The poor widow - S01 E01

Story 3 months ago

The poor widow - S01 E01

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 1

The Poor Widow Episode One

Jecintha sat beside her husband’s hospital bed and watched him struggle to breathe. He had been coughing blood for weeks, and the doctors said it was a serious lung disease. Before now, he worked as a driver, but the sickness made him stop. The family had been moving from one hospital to another, hoping to get help. All their savings disappeared on medical bills. Friends who used to come around before started giving excuses. The pain in Jecintha’s heart grew every day. She had four children to care for and a sick husband whose condition wasn’t getting any better.

As their money finished, feeding became a problem. Sometimes, Jecintha would go the whole day without eating just to ensure the children had something in their stomachs. The drugs the hospital prescribed were expensive, and without them, her husband got worse. She tried begging people in the streets for help, but most would shake their heads and pass. She went to churches and asked for prayers. Some helped with small money, but it didn’t last. Life was becoming harder each day. Her husband was no longer the strong man she married. He could hardly talk without gasping for breath.

Then the landlord came with a final warning. “Madam, I’ve tried. You’re owing five months’ rent. I need to rent the house to someone else,” he said coldly. Jecintha begged him with tears in her eyes, but he didn’t care. “This is business, not charity,” he added. Two days later, the landlord came with two men. They threw out their things and locked the door. Jecintha and her family sat by the roadside with their belongings. That same month, just days after they were sent packing, her husband gave up. He died quietly, still gasping for air.

Jecintha screamed when she saw his lifeless body. “Don’t leave me! What will I do?” she cried. Her children wept too, especially the eldest who understood what had just happened. It was a painful burial. The little she had left was used to transport his body to the village for burial. There was no proper coffin, no ceremony, just a small crowd that gathered as he was buried. That night after the burial, her mother pulled her aside and whispered, “You can come home, but not with all these children. We’re struggling too.” Her father didn’t even come out to see her.

Heartbroken, Jecintha left her husband’s village with her children. They returned to the town with nowhere to go. She tried calling some relatives, but no one wanted to take her in. Everyone had their own problem. Her husband’s family acted like she didn’t exist. They didn’t ask how she was surviving or where she was sleeping with the children. She wandered the streets during the day and begged shop owners to allow her sleep in front of their stores at night. Some agreed, but others chased her away. The rain beat them. Mosquitoes feasted on them. Life was hard.

One night, Jecintha looked at her children sleeping on the bare pavement in front of a locked shop. She sat beside them and wiped her tears quietly. “I’m in deep sorrow,” she whispered. Her stomach rumbled from hunger. The baby beside her coughed in his sleep. She reached over and covered him properly with her wrapper. Her body was weak. Her spirit was tired. The shame of begging and the pain of losing her husband were still fresh. She never imagined her life would turn out this way. At that moment, she wished she could just disappear.

Days turned into weeks. Jecintha started going to people’s houses to ask for clothes to wash or plates to scrub. Some people gave her food in return, others small money. But it was never enough. The children grew thinner. Their clothes were always dirty. They looked like abandoned children. Many people looked at them with pity but no one wanted to help properly. “We have our own problems,” someone told her one day. She didn’t argue. She understood. But understanding didn’t stop the hunger. She had to keep struggling for the sake of her children.

There were nights when she thought of giving her children out to orphanages. But each time she looked into their eyes, she changed her mind. They had lost their father already. Losing their mother’s care would be worse. She promised herself that she would fight, even if it meant dying in the process. One day, she saw a poster about a women’s support centre. She went there, hoping for help, but was told to come back in three months. “We’re full,” the receptionist said. She left quietly, her heart broken again. Still, she refused to give up completely.

Jecintha’s oldest son, Junior, was just ten years old. He noticed how sad his mother was. One evening, he came to her and said, “Mummy, I want to start selling sachet water in traffic. Let me help you.” Tears filled her eyes. “You’re still a child,” she said. But deep down, she knew they needed every kobo they could get. The next day, she gave him ₦500 from what she earned that day. Junior returned in the evening with ₦800. “I sold everything,” he said proudly. For the first time in weeks, Jecintha smiled. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Still, life in the street was not safe. One night, some boys tried to steal their bag. Another time, a security man almost poured water on them for sleeping in front of his shop. Jecintha knew she couldn’t continue like this. Her children needed to go back to school. They needed shelter, food, and love. She didn’t know how it would happen, but she made a decision. “I must find a way. No matter what it takes,” she whispered to herself. She folded her wrapper tightly and looked up at the sky. Tomorrow was another day to try again.

To be continued