THE SETBACK

One day as Mungu was on fire in the ring training, throwing kicks left and right, his gloves pounding the pads coach Adam was holding. He was gonna make it to the Semifinals, no doubt about it. But then, out the corner of his eye, he Looked at his mother, his number one supporter, she has been with him through every sweat-drenched morning and every grueling session. She was standing there, cheering him on, and from nowhere she dropped. Time froze. Coach Adam stopped holding the pads, and the sounds of the gym faded into the background. Mungu rushed to her side, panic setting in. "Mama! Mama, what's wrong?!" Coach Adam called the ambulance, and it felt like an eternity before it arrived. They took her to the hospital, his heart racing the whole way. Mungu sat in the waiting room nervously, his gloves still on, his hands shaking and his eyes fixed on the doctor's door. “What if... what if something happened to her?" He said with a full hour of waiting the doctor finally came out, her expression serious. "Mungu, I want to speak with you about your mother's test results." Mungu's heart sank, and he stood up, his legs shaking. "What is it, Doc? What's wrong with her?" The doctor led him to a quiet corner of the waiting room and sat down beside him. "I'm afraid it's cancer, Mungu. We're going to do everything we can to treat her, but it's a tough road ahead." Mungu felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Cancer? No, it couldn't be." His mother was strong; healthy... she is all he has. The doctor continued, her voice gentle, "We'll need to run more tests to determine the stage and spread. But I want to be honest with you, it's a serious diagnosis. It may take time to cure, and we may need to explore different treatment options." Mungu's mind reeled as the doctor explained the possibilities, but he couldn't process it all. Time? What did she mean? How much time? "...Sometimes, the best we can do is provide palliative care and make her comfortable," the doctor said, her words cutting through Mungu's panic. "No, Doc, you have to do something. She's all I have," Mungu pleaded his voice cracking. The doctor took his hand, her eyes filled with compassion. "I understand, Mungu. We'll do everything we can, but... it might be helpful to... prepare yourself for the possibility that the treatment might not be successful." Mungu felt like he was drowning, his world crashing down around him. He buried his face in his hands, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Just put her in prayers, Doc. Please." The doctor nodded her voice soft. "Of course, Mungu. We'll do everything we can, and I'll make sure she's comfortable and pain-free." As the doctor's words sank in, Mungu felt a sense of desperation wash over him. He would do anything to save his mother, to make her well again. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the road ahead. He would be strong for her, no matter what came next. Mungu sat beside his mother's hospital bed, holding her frail hand in his. Valeria looked up at him, a weak smile on her face. "Mama, how are you feeling?" Mungu asked, trying to sound calm. Valeria squeezed his hand weakly. "I’ll be okay, Son. Don't worry about me. You need to keep living strong. Focus on your match." Mungu forced a smile, trying to reassure her. "Yes, Mama, the doctors are going to do everything they can so that you'll be well. You just have to focus on getting better, OK?" Valeria nodded, her eyes filled with a deep wisdom. "I will, son. I'll fight, I promise." Mungu's eyes welled up with tears as he looked at his mother, so small and fragile in the hospital bed. He didn't want to lose her, not now, not ever. "I'll be right here with you every after training, Mama," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I'll never leave your side." Valeria smiled again, her eyes shining with love. "I know, son. You're a good son." The two sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the beeping of the machines and the soft hum of the hospital equipment. Then, Youssef and Coach Adam came to visit. "Is she ok?" Youssef asked. "The doctor has promised to do everything so that she gets well." Mungu replied.

