It is a Thursday afternoon around 18:00. It is raining outside and it’s thunderstorming. Dad is busy drinking. Mom is in pain because she’s pregnant and she’s about to give birth anytime. I’m in my room, under my bed because I’m scared of the storm.

While I’m under the bed, I hear dad shouting because he’s drunk. I hear a loud voice saying, “HELP. HELP! Somebody help me! Seema, come help your mama.” It is mom. I get out from under the bed and saunter into my parent’s room. I’m only eight years old. I don’t even know the number of an ambulance by heart.

When I enter the room, I see blood everywhere. In the bed, the clothes and on the floor. Remember, Mom is going to give birth at any time. But, Dad is on top of mom, punching her on the belly and on the face, I mean everywhere.

I don’t know what to do, but I try to pull dad off of mom. But I don’t have the strength at all. While I’m trying to pull dad, I hear a small voice: “Run Seema. Run for your life, my daughter,” says mom.

“But mom,” I say. “I’m scared and it’s late now. I can’t leave you like this.” Dad keeps hitting mom. “Dad,” I scream, “Please stop beating up mom! Can’t you see that you are killing an innocent baby? Dad, why? Why are you doing this?”

Dad yells in a loud voice, “Who do you think you are? Huh? You little brat. Are you talking to me? Come here, Seema. I’m gonna teach you a lesson today,” he clicks his tongue and reaches for me.

Mom says in a small voice, “Where are you taking my daughter? Leave Seema alone!” But then she passes out. It is like she is sleeping.

Then, dad pulls me and drags me into the guest room. He locks the door. I plead in a small voice, “Please, dad. Don’t do this to me. I’m your only daughter.”

Dad goes off on me, in a booming voice: “Seema! You have disrespected me! So, I’m going to teach you a lesson today.”

Suddenly, he pushes me onto the bed. I’m screaming and banging the door, trying to make noise. But, no one hears me because of the thunder and the rain outside.

After, he warns me, “Don’t tell anyone. Even mama. I will kill you if you tell.” I am scared and my body is shaking. I don’t do anything but nod until he exits the room and leaves me all alone.

Moments later, I hear mom shouting. Her voice sounds tired and confused, “What have you done to Seema? Where is she?”

“Shut up, you idiot,” he is sitting on the couch, watching television.

I can hear them, but I stay in the guest room. But mom runs inside the room, and sits next to me. He follows her in and soon the three of us are in a little circle. Thunder booms outside.

“My daughter,” she is crying and bleeding. “What did he do to you?”

“Nothing, Mom,” I lie.

“So why is there blood all over your clothes?” she asks.

“This is not blood mom, it’s…tomato sauce. Please. There’s nothing you need to worry about. I promise.”

The thunder and the rain continue until 05:00 in the morning. Mom gets worried because she is still bleeding on her belly. So, while dad is sleeping on the couch, she decides to call an ambulance. The ambulance takes mom to the hospital. This leaves me home alone with him. While he is sleeping, I sneak into my room and take a few clothes of mine, because I want to get away. I take a jacket, some pants and a bottleneck. I cannot live with just him while mom is at hospital. He is used to dangerous people and he is a drug dealer, too. However, while I am busy packing my clothes into a black bag, dad enters the room:

“Where did your mother go?”

“She is on her way to the hospital…her stomach was bleeding.”

Suddenly, he sees the black bag, he looks shocked, “What are you doing, Seema?”

“I’m just folding my clothes, Dad.”

“Mxm. You think I’m a fool? I’m going to repeat the things that I did to you yesterday!”

“Please,” I beg. “Please don’t do it again. It’s hurtful.”

Suddenly, the phone rings and dad picks it up:

“Hello? Who’s this?”

“It’s the paramedic, sir.”

“So? May I help you?”

“I’m calling you because I want to tell you that…your wife has died. While we were on the way to the hospital. And the baby that was unborn…has died too. I am very sorry, Sir.”

“Okay,” I hear Dad say into the phone. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“So,” the paramedic continues, “Are you coming to see your wife’s body?”

“No,” Dad shouts. “And please don’t ever call me again. And please do whatever you want with the body,” then he dropped the phone on the floor. He runs to me in the guest room.

“Seema,” he goes. “Your mom is dead, so you’ll stay with only me from now on.”

My first thought is that I feel like killing myself. I wish I could live with mom in heaven, because I can’t believe that she’s gone for good. I’m going to miss the way that mom was a protective, caring person. I’m going to miss the way that she laughed. I’m nothing without mom.

I scream, “It’s all your fault that mom is dead!”

“Are you talking to me, child?”

“Sorry, Dad,” I didn’t mean it.

He clicks his tongue, “You better be.”

