocence as a child. I’ve held on to the grief for over 15 years and today, I lay it all down.

I've always wondered how to approach this topic; by fiction, by essay, or by poems. Today, I'll trust my emotions to guide me.

I remember sitting in front of my father's sharp television watching Osofia's theatrics that evening when my mother barged into the house like her heels were on fire.

She turned to my father who was snuggled into the three-seater couch also watching Osuofia and she said, “Timo* is dead!” My mother has never been one to know how to break bad news and I remember looking at the screen and seeing nothing. My heart was racing, my head was spinning, “Dead?! Little children die?”

I do not remember what they said after that and I guess they thought I was too young to understand what had happened but I did. My best friend who was only nine years old had just left the world for a place I did not know, and I was left to process my unrecognizable feelings alone.

I was 5 years old when I first met Timo and we had so many fun memories together. My parents rarely let me go out, so we maintained our friendship by speaking at the gate which served as a barrier between us just as death serves as a barrier between us today. I, on one side and him on the other side.

Whenever I was allowed to go over to Timo’s, I watched Disney cartoons which I rarely watched at home and I wore his clothes to act in dramas. We climbed water tanks, built wooden guns, made origami art, terrorized unlucky lizards and read Macmillan primary school English books. I always ate pepper soup noodles in his house and I came and left as I pleased.

We were always up to mischief whenever we were together. One day, we were speaking at my gate. Me on the inside and him on the outside and we played a prank on our parents so they could let us out to play. Of course, we got caught and it didn't end well for either of us. But we got to play for hours, so it was worth it.

Timo was super adventurous and super smart. I think of him sometimes and I wonder how he would have looked as an adult. Would he have remained skinny? Would his eyes still be yellow? Would he still be visiting the hospital every other week?

I guess I’ll never know. Whenever I see any reminder of Micheal Jackson or Osuofia, the colour yellow, onion flavour indomie, Macmillan books, 7th of May, green water tanks, hat moulds, Cameroon pepper, Snow White cartoon, and so many other things, I remember the friend I lost. The friend who I’ve grieved for years. The friend I lost without a warning. The friend whose passing opened my eyes. The friend whose life (however short-lived) encourages me to live. My warrior friend who tried his best to live.

Till tomorrow, I’ll never understand why young people pass away. Continue to rest in peace, my dear sweet boy.