On Friday evening around 5:30, the boy’s already troubled breathing grew worse. Nurses gave him oxygen. He died an hour later.
Fazira went to find Ndagire.
Even at a hospital in which 80 percent of first-time patients are in the late stages of their disease, Ndagire has not gotten used to such moments.
“You try to harden yourself, and you think you’re doing OK,” she said on Tuesday. “And then you lose a patient, and you’re shattered.”
Ordinary acts of kindness
That night, Ndagire, 27, had no time to mourn, for another crisis loomed: Fazira needed to bury her son before sundown the following day, according to her Muslim faith. But she and her aunt had used all of their money to get to Kampala, and had none left to return with the boy’s body to their village, Nawansega.
Ndagire immediately called Dr. Innocent Mutyaba, the coordinator of the Burkitt Lymphoma Project, a joint initiative of the UCI and Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. One of the ways the project helps patients adhere to treatment is to provide transportation subsidies so that they can return to Kampala every two weeks over about three months for chemotherapy. Could the project help the women get home? Yes, said Mutyaba.
Families who can afford it hire a car and a coffin to pick up the remains of their loved ones from the hospital. Even with assistance, the women could afford neither. So with Ndagire’s help, they slipped Musa’s small body into a vinyl bag. Cradling it tenderly, Fazira climbed on the back of a boda-boda, or motorcycle taxi, with her aunt on another. A man who was at the hospital with his own child offered to accompany them, Ndagire said, though he did not know them and was from a different region of Uganda.
“They were two young women, traveling alone,” Ndagire said, matter-of-factly explaining what seemed an extraordinary act of kindness.