Five days go by. Every day, I am a slave to him. Also, since it is the summer holiday, I am home every single day, because there is no school. And I cannot tell my auntie or my family because my mother never got along with them. Actually, I never even spoke to them my whole life. And my father’s family would just be on his side. I have no one. It makes me feel like I am all alone in this world. No one cares about me. I feel trapped. I don’t know what to do. I wish mom was near me.

It is a Monday morning and Dad has gone to work. While he is at work, I pack all of my clothes and I go to live in the streets. I decide to go one hour away, to Clermont, because I know he can’t find me there. When I arrive, I feel safer. While I am at the corner of the Ndunduma street here in Clermont, I hear a noise. When I turn to look, there are a lot of children who are also living in the streets like me. It is hot outside. The sun is shining. There are people all over the place, passing through. Some of them are rushing to work and some of them are going back home because they have just finished their night shifts. There are some people who are busy cooking viennas, usu, sausages and fat cook on the sides of the streets and selling them to the people passing by. The street children are dirty and wearing clothes that are ripped. They see me alone with my black bag and approach me. I am so scared. Will they also assault and rape me?

At first, some boy who also lives in the streets asks for my name. He looks to be 11 years old. He is tall, dark and has big eyes. He also has ripped clothes. He has a black t-shirt and a hat. He is not wearing shoes. Because I don’t want him to harass me, I just answer with my name. He asks me, “What have you done at home for you to be living in the streets like this?” I tell him my story. He looks at me, “I’m going to protect you.” This boy seems so loving and caring. He says he’s going to protect me. He already feels like a mother to me, since my mother was also the same way. He tells me that his name is Dumih. “Okay, Seema,” he says. “You are welcome to live with us here in this section.”

***

So the days go by and the years go, too. Three entire years of living on the street. And my Dad does not even try to look for me. But I no longer care, because Dumih has become like a brother to me now. He has protected me through everything. When he has food or anything, he always shares with me. He has a soft spot for me. We both like singing and sometimes we make some songs together. Sometimes people come and watch us singing together on the street. Some people even give us money. This is how we survive on the streets.

On a November afternoon, I am just sitting and thinking about mom, since this is the month when she died, three years ago. I am more quiet than normal. Dumih and I are sitting inside our little cardboard house, eating some fat cook we bought with our singing money. I don’t feel like talking. I can only think about my mother.

Dumih asks me, “Seema, are you okay?”

“Yes Dumih, I’m okay. I’m just thinking about my mom and how I miss her. Dumih, can you tell me, why are you living on the streets?”

“It’s a long story.”

“You can take your time and tell me. Or, can you just summarise it?”

“Okay,” he sighs. “But please, don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Okay,” I promise. “I won’t.”

“So, my father died when I was six years old. So, my mother got married and I had a stepfather. So, the stepfather used to abuse my mom…and…he also abused me as well,” Dumih paused. “So, one day, my stepfather beat mom to death. After, I took a knife and… yeah. I am not proud of what I had to do. But after, since he had other children older than me from other women, they wanted to kill me, because I had killed their father. So I went on the run.”

I respond, “I am so sorry to hear your story. It is so sad.”

“Thanks,” Dumih said. “He used to take advantage of me, as well.”

I feel crushed, “Well, we were in the same situation.”

Dumih changes the subject, “So Seema, you are who you are and one day you are going to change the situation that you are in right now,” he continues. “You know, Seema, I don’t want my children to suffer like me. I want them to be successful. I’m going to send them to the right schools and give them a better education.”

“That’s the spirit,” I say. “I like that. It inspires me.”

“But look, Seema, it’s about to rain. We need to collect some cardboard so we don’t get wet tonight.”

I agree and we both go to the trash bin to collect the boards that we are going to need. When we get back to our spot, it is already raining very badly and we don’t even have a blanket to cover ourselves. I tell him that I am cold, and he tells me not to worry because we are going to be alright. So, the rain settles down.

Before it gets dark, Dimuh says that we must go and search for the food we are going to eat for supper, because we are going to die if we do not eat. I ask him, “Dimuh, where are we going to get food?”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know a place.”

“If you say so.”

We walk down the streets together. While we are walking and searching for food in the bins, we see a lady that is looking at us. “Why is she looking at us?” asks Dumih.

“I don’t even know.”

Suddenly, the lady yells in a loud voice, “Hey! You kids! Come here.”

When we get a good look at the lady, she seems to be about 36 years of age.

I grab Dimuh, “Let’s go to the lady. She is calling us. Maybe she will give us food. I’m hungry.”

“But what if she kidnaps us?” asks Dumih.

“No,” I say. “She won’t.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go to her and hear what she’s going to tell us.”

