It started off as a normal working day. The only strange thing about it was that I kept getting this urge to pray for my second child who was three years old at that time. The prayer burden was with me throughout the day and I took a break every hour or so to go and kneel down on the toilet floor and pray for my child. Later in the afternoon as the burden continued, I called home to check on him but the baby minder did not pick up the phone.
At the end of the day I knocked off work and walked my usual thirty minutes that I took to get home, which was located in the city center outskirts. I got home to find my older son who was eight years old then, seated with his friends in our living room. The baby was nowhere in sight and nor was the child minder. Before I could ask, my little boy blurted out saying that the baby had been knocked by a car. I stood there in the living room refusing to hear what I just heard. Then the little group of friends all stood up, came to me and as if they had been rehearsing all day, said in one voice that what my boy had said was true.
I shivered, sat down, tried to think but could not. I only managed to cry ‘God.. .’ That cry managed to clear my mind a bit. I went to the telephone and called my brother and told him what the children had told me. He asked for more information, I did not have it, other than that I was now rushing to the hospital to find out. In my mind I had the worst scenario and I did not want to even talk about that. Next, I phoned my Pastor and asked him to pray for me.
I was already a single mum by then and had no one else to lean on, so I picked up my handbag and told the little fellows that I was going to the hospital and they were to take my son to one of their homes and lock my door after them. They seemed to understand what I was going through; I actually felt as if I had a group of little men surrounding me with their love and concern. It was written all over their sad faces.
Outside I flagged down a taxi. I was all tears and just mumbled ‘hospital’ to the driver. At the hospital I rushed straight to the emergency ward. From the Inquiries counter I was referred to the children’s ward. The ward nurse I spoke to was heartless, to say the least. After my question she simply said, ‘your child died an hour ago’! I flopped right by her desk to the floor. A parent standing nearby came to my rescue and pulled me to a chair. Weakly I asked the nurse if she was sure about what she had just said. Of course she was, she said and went on to give me the child’s name and age. It was not my son. I stumbled from the chair back to the Inquiries counter. There they told me to search for my son in the always packed waiting room, he was not there. Next they referred me to the doctor’s waiting room.
As I entered that room packed with patients waiting in a queue to the doctor’s cubicle, I saw my child minder. Next to her was my little boy lying on the bench they were sharing. His head rested on a small cushion placed on the girl’s lap. My son had been bumped on the head by a vehicle as they crossed the road from the shopping center. The girl had been negligent, allowing the child to walk playfully on his own while she walked on ahead of him. The driver of the car had rushed them to hospital.
This accident had happened around 3 in the afternoon and yet when I got to the hospital at about 5.30 in the evening, my child had not yet been attended to! I took my child in my arms and prayed for him. Next I carried him past all the waiting patients straight to the doctor’s cubicle. As the patient being attended to came out I rushed in and placed my boy on the examination table, crying and at the same time explaining what had happened. The doctor was shocked that the child had waited so long before getting treatment. He had since stopped crying, the girl said and now was just lying limp, almost lifeless. He had a bump at the back of his head from the knock and a gushing wound on the forehead from the fall.
Towards mid night I left the hospital with my baby strapped behind my back. I had to walk home in the dark streets since taxis were long gone but my son was alive! He had been x-rayed and they did not find any extensive damage to his head. I knew in my heart that it was the power of prayer that had saved him from death. From the way the girl had explained and considering the amount of blood he had lost and the time it took to get treatment I realized that it was God who has seen him through this ordeal. Praise God for SimbaraShe (God’s power) which also happens to be my little boy’s name.