Determined to honor her wish, Mungu channeled his anxiety into his training. Every day, he hit the gym, pushing himself harder, while making sure to visit her after every workout. He’d sit by her side, sharing stories about sparring sessions with friends, wanting to fill the room with laughter and hope. But since Valeria fell ill, the world around Mungu shifted. Each day that passed felt heavier, the hope in his Mother's eyes flickering like a candle caught in a gust of wind. "Mama, I'm so sorry this happened," Mungu said, his voice laced with worry. "I feel like I should've been watching you more closely." Valeria smiled weakly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Oh, sweetie, you can't be my guardian angel all the time. I'm fine, really. Just a little... drama queen, okay?" she joked, trying to lighten the mood. Mungu chuckled, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But I'm not gonna lie, I am scared, mama. I don’t want to loss you." Valeria took a deep breath, her expression turning serious for a moment. "I'm tough, Mungu. You're not getting rid of me that easily. Now, tell me about your training. How's it going?" Mungu's face lit up like a firecracker. "Ah, it's going great mama! I sparred with Mike early in the morning, and I finally landed a solid kick on him. He didn't know what hit him!" he said, laughing. Valeria beamed with pride. "That's my boy! I'm so proud of you, Mungu. You're really mastering those kicks." Mungu nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, and I learned a new combo last week – a wicked hook kick followed by a spinning back fist. Want to see?" he asked, already getting up to demonstrate. Valeria laughed. "Oh, careful! Don't hurt yourself! But yes, show me!" Mungu carefully demonstrated the move, his Mother watching intently. She winced at the wrong parts, but her eyes shone with excitement. "Wow, Mungu, you're a pro! I'm so proud of you, baby. You're going to kick some serious butt in your next fight!" she exclaimed. Mungu grinned, feeling a surge of confidence. "Thanks, mama. Your support means everything to me. I wouldn't be here without you." Valeria's expression softened, her eyes welling up with tears. "You'd be anywhere you wanted to be, son. You're driven, talented, and kind. I'm just... your biggest fan," she said, her voice trembling. Mungu's eyes misted and he hugged Valeria tightly. "Love you, mama," he whispered. "Love you too, sweetie," Valeria replied, hugging him back.

A few weeks before the big match, everything changed for Mungu. One day as Mungu was staring blankly at the hospital entrance after his training, he couldn't shake off the weight of his mother’s illness and the looming fight. His mind was a jumble of worry and doubt. That's when he noticed three men approaching him, their faces etched with concern. "Hey, champ, we couldn't help but notice you're troubled," one of them said. "What's going on?" Mungu hesitated, but something about their kind eyes put him at ease. He told them about his mother's condition and the upcoming fight. The men listened intently, nodding their heads. "You shouldn't be fighting," one of them said gently. "Your mother needs you. You can always fight another day." But Mungu shook his head. "I've worked too hard to throw this fight. I have to see it through." Just then, a figure emerged from the shadows. He was tall, imposing, and exuded an air of authority the boss to these men. "Your willpower, I presume?" he said, his voice firm but polite. Mungu nodded, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. "I need you to lose the semifinals, I will give you money and good doctors to treat your mother, I agree. You see, we have interests in the outcome of this fight, and we always get what we want." the boss said. Mungu felt a shiver run down his spine as the boss's words took on a sinister tone. "If you don't comply... let’s, just say your mother might find herself in a position where she's receiving less than optimal care." The boss said. Mungu's instincts screamed at him to be cautious. He knew he was in over his head. But he also knew he couldn't back down. "I won't do it," he said, trying to sound braver than he felt. "I'll fight my best, no matter what." The boss's expression didn't change, but his eyes seemed to bore into Mungu’s soul. "Don’t you think you are making a brave mistake," the boss said. " And if you still decide to go through with the fight as you planned, there will be consequences. Mungu watched as the boss and these men turned to leave, and he entered the hospital to meet his mother.

One day, Mungu was in the middle of a grueling training session, his sweat-drenched body moving swiftly around the ring. He was a force to be reckoned with, his fists flying at his opponent with precision and power. Just as he was about to finish the session, coach Adam approached him, a look of concern on his face. "Mungu, you have an emergency call from the hospital. Your mother..." Mungu's heart skipped a beat as he grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. "What's wrong?" Adam's expression said it all. "We need to go to the hospital, now." Mungu's world came crashing down as he rushed out of the gym, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios. They hailed a taxi and sped to the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest. As he burst into the hospital room, he saw his mother's frail body lying in the bed, surrounded by machines and tubes. His boss, Youssef, was sitting a side, his eyes red and swollen. Mungu's heart sank as he approached the bed. "Mama..." he whispered, his voice trembling. Valeria's eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at her son. "Mungu..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. Mungu took her hand, tears streaming down his face. "I'm here, Mama. I'm here." Valeria's grip on his hand tightened, and she looked up at him with a faint smile. "I'll be OK, Mungu..." But it was too late. Her eyes slowly closed, and her body went still. Mungu felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "No... Mama, no!" he cried, his voice shaking with grief. The machines beeped and whirred, and the hospital staff rushed in, trying to revive her, but it was too late. Valeria was gone. Mungu collapsed to the floor, his body wracked with sobs. He felt like he'd lost a part of himself, like a piece of him had been torn away. His mother, his rock, his guiding light... gone. As the reality of the situation set in, Mungu's grief turned to anger, and he screamed, his voice echoing through the hospital corridors. Why? Why had this happened? Why had he lost the person he loved most in the world? The hospital staff tried to comfort him, but Mungu pushed them away, his heart shattered into a million pieces. He sat beside his mother's bed, holding her hand, tears streaming down his face. He would never see her smile again, never hear her voice, and never feel her warm hug.

