This Is The Viral,Sad Letter That Is Moving Kenyans To Tears. Read And Please Don’t Cry. (Photos)

Hi,Could You Please Help Me Decorate My Little Daughter’s Christmas Tree?

Greetings… My name is Linet Aketch and I’m sorry to bother you like this. You’re busy,I know. Eating maybe. Working… Socializing… Planning… Dancing… Laughing… Swimming… Listening to music… Reading… Studying…Drinking… Traveling… Sorry then for the disturbance. Unlike you,I’ve been pretty busy of late,unable to go to work,praying for my husband to find work,trying to keep my crumbling family together and most importantly,watching over my severely sick girl.

Unlike most of your little daughters,who are an year and a half old just like mine,my little Emily cannot walk. Or talk. Or even mumble words.

You’re lucky your little girls can crawl around… Eat and laugh and play with you. You’re lucky you have mischievous little girls. You’re lucky she keeps you awake… Because she plays too much.

Mine keeps me awake too. But it’s because,unlike your little daughters,mine cannot breath in peace. She cannot even move. And I wish I ever saw her smile.

In short,my little angel,Emily, is suffering from a deadly heart condition called Type 1 Truncus Arteriousus Meaning,Little Emily has a hole in her little heart. Emily struggles to do everything… To breathe,to move,to open her eyes,to move her limbs,she even struggles to live.

Mine has a hole in her heart. Maybe the only hole your little girl or boy has in her life is the hole she dug out in the compound yesterday… While playing with marbles with her mates.

Well,mine cannot even eat. I have to feed her liquids. And I’m yet to even wean her. She cannot swallow as easily as your little girl can. That would surely kill her.

Maybe the only reason your little angel cannot eat is because she’s too full and too playful. Maybe too stubborn. Well,mine has to live on liquids daily. I wish she had the energy to swallow. But she just doesn’t. 
My little Emily has driven me out of work. Not that I even have a very good job anyway. Or a job in the first place. I am a market woman. I sell wares and little things for profit… But Emily has driven me out of the market. And I have to sit with her at home… Watch her struggle to live. And watch her beg to be whole.

You see,her father, my beloved husband Benedict Adongo,is jobless. And that has made things here pretty thick. I won’t lie to you.

Little Emily sits at a corner all day. I put her on the sofa.. And she has to sit there,fixed at the corner,unable to move or yap or smile all day. Her heart pounds hard. And her little head aches to a point of almost splitting apart. She evens looks much older than her age. And the sad sight of her little round shaved head breaks my heart.

Just like some of your little healthy daughters,my Emily has been on TV too. No,not doing an advert,not appearing on Churchill’s Toto Kona, Not reciting a poem on Klub Kiboko or singing some song a music channel. And definitely not being the star of a Kimbo or Pampers or Blueband advert.

Little Emily has appeared on QTV. And on Family TV too… To talk about her condition,the hole in her delicate heart and the slim chances of her survival. We took her to almost all media houses. But only QTV and Family TV opened their doors and aired our story.

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I sit across from her and watch her wish she wasn’t where she was. Does she wish she was tottering around? Playing around? Prancing around? Does she wish Mummy had a job? Or maybe Daddy was employed? Does she wish we weren’t so stick poor? Maybe she does.

I wish she was like your little daughter. I wish she would move around and fall around and break things and cry and just be stubborn. I wish she’d make me worry over why she broke my favorite glass. Or why she came home so dirty and shaggy. Or why she constantly keeps staining her clothes.

But I don’t have that privilege. She’s far too sickly to worry me about her actions. I see her labored breathing and I can’t hide back my tears.

Unlike your daughter,your little girl who has traveled to,maybe Uhuru Park or Lunar Park or Machakos Park or to some other fancy Park… Where she got to play and run around and pose for photos and goof around and sit by the little round baby pool… Mine has traveled too.

Not to some Park to silly around. She’s been to Hurlingham. At Dr. Christine Jowi’s hospital. You see,Dr. Jowi is a cardiologist. And after little Emily met Dr. Jowi,it was made clear to me and her daddy,Little Emily had a hole in her heart. And needed Urgent surgery in India.

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You don’t tell people like us to seek surgery in another hospital. Leave alone India. I sell tomatoes for a living. Baba Emily hasn’t brought much to the house for months. We barely even have money to catch a snack at the kiosk outside the Hurlingham Hospital. And now India? India is for the rich. Not us. I mean,We couldn’t even afford the local clinic we first took Emily to in Homa Bay.

I see the Christmas cheer all around. The glitters and the glimmering trees and the gifts and the dazzling lights and the songs and the smiles. I see everyone jumping around,prancing around,shopping around,singing and getting all prepped up.

I see mothers like me… In malls and stores and stalls and markets and shops. I see them, accompanied by their little girls,buying the little girls stuff.. Little shoes,goofy hats,Little princess dresses, bangles,ribbons,balloons,stuff.

Wish I could do so too. But little Emily doesn’t know it’s Christmas. Neither do I. All I know is; It’s yet another day,another struggle and another pain. Watching little Emily look up at me,wondering why she’s so tiny,wondering why she never adds weight,wondering why she never moves,wondering why she breathes with so much difficulty,wondering why we are always in clinics,wondering why she never seems to grow and wondering when she’s gonna jump around. And smile because it’s Christmas.

Emily and I have a little request. I am asking you,on her sickly innocent behalf,would you please spare a thought? And include us in your Christmas plans? Remember us in your grand festive plans for the next two weeks or so?

Luckily,this is the season of incredible spending. And also much giving. And that’s why I am writing.

Little Emily needs just Ksh. 1.5 Million for a surgery in India. Which will forever fix her heart.

If only 1,000 Kenyans each spared a thousand Bob and sent it to us. Little Emily will have a the BEST Christmas ever. Not just for 2015. But for a lifetime.

Little Emily may not be able to celebrate as much as you will and as joyfully as you will. But still, she’ll hopefully get healed. And that’s really all she wants. It’s all we really want.

Oh by the way,from the TV appearances, she did make as much as Ksh. 145,000. And we were shocked and incredibly thankful. Oh yes, even after local entertainment website Ghafla did her story,again,Little Emily did receive some Ksh. 10,000 plus in donations.

Kindly,to donate to Little Emily,and take her to a surgeon’s bed abroad,Here’s the simple process…

To DONATE TO BABY Emily kindly use the M-PESA Paybill Number Medical Paybill No. 317111

How to Donate & Save the Life of Little Emmy :
• Go to M-PESA Menu 
• Select LIPA NA MPESA then Pay Bill.
• Enter Paybill No. 317111
• Enter Your First Name as account Number
• Enter Amount e.g 10 Bob
• Enter your M-PESA PIN

Also,you can donate via Emily’s special medical BANK account which is Acc number: 10131301000369 Emily Atieno Adongo Medical Account. Bank is CONSOLIDATED BANK.

You can also reach and donate directly to her uncle,Kennedy Omondi directly via 0728629726. He’s in Nairobi coordinating the efforts. We’re deep in some village in Homa Bay, Kisumu.

Make her Christmas worthwhile. That’s all she asks. That’s all we ask.

Have a Merry Merry Christmas… We won’t be partying hard and eating much and drinking a lot and making too much merry. Ours will just be another quiet and silent,dark week. But if the Lord touches you,then kindly light up our Christmas tree for us. Help decorate Emily’s tree… By making her your own daughter. And fixing her somewhere,just somewhere,in your majestic Christmas plans.

Blessings.

Love, 
Mama Emily.

About this writer:

Cabu Gah