When we reach her, she says to us in a calm voice: “Good day, my friends. How are you?”

“We are good, ma’am, how are you?”

“I’m good,” she frowns. “But what are you two looking for in the bins?”

“Nothing,” Dumih lies. “We are just passing-”

“No. We are looking for food. We are hungry,” I cannot lie because I am so hungry.

“Okay,” the lady says. “Can I give you the food that you want so that you won’t starve again?”

“Thank you very much.”

“It’s okay, kids,” she says. Then, we follow her down the road and go to the nearest shop to buy food. When we are about to enter the shop, the security says that Dumih and I are not allowed to enter because we are dirty, so the lady enters alone.

We wait outside the shop for the lady. When she comes back outside to meet us, she has plastic bags full of food. We are so shocked that we don’t know what to do. The lady gives us all the food, quietly, and then just leaves.

But Dumih runs after her, “Lady! Please! Wait for us! We want to know your name!” But the lady just disappears down the street. This is strange to us.

Dumih comes back to me, out of breath, “How come a lady out of nowhere buys us some food and then disappears?”

“This is strange to me, too, Dumih. Maybe this lady is sent from God? Who knows.”

Dumih giggles, “You must be joking, Seema.”

It is getting late, so we go back to the place where we sleep. When we arrive, we see the food lady again. She is sitting right at our place.

“Sorry, ma’am. Where are you coming from and what is your name?” asks Dumih.

The lady replies, “I’m Jessie. And I’m a social worker.”

I ask again, “A social worker?”

The lady I can now call Jessie says, “Yes, a social worker. And I’ve been watching you two from the beginning. And I’m here to help, if you want help. Come live with me in my house.”

A few moments pass before either of us gets the courage to say anything.

“It’s okay ma’am,” says Dumih. “We will stay with you.”

She smiles, “Thank you very much, my children. So, can we go now?”

I tell her that, yes, we can go. So we are going to live with Jessy now. I am so excited. We are going to bathe with hot water and eat healthy food. Dumih asks me if I am happy. I tell him that I am and he can see it. It is all over my body, the joy and happiness.

We drive for one hour to a new area. “We’ve arrived at home now!” says Jessy. I am amazed. The house is so beautiful and huge. There is so much excitement all over our faces. Jessie then says that we must go and bathe so that we can smell nice and wear clean clothes. So we bathed and did wear clean clothes.

Jessie cooks us delicious food and we are so happy because it has been such a long time since I have eaten a nice meal like this. Jessie asks me, “What made you live on the streets?”

I tell her, “My father…at one time, my mom was pregnant and he beat her up. While he was beating her up, she had a miscarriage. Then she died, too. I was like a daily bread to him.”

Jessie became sad, “I’m sorry to hear a sad story like this. Maybe I should not have asked. It is so painful.”

I say, “Yes, it is painful. But I am happy that I don’t like with him anymore, because he was a dog to me.”

“Yes,” says Jessie. “He is a dog,” then she looks at Dumih. “Dumih, can you tell me your story? Why did you live on the streets? What was the cause of it?”

Dumih replies, “Well, my stepfather used to abuse me, too.”

Jessie is even sadder, “I’m sorry to hear that Dumih, but you are safe now because you are living with me.”

“Let’s hope so,” we say to Jessie.

So, we are at peace now. I feel so excited to be living in this new home. Every morning, I wake up in a luxurious bed and Jessie makes a delicious breakfast for us. Dumih also wakes up in a luxurious bed of his own. We have everything we need in this place.

***

Seven years pass like this; us living peacefully with Jessie. In all the years, we have been so happy together. However, one day, Jessie grows ill and she is admitted to the hospital. Days and time go by until she is released. We are excited when she returns, because she is like a mother to us. The day she comes back, we are all sitting on the couch. Jessie says, “My children, sadly I am going to die soon and you will have to live here all alone. I’m so sorry to tell you this horrible news. I promise that all my inheritance will come to you. Please take care of yourselves.”

Dumih holds back tears, “What sickness have you got, Jessie?”

I am shocked, “Is it curable?”

Jessie replies, “Please stop with these silly questions.”

“Please answer us, Jessie,” says Dumih.

Jessie replies, “Please stop with these silly questions. It hurts too much.”

“Answer us!” says Dumih.

Jessie starts, “The sickness that I have is not curable. I have cancer. My doctors told me I only have four days to live. I left the hospital because I didn’t want to die there. I wanted to spend time with you all; my children.”

I am worried, “So you are going to leave us alone now?”

“Don’t worry, my children, I will always be there for you. In bad times and in good times.”

