My hair stood on end, a shiver raced down my spine as I watched Omena, my little sister of five, scream and whine painfully. The floor beside her bed was littered with drugs of all descriptions.
"Mama!" I called "What's wrong with Omena?"
"Your sister is sick," Mama replied, half turning on the bed to look at me.
The examiner's office was stuffy, and the ceiling fan that turned listlessly above his head generated only the promise of coolness
"Why do you choose to be a medical doctor," the examiner asked as he wiped at the bead of sweat that had broken out at the top of his nose.
I blinked rapidly as the question washed over me
I sat up and rubbed my eyes into a blurred focus as Omena's shrewd cry jolted me up from sleep.
"Stay with your sister. I will be back," Mama said as she dashed out of our room, her wrapper trailing after her.
"Why am I fragile?" Omena asked, looking at me with heartbreaking trust
I looked over at her as I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat "I will find a cure"
"What is success in your opinion?” The examiner asked looking back at me "After 15 years as a physician, what kind of success would you hope to have achieved?"
After staring at him for what I think was quite a lot of time, I finally found my voice and said "A cure for Omena"
"Omena? What is Omena?" his head jutted forward with raised eyebrows
"Omena is my sister," I felt my eyes sting with the tears that had started to form
"Omena is sickle celled"