Adam broke the silence, his voice low and contemplative. "Yaani, Youssef, lets process this whole thing. Getting the body back to Uganda for the burial." Youssef nodded his eyes red-rimmed from exhaustion and grief. "Tell me about it. As I call around, to figure out the logistics. But mortuary says we need to get the body embalmed first, and then we can start looking at flight options." Adam let out a heavy sigh. "Embalming, eh? And what about the permits? We can't just transport a body without papers." Youssef pulled out a notebook, flipping through the pages filled with scribbled notes. "Like we need a death certificate, an embalming certificate, and a permit from the Moroccan authorities to transport the body out of the country." Adam shook his head, his eyes widening in concern. "Ehhhh, that's a lot of paperwork. And what about the flight? Can't we just book a regular ticket for a body, can we?" Youssef's expression turned determined. "No, we need to work with a specialist cargo company that handles human remains. I've got a contact who's gonna help us with that." Adam nodded, a sense of resolve settling in. "Alright, let's get it done. We got to take our sister home." As they sat there, surrounded by the sterile hospital atmosphere, they found a sense of purpose in the face of tragedy. They would navigate the complexities of international bureaucracy, no matter the cost, to take their friend's mother home to rest.

On the third day sun hung low from the sky in kahima village casting a muted glow over the small cemetery, where a chill wind whispered through the trees. Mungu, Youssef, Adam, Farida and the village members stood beside the freshly dug grave, Mungu's heart heavy with a sorrow he could not fully comprehend. It felt surreal to be here, surrounded by friends, their sympathetic faces blurring in his peripheral vision. All he could focus on was the casket, barely visible beneath a canopy of white flowers, each blossom a silent testament to the love he had for his mother. Memories flooded his mind: laughter shared after every training and matches won, her hands soothing away his childhood fears, the warmth of her embrace that always made the world seem okay. But now, that warmth was gone. He couldn’t fathom the emptiness left in its wake. As the priest spoke words of comfort, Mungu found it hard to listen. He felt detached from reality, as if he were merely an observer in a dream he couldn't wake up from. The world felt muted—colors dimmed, and sound blurred. He caught glimpses of people— Farida, wiping away a tear; his best friend, glancing his way with concern; But all he could see were flashes of his mother—her laughter, her grace, the way she made the world feel safe. When it was finally his turn to say a few words, he stepped forward, his heart racing. The modest crowd hushed, and as he stood before them, he felt that same warmth as when he was a child, only this time it enveloped him with a different purpose: to honor her memory. He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. “Thank you all for being here,” he began, his voice trembling. “I never thought I’d have to say goodbye like this… it feels wrong. Mama was everything to me. She taught me kindness and strength, always finding the light even in the darkest times. I remember when I was scared of the dark, she would sit with me until I fell asleep, telling me stories of brave heroes and faraway places.” As he spoke, he felt a strange sensation wash over him—a fleeting memory of her gentle smile, as if she were standing right beside him, encouraging him to continue. “Mama always believed in me, pushed me to dream bigger, to be a better person. I wanted her to know how much I cherished her. I wanted to make her proud. But now I have to learn to live without her, and that feels so impossibly heavy.” He could see the faces of those he loved reflected back at him, sorrow mirroring his own. “I’m going to miss her every day. But I know she wouldn’t want me to be lost in this sorrow. She’d want me to remember the love she gave me, the laughter we shared, and carry that with me forever. Thank you, mama, for everything. I will carry you in my heart always. God be with you till we meet again; By His counsels guide, uphold you, With His sheep securely fold you; God be with you mama till we meet again. Till we meet, till we meet at Jesus' feet;” As he finished, he felt a moment of clarity in the midst of grief; he realized love transcended even the finality of death. A tear slipped down his cheek as he looked at the grave, a final farewell that was too soon. The casket felt heavy with the weight of unspoken goodbyes, but he felt her warmth linger. Mungu stepped back, allowing others to approach and offer their own goodbyes. Each person who offered their love and memories reminded him that while his mother was gone, she lived on through the hearts of those she touched. With a deep breath, he silently vowed to honor her legacy, to live his life with the same grace, kindness, and relentless love that she had given him.

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