Suddenly, Jessie starts shaking. She is shaking strongly. So, Dumih calls an ambulance. After 30 minutes, it arrives. All of us get in the back. While we are inside, the paramedic puts the defibrillator onto Jessie’s chest and that helps her. When we arrive to the hospital, the nurse says we must go to the ICU. However, we are not allowed in. We must wait outside for the nurse to give us news.

While we are sitting outside, we are panicking and praying that Jessie won’t leave us because she is like a mother to us. We waited as long as a half an hour until the doctor exited the ICU. The nurse came, too. Dumih asks, right away: “Is Jessie alright?”

“Sorry,” the nurse started. “We tried our best, but she couldn’t make it.”

I scream inside. Why does God take the ones that we love? You know, God, sometimes I hate you. I am screaming and banging the door. Dumih touches my shoulder, “Seema, don’t worry I’m gonna take care of you no matter what we go through.

I ask the nurse, “Can we see her?” She agrees.

We enter the ICU and we see Jessie and the machines that are all over her still body. I cannot help but to cry. We both exit the room. Dumih drives us home. While he is driving, he is complaining about life and the mess he has been through. When I look at him, he is busy mumbling and crying while he is driving.

While he is driving us back home, he just hits something and I don’t know what it is. It happens in the blink of an eye. When I wake up, I am lying on my back in the middle of the highway and I see many people around me. When I see Dumih, he is in the crowd, looking at me and screaming for help. So, he calls the ambulance and it comes to take me to the hospital. When we arrive, I ask myself where I am. I only knew that I had been in the car on the way home.

At the hospital, the doctor examines me right away and says I’m going to need a surgery because my heart is not pounding enough. I have lost a lot of blood. I ask Dumih, “What have they done to me?”

Dumih says, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Can you lend me a mirror?”

“Why do you want a mirror? There is nothing wrong with you.”

I yell, “Give me a mirror!” I click my tongue.

Dumih insists, “You don’t need to look at yourself in this condition because if you see yourself, you are going to hurt yourself.”

“No,” I say. “I won’t.”

Dumih gives me a mirror.

“Oh no! My face is damaged.”

“Don’t worry, Seema, you are going to be fine. All shall pass.”

So, the doctor enters the room in which we are sitting. He looks at Dumih, “Can I talk to you for a moment, please?”

“Okay, no problem,” Dumih replies. They go off to talk in a private room, but I can hear little pieces of their conversation. “You know,” the doctor starts. “Seema has lost a lot of blood and we need someone to donate to her. We also need someone who will give parts of their body so she won’t die.”

Dumih asks the doctor, “What if my blood matches with her blood? Could I donate blood to her?”

I can’t hear anything else after that.

After, the doctor goes to the lab and Dumih comes back in the room to check on me. I ask him, “What were you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Dumih says.

“So? What were you discussing? I know it was about me. Tell me!”

“Fine. We were talking about what we need to do so we can help you.”

“Help me with what?” I ask, praying he won’t confirm what I already know.

“Seema,” he says. “There is something I need to tell you. You need a surgery. Since you’ve lost lots of blood. So, the doctor said that we need someone who matches with your blood. If not, you could die. So that is the problem that we have. Seema, please don’t stress yourself. We are going to fight this.”

I tell him okay. I trust him. “Thanks for being here for me, Dumih. You are like a father, a friend and a mother to me. Thank you so much.”

“Seema,” he replies. “I would die for you, no matter what.”

The next day, I am scheduled for surgery. A doctor comes in my room to wheel my bed into the surgery room. Me and Dumih are hugging and he is trying to calm me down. The doctor puts his hand on my shoulder, “Miss,” he says. “We have to go. The surgeon is waiting for us.”

“Can Dumih come with me?”

“Sorry ma’am, but he can’t.” Then Dumih grabs my hand. Tears are falling from his eyes. He hugs me tightly before they take me into the surgery room.

***

Right after the surgery, my eyes flutter open, only to see that I am totally alone. The doctor enters and comes next to my bed, “The surgery was a success.” He is smiling.

My eyes are tired, “Where is the boy I was with?”

He pauses, “Uhm…He wanted me to give you this.” Then he hands me a huge teddy bear that is holding a letter. The doctor stands next to me as I read the letter. It reads:

Hey sis. I love you so much. I am sorry I can’t be here to congratulate you on your successful surgery. I know, I should’ve told you about what I did, but I didn’t want you to stop me. You needed a new heart, so I gave you mine. I’m sorry. I love you. You should know that. But now, you have my heart. And with that heart, you will always be with me.

Tears stream down my face. I ask myself, why me? Why do I deserve this?

The doctor pats my back, “You know, Seema, sometimes the people that love you need to make sacrifices for the ones that they love. So, this boy really loves you.”

“Doctor, thanks for the inspiring words. Can I go home now?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “Yes, you can.”