The ghosts are coming

This poem was written for, and eventually published by a Ugandan Civil-Society initiative known as the Black Monday Movement, which sought to highlight the extent of rot present in the nation's public-sectoral structures -

Grey walls, White mists, Clinical coats …

Mulago bleeds … breathes her lasts …

Eyes that see no more – the morning is black,

Ears that hear no more – the screams are piercing,

Shivers, Sweats, Fears … death knocks at her door …                   

But is it her death, alone? – No …

How about the fetus that never knew nine months of life – the miscarriage?

The baby who never cried her first cry - the mother who cried instead - the still-birth?

The young woman who gave a new life … yet lost her own?

The boy who buried his mother …

For an oxygen-tank was a ‘luxury’ the hospital couldn’t bear …

She grits her teeth …. Head pounding with ugly rhythms of guilt …

Responsibility haunts her; didn’t she swear to the Hippocratic Oath?

Her coat is white no longer – drips with red …

The blood of her dying, moaning patients,

Trickling down her brow like beads of her own sweat …

Their agonizing screams jolting her up every night …

‘Mulago!’ …. ‘Mulago!’ … The voices scream ….

With pain, with fury, with rage … They scream …

‘We came to your gates … but you gave us no rest, Mulago!’

‘Sick we were … but you gave us no medicine …’

‘We were bleeding … but you bandaged not our sores …’

Explain she must;

They saw her there; in her white coat …

They toss and turn in their graves; answers they seek;

WHY? …. Oh Mulago, did you not heal our pains?

She quivers … heart thuds; stutters …

''I was but only a lady doctor …''

''I did all I could to save you …''

''I knew your sickness, but I couldn’t help, for there were no drugs in my shelves …’’

''I desired to plug your wounds … but the hospital’s stock was never existent …''

Screams to her return ….

‘But … did we not do our part …?’

‘Did we not pay our taxes in time …?’

‘Did we not vote right ... did we not wear the leaders’ faces on our shirts?’

‘Aren’t your corridors crawling …

With the cold corpses of our mothers and our babies?’

‘Did we not give to Caesar what belonged to him …?’

‘Why then, Mulago …. Did you deny our sick bodies care …?’

‘Why do you let us sink to depths unfathomable …?’

‘Didn’t we matter to you … Mulago?’

She retorts …

''But …. I am not my own boss …

Those medicines and bandages, I only use … I do not buy;

Those doctors and nurses, I only house … I do not pay …''

''Go forth therefore - beyond these grey walls,

And seek your answers… not from me,

But from them …

Whose duty it was to buy medicine for your leukemia … yet they didn’t;

Who ignored your HIV and your diabetes… for 4x4 automobiles;

Who stamped upon your wounds and your pains … for new presidential jets …

Who let your sons and your mothers perish … to fatten their abdomens …

They who led you to your graves …

From them – your answers seek!’’

And - the ghosts are coming …

Solomon Manzi – Lantern Meet of Poets.