What is meant to happen will happen

by Bianka Nagy-Timcsuk (Hungary)

Making a local connection Jordan

„They will know that I was a good father, the money they inherit will be enough for a house, my daughter will also be able to marry into a decent family." His answer made me feel angry and powerless at the same time, my arguments crashed one after another. Until that moment, when we stopped in the arid and dusty Jordanian countryside at a busy cafe frequented mainly by locals from the nearby villages, I knew only some superficial facts about the life of Zaid. He picked up me and my boyfriend as we were hitchhiking towards Amman. Despite being early spring, the sun was already so powerful that it burned my face rose-colored and the combination from heat and lack of sleep made me feel exhausted, so I was keen to accept Zaid’s invitation to take a rest. He ordered for me and my partner coffee and for himself a tea. His choice made me wonder: "Don't you like coffee?" I asked him just to break the silence. „I shouldn't drink it with such a liver. Last month I was in a coma for many days.” Before this conversation, I didn't pay much attention to the fact that the whites of his eyes are deep yellow and despite being in his late thirties, he has the rugged face of an elderly man. I assumed that in this region most probably Hepatitis B or C could be culpable for his condition. "Did an infection destroy your liver?" I asked. It turned out that he was working as a soldier with the UN and took part in numerous missions around Africa. My viral hepatitis theory turned out to be false: during his toughest mission, in Somalia, he got infected with Schistosoma, a parasite that lives in freshwater snails and has larval forms that can get into one's body after chewing their way through the skin into the blood circulation. "Are you receiving any therapy at the moment?” As I was talking with him the aroma of the coffee mixed in my nose with the spicy-herbal smoke of the shishas from the next table and the odour of rotting garbage penetrating inside from the back-street. „Yep, but already only a transplantation could help me. My brother would match as a donor and could give me a small part of his own liver, but I don't want that, I can't bring also my brother in danger." "For your brother, the operation wouldn't be risky. And you know very well, that you don’t have another chance... You also have small children, why you don't think about them? They need you, why you don’t at least do it because of them?" "What is meant to happen will happen, my fate is not in my hands.” And he explained to me that the children's future is financially assured, he earned enough money in the past years and the UN would also support his orphans. "Bringing up children is not only about money, they need first of all a father who educates them and gives them love. If they end up having difficulties in school or getting into bad company and get marginalized, the money will not help much.” „My brothers will keep an eye on them” „And your wife? What she will do without you?” „She's afraid, wants me to do the operation. But if I have to die, I will do it with dignity, I’m not afraid.” The conversation went on a couple of minutes more and slowly I realized that I have no right to keep on trying to convince him. Our perception about fate, death and the value of one individual's life are like two different universes. In our roadside cafe, some local guys were watching a football match on an old television in the corner. I decided to change the topic. "Do you like sports?" I asked. He told me how he was skipping classes as a teenager just to train boxing and to participate afterwards in local championships, where all the rich people betting on him would never leave him to give up a fight. We talked about this the rest of the journey, it made him finally to smile.