Written By | Anonymous
Sick man with his wife besides him. [Illustration by Meta AI]
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In my office, I receive more than 1,000 letters and emails every month. All these letters pass through my hands. I stay awake almost every night reading and responding to them.
After my promotion, I had to move into a new office and take on additional responsibilities alongside my regular duties. In the new office, I noticed a pile of letters dumped in a corner. No one had touched, opened, or read them.
I wondered how the letters ended up there. The envelopes were very dusty. There were about nineteen letters from the same person. They had the same name, the same phone number, the same address, the same request, and the same handwriting.
When our cleaner wanted to dispose of them, I stopped him and asked that they be brought to me.
I opened and read one. It was a letter written to the Accounts and Finance Department of our company by a labourer in November 2019. It was a humble request. The worker was pleading with the Head of Accounts to pay his salary, explaining that he was critically ill and needed the money for urgent treatment. In the letter, he stated that he was suffering from hepatitis, which had affected his liver.
I read the second letter. It was the same request. From the writing alone, one could tell it was written in tears. Drops of tears were still visible on the paper, preserved inside the envelope. I read the third letter and saw the same thing. The fourth letter was no different.
He had been writing letters continuously since November 2019. The last letter was dated August 10, 2020, in which he pleaded with the Accounts Department to have mercy on him and his family, unblock his phone line, and respond to his calls.
It was confusing.
Who blocks people’s phone lines here? I decided to call.
I dialled the number written on the last letter. It rang, but no one answered. I redialled. It rang again. This time, someone picked up.
I spoke first.
“Hello. Good afternoon,” I said.
“Good afternoon,” a female voice replied. She sounded like a middle-aged woman.
I introduced myself and explained where I was calling from. She went silent. I then told her I wanted to speak to the person whose name appeared on the letters.
She started sobbing over the phone.
“He is lying down here,” she cried.
“Who?” I asked, to be sure.
“The person you want to speak with.”
“Can I speak with him, please?”
“He can’t talk anymore. He is only breathing. He can’t move. He doesn’t even know someone is sitting beside him. I am his wife. We have been writing letters and calling, but you people told us not to disturb you again. Our phone lines were blocked. His money was withheld. We even sent people to your office, but they came back with nothing,” she cried. “We are just waiting for him to go and rest.”
Pictures for illustration: Imagined by Meta AI
I could not say a word. Tears rolled down my face as she spoke.
She continued, “He is dying day by day. The person who was receiving our calls and letters threatened us not to write or call again. My husband worked in your company for more than seven years. He laboured faithfully. He never missed a day, even when he was sick. But see how he has been abandoned. What has he done to deserve this? God sees everything. We have gone around begging for help, but no one wants to assist us. We have to leave town and return to the village. There is no money for treatment, no money for food, no money for rent. I spent all my business capital and now there is nothing left…” she sobbed.
I knew something was terribly wrong. The company I work for is not known for such conduct.
I asked for their village and home address. She told me.
I travelled to the village, located between Osino and Begoro. I lost my way several times before finally reaching their home.
I saw the man.
He was lying on a mat in front of the house. His wife sat beside him, chasing flies away. She had just finished cleaning him. He looked frail, dried up, and exhausted.
There was no emotion.
No movement.
He could not talk.
He could not hear.
His eyes were open, but only the eyeballs moved slightly.
He was a middle-aged man, in his early fifties.
The sickness had taken almost everything from him, leaving him shedding tears intermittently, which his wife gently wiped away. I suspected he noticed the presence of a stranger.
I did not know him when he worked with us.
What I saw went beyond liver disease.
Through tears, his wife said to me, “Even if he dies today, I am already comforted. He needs to go and rest. He has suffered enough. Maybe I will join him later. I have nothing left. I came into this world only to bury the people I love.”
I left with a heavy heart and tears in my eyes.
When I returned home, I sent foodstuffs and beverages from my house to them because I had no money with me at the time.
The next day at work, I informed my boss about the situation. I also met the Head of Accounts. To my dismay, I discovered that the Head of Accounts had been approving the man’s salary every month without fail. However, the accountant in charge of payments had not been sending the money, having noticed that the man was no longer coming to collect it. The accountant had been embezzling the funds. 
Illustration fo an accountant in his office: Picture imagined by Meta AI
Worse still, the accountant was close to the sick man. All the letters and phone calls had been going directly to him. The man and his wife trusted him as a middleman to reach the Accounts Department. My pain deepened when I discovered that they were from the same community.
For nearly two years, he had been signing for and collecting the man’s salary without delivering a single coin to him. He was arrested and charged. He paid back the money in one day, using his life savings, and was subsequently suspended.
In the process, I made an enemy—an enemy who does not realise that he is his own worst enemy.
Two of our directors later visited the sick man and his wife. They arranged for him to be taken to hospital for better treatment. He was admitted last weekend.
This morning, I received a call.
It was his wife.
Her voice was choked with tears.
She sobbed bitterly, then spoke.
“Thank you so much. Thank you for fighting for my husband. Thank you for all your efforts. At least I heard his voice again. He smiled at me. Now, as I speak to you, sir, he has gone to be with the Lord. God bless you, sir.”
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