The Hand of the Divine

The past few days have been quite painful and dramatic. But in the midst of the pains and the drama, I’ve encountered an exceptional touch of humanity that has left me in tears – tears of joy. 

In the midst of hopelessness and desperation, I found hope far beyond what I’d have hoped for. The encounter has left me reflecting deeply on our shared humanity. That in spite of the political turmoil and the economic turbulence that we find ourselves in now, there’s still hope on the horizon.

On Friday 12 November, I had a call that my daughter who is in boarding at the Senior High School (SHS) had collapsed. Twice it happened on a Friday. At 7 in the morning whilst in class. And at 8 in the evening during preparation (prep) hours.

Saturday dawn, I set off to my daughter’s school in the mountains in the Eastern Region. I arrived at the school and went to House 4. I asked a student to call my daughter for me.

I stood in front of House 4, anxiously looking for a sign of my daughter. I saw a flash of “something” being carried by some students. I lost sight of the scene as they were descending the stairs.

My eyes have started playing tricks on me in recent times. Sign of aging I was told. So I thought it was one of those tricks. But lo and behold, it was my beloved daughter being carried by her mates.

 

My heart began beating faster than usual. I could feel my legs had begun shaking too. Students were all over the place doing their Saturday morning washing. The least mistake and I’ll find myself in the exact situation as my daughter. But no. I had to stay strong in order to be there for her.

As a human, you only know how strong you are in such situations. As a softie, tears began tripping down my eyes. It was about 9 in the morning. Two hours earlier, the House Mistress called me and I spoke with my daughter. I told her I was on my way coming.

Now here I was. But my daughter had gone into a different realm, unaware daddy has come. You can imagine what was running through my mind. Quickly I had to look for a vehicle to transport her to the hospital.

As if by some divine orchestration, there was a salon car parked at a T-junction not far from house 4. But the owner/driver was nowhere to be seen.

I desperately began dialing a staff member whose bungalow is by the school gate. So he sends a taxi up the hill for me. But his phone couldn’t be reached. Mobile phone network coverage is very bad in the school.

Just when I was about to run the race of my life to the school gate, I saw a woman sitting at the T-junction. She asked:

“Are you the one the ‘trotro’ was coming for?”

Apparently, “my trotro” had come up the hill to pick me up, but had left as they couldn’t see me.

Just then, a gentleman came for the parked salon car. He was about to drive away. I quickly ran to him for help. It was as if my world was coming to an end.

Quickly I ran back to House 4 and asked the students carrying my daughter to bring her to the T-junction. I was walking ahead as they followed with my daughter. They put her into the back of the car, somehow lifeless. Her eyes were tightly closed.

It turned out the owner of the salon car is a staff member of the school. “Efiewura” he’s popularly known.

As “Efiewura” was driving us to the nearest hospital, we encountered “my trotro” heading back to the school to look for me again.

It so happened that I was the last passenger to alight from a Mercedes Benz Sprinter “trotro” bus I traveled on from Accra to the Mountains. As I was descending at the school gate, I asked the driver and his mate if they were going back to Accra right away.

I told them I was just going to fetch my daughter who’s unwell and return to Accra with her. They decided to wait for me at the school gate. They however waited for a long without sight of me and my daughter.

Not wanting to waste more time waiting, they drove into the school to pick us up. When they got to the T-junction where the woman was sitting, but couldn’t see me, they made a U-turn and left.

According to the trotro driver, as they were driving back to Accra, he became preoccupied with thoughts of me. Unable to let go of his preoccupation with me, he told his mate that they ought to return to the school and look for me and my daughter again.

So “my trotro” driver made another u-turn heading back to the school. I was in the backseat with my daughter as “Efiewura” was driving us to the nearest health facility.

After driving for about 10 minutes, Efiewura suddenly stopped. He said the driver of a “trotro” that just passed in the opposite direction had signaled him to stop. I looked back and saw the “trotro” making a U-turn.

And guess what! It was “my trotro,” the one that brought me from Accra. The “trotro” then parked behind Efiewura’s car. God knows how the “trotro” driver was able to spot me in Efiewura’s car.

“Efiewura” began explaining to the trotro driver and mate that my daughter’s condition had worsened. So we have decided to send her to the nearest health facility.

Right then I noticed that my daughter was regaining consciousness. Her eyes were partly opened. I asked her if she was okay for us to go to Accra.

“Yes,” she said.

Slowly, we came out of Efiewura’s car, and boarded the “trotro”. I was seated right behind the “trotro” driver on our way back to Accra. My daughter’s head rested on my lap as she fell asleep.

As the driver narrated how he became restless with thoughts of me – the reason he decided to return to the school and look for me – I began reflecting on a Daily Devotional I’ve been reading lately. It’s titled:

“Where is God in the midst of suffering?”

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11

While in Pentonville in North London, I had an encounter with a White British who was having mental health issues. He was always by himself – alone in the world.

One day I decided to engage him in a chat. That led to us becoming friends. As soon as it was time for “Daycare”, he’d come to me.

For whatever reasons I can’t tell, I came to the realization that his mental health issues might be the result of excessive brain or too much learning.

As I began telling officers about my observation of him, I noticed that officers and other inmates had picked interest in him. He was hardly by himself henceforth.

One day, he stared at me for so long. Then he said to me:

“MAUNDY, you are a Saint. Saints are higher than Angels.”

I was quite perplexed by the “revelation”. I asked him what he meant by that. Three times he repeated what he had said. I gave him my notebook to write his “revelation” in my book for me.

Back in Accra, I sent my daughter to Lapaz Community Hospital, which has been our family hospital over the years.

We saw a doctor and narrated all that had happened. The doctor requested for some lab test to be conducted right away.

As soon as a lab technician finished drawing samples of her blood, my daughter collapsed in the lab.

She was immediately admitted to the hospital’s emergency.

To be continued…