Kathrine: I’m An Orphan But I Won’t Do It
– Episode 25
I was shocked when I saw Sarah standing near the mall entrance. I wondered if it was really her or just someone who looked like her. It had been over two years since we last met. If someone had told me she was still alive, I wouldn’t have believed it.
Back then, I thought she had taken her own life. I had no idea she had been battling that serious illness this whole time—HIV. She didn’t recognize me, but I recognized her. She used to be a beautiful, chubby, fair girl. Despite losing those qualities, I still remembered her face vividly.
Sarah assumed I was just another person offering her money. She looked up at me, greeted me politely, and said, “Can you help me with some money to buy my medicine? I’m sick, and these drugs are the only thing keeping me going.”
As soon as she mentioned her illness, I was convinced it was Sarah. The last time we met, she had tested positive for HIV. My eyes welled up with tears, ready to spill. I was speechless, frozen in place. She probably thought I was deciding whether or not to help her, but in reality, I was overwhelmed by the shock of seeing her alive.
After a moment of silence, I called out her name with all the passion in my heart, “Sarah…” She jolted in surprise, lifted her head, and looked at me.
Although she still couldn’t recognize me, she was astonished that I knew her name. She kept staring at me, trying to figure out who I was. That’s when I said, “Sarah, it’s Kathrine. Oh my God, is it really you? Are you still alive? Where have you been all this time? What happened to you, Sarah? My goodness, thank God you’re still alive. This is unbelievable.”
Her eyes widened with surprise, and she couldn’t take her eyes off me. Tears filled her eyes instantly, and she was just as shocked to see me as I was to see her.
“Ka… Ka… Kath,” she stuttered.
“Yes, Kathrine, it’s me, Kathrine,” I replied, tears streaming down my cheeks slowly. We were both lost in the moment, exchanging intense emotional gazes without caring who was watching.
Then our memories began to resurface, and she lowered her head in shame. Without hesitation, I dropped my handbag, rushed forward, and embraced her tightly.
We both burst into tears, unable to contain the flood of nostalgic feelings from our past. We had never imagined that we would meet again, and it felt like a dream, especially for me, who had thought she was gone forever.
I took her inside the mall and used all the money I had in my bag to buy her some clothes, toiletries, and basic necessities for the weekend. When we got back home, I made sure she took a bath, ate a decent meal, and put on a fresh dress before we sat down for a long conversation that stretched into the night.
“It’s a long story, Kathrine,” she began.
“After that night when I said goodbye to you, I tried to take my own l!fe, but I couldn’t go through with it. I was so lost and confused. Out of desperation, I continued living with my boyfriend for the next six months. He kept being int!mate with me, and I delíberately refused to tell him about my H|V status.”
“We lived together, and I kept working at that hotel, trying to figure out what to do with my life. Every time I thought about end!ng my life, something held me back.”
“After six months, the symptoms of my illness became too obvious. On the days when I felt extremely déprésséd, I would skip taking my medication. I started suffer!ng from severe pneumonia and even tuberculosis.”
“As the signs became more apparent, I searched for an affordable place to live in one of Lagos’ poorest communities without letting my boyfriend know about my condition.”
“Three weeks later, I received a call that a tenant had vacated a place I had been looking at, and I decided to move without telling my boyfriend.”
“One morning, while he was at work, I packed my bags and left. I had told our manager in that hotel that I was ill and needed some time off, but I didn’t inform him that I wouldn’t be returning or about my health issues.”
“After I moved, my health deteriorated rapidly. I started working as a dishwasher at a local restaurant near my new home. When my madame learned about my condition, she tried to help, but the restaurant didn’t have many customers, and she could only do so much.”
“I began using alc0h0l to cope with my depress!on, and sometimes, I would go a whole week without taking my medications. This led to numerous complications, and my body began to show the effects. I lost weight rapidly.”
“That’s when I quit my job as a dishwasher and started staying indoors. I continued using alc0h0l and even added sm0k!ng to the mix, using up all the money I had.”
“For over a year, I’ve been roaming the streets of Lagos like a l0st soul, begging for money. Every time I received some money, I spent it on my add!ct!ons.”
“It’s been a long, painful journey, Kathrine, and I’m closer to the end than the beginning. Please, don’t waste your money on me. Just let me go. It’s too late.”
As she recounted her heartbreaking journey, tears welled up in both of our eyes. It was difficult to imagine the pain and suffering she had endured over the past two years. I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of empathy and sorrow for her.
She told me something that struck a chord deep within me. She said that the meal I had given her was the best food she had eaten in over a year. My heart ached to think of the difficult circumstances she had been living in, barely able to afford even a basic meal.
She told me that she had refused to stay two years ago because she didn’t want to drag me down with her. She believed in me, in my potential for success, even when I couldn’t see it myself.
With a resolute tone, she insisted once more that I should let her go. She argued that if she had made the decision to leave when her situation was slightly better, it only made sense for her to continue on her own path now.
She pleaded with me not to spend a single penny on her and to allow her to return to the streets where she felt she belonged.