Fear to Jola was the whispers of chill air that caressed her skin whenever the clouds darkened. Fear was the pitter-patter or the sound of the thundering of rain on rooftops. Fear was the howl of the wind whenever the rain beat the earth.
As a kid, she would watch other kids twiddle their fingers in anticipation for rain. When the clouds darkened, she would see the excitement take hold of them with a grip like that of a crab’s pincers. She would see their eyes lighten up, a fervent joy taking hold of them. When the rain started, firstly with a light drizzle, she would see them shedding their clothes down to their underpants. Then, when the rain hit more steadily, they would run out into the rain, almost naked and start screaming in happiness. They would sing the song that had been born on their lips,
”Rain, don't go.
Rain, don't go.
We want to play with you.
If you go, please, come another day.”
They would scream and sing and gather puddles of rainwater in their hands to splash at each other. Jola could never join them. She was forbidden to. So, she would stay inside and watch them play. She was a stranger watching happiness from the outside, through a blurry window. She witnessed raw happiness, but never really felt it_never really knew what it was to sing and dance under the rain. When they came into the Children's home from the rain, she would smell the wetness and freshness of the rain and freshly turned earth. One of the kids would pass her by, and she would lean in and swipe her hands on their arm, catching the lingering drops of rain on their skin in her hand. The kid would look at her nervously and scurry away. The kids always whispered about how she was the odd one out. They talked about how she never played in the rain with them. But they would never understand how lonely and deprived she felt too. They would never understand why she had to stay away from the rain_why she had to fear it.
The first time Jola had felt the urge to go into the rain with the other children, she had gotten a terrible scolding from one of the sisters. She had been shedding her clothes, already inhaling the scent of rain. Her body was tingling with the excitement that the other children felt. As she was preparing to race out of the home into the pouring rain, somebody gripped her arm.
“And where do you think you are going to?”, Sister Nelly asked. Sister Nelly was one of the nuns who ran the Children's home and took care of the children.
“I want to play in the rain with the others.” Jola answered.
“You cannot do that. You are not allowed to.” Sister Nelly said in a soft voice. She picked up Jola’s clothes and started wearing them back on her.
“But why?” Jola whined. “Why can't I and they can?”
“Because you are weak and sick. You have sickle cell and you can't be found staying in extreme weather."
Jola couldn't understand what she meant by sickle cell. So, she scrunched her face up in confusion. Sister Nelly led her gently to the children's playroom where they sat on the scratchy carpet. Jola started picking at a hole in the carpet.
“Do you remember last month and how ill you felt? Do you remember how you were in so much pain?” Sister Nelly asked as she folded her hands in her laps.
Jola wouldn't dare forget how she had been in pain the last month. A sudden sharp pain had taken over her, twisting through her bones, wracking every fibre of her being. Her body had become feverishly hot and she had collapsed to the floor, curling in on herself. Later on, one of the sisters would tell her that she had experienced her first crisis. It was one of the worst things she had experienced.
“Yes, Sister Nelly. I remember.” Jola shivered involuntarily.
“Good that you do. I know how terrible it must feel for you not to be able to join the others. But you must not play under the rain. If you do... let's just say it might be worse. You must avoid the rain. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sister Nelly.” She mumbled sadly with her head bowed. Sister Nelly drew her into her arms and held her there, patting her head gently.
A new orphan was brought into the Children's home in March. She was dark skinned and her hair was cropped short. She had this energetic air around her, and she was often seen to smile slyly with a chipped tooth glinting through. Her eyes held mischief and joyful excitement where Jola’s own were dull. She was ten like Jola and she called herself Joji. Immediately, she saw Jola, there was this spark between them. She extended a hand of friendship to Jola and Jola thankfully held on to it like it was a lifeline. Joji would be her first friend in the orphanage.
The first showers of the year came in April. Then, Jola’s and Joji’s relationship had waxed really strong to the point where they went everywhere together and one couldn't be found without the other. When the first rain came, Joji was among the children who were stripping off their clothes to run into the rain they had anticipated so much. Joji was in her underpants when she turned to look at Jola who was still fully clothed.
“You are not coming?” Joji asked.
“I can't.” Jola said, taking a little step back.
“Why?” Joji asked, an eyebrow raised upwards in concern.
“I might die if I go under the rain.”
“Who told you that?” Joji went to stand in front of her, holding Jola's hand in hers.
“Sister Nelly. I'm a sickle cell patient. I'm not allowed to play in the rain.*
“You are not a sickle cell patient, Jola. You are a warrior. I didn't tell you this. But I am also one. And I still love doing a lot of things like playing in the rain. And I'm not dead. You will not die. You won't.”
Jola took a look at Joji's shining eyes and how bubbly she was. Who would have believed she had sickle cell. No one. Joji hadn't let that dull her spirit. And suddenly, Jola wanted to be like her, vigorous, brave and full of life. She started stripping off her clothes and soon they were taking steps—Jola’s steps unsure—towards the rain. Luckily, Sister Nelly was nowhere to be seen. When they got to the door, Jola stopped. Her heart felt like it would burst out of her ribcage. She stepped away from the gusting breeze, took another step away from the joyful screams of the other children. Joji stood on the threshold, her hand outstretched to Jola. She nodded at Jola reassuringly.
"Come on." Joji said softly.
Then, Jola was taking steps towards her and they were going into the rain.
What joy! Oh, what joy! The whispers of the wind caressing her skin, the soft pounding of the rain on her bare body, her feet sinking into the mud. She was twirling and dancing and screaming out. What a joy to feel truly alive.
This story is written in honor of people who have battled the Sickle Cell disease since their birth. They are warriors. May they always be supplied the strength and grace to carry on and live a long, full, exciting life.