On Monday, 30 June, I call Mem. He tells me that Mama Irma is not doing well. She has lost her appetite, sleeps a lot, and doesn’t feel like drinking water or anything else.
I decide to buy a ticket and go there, especially after Thelma wrote: ‘If anything happens, can Guus come?’
There are still a few tickets available for Friday, 4 July. I book them.
The flight goes smoothly. I am sitting in front of a lady with a small dog. The animal barks a lot at first, but less later on. When I ask the stewardess about transporting dogs, she says that dogs weighing up to 10 kg are allowed in the cabin. ‘They usually sleep peacefully,’ she says. ‘Is it bothering you? If the dog barks too much, just let me know and there’s another seat available. You can move there.’ The dog must have heard her, because it doesn’t want to cause any trouble and is quiet from that moment on.
At 4 p.m., we land at Hato. The warm blanket falls over me as I stand outside waiting for Thelma to pick me up. It’s 30 degrees, no sun, cloudy.
I’m waiting and suddenly I hear my name. It’s Jeanette, who works at Hato, telling me that Thelma is on her way. Sweet woman.
Thelma arrives and we drive to Sint Willibrordus, the same familiar road I have driven a hundred times, past Souax, past the landfill, past Bali, past Daniel Soda Fountain, past Grote Berg patat, past the truki pan, then left onto the newly paved road to Willibrordus.
Mama Irma is lying in bed. I greet her, give Mem a hug, and sit down next to Mama Irma. She has to vomit, the ‘sopi’ from this morning and the ‘awa di koko’. They just want her to eat and drink.

I help Mem clean up a little. And stay with Mama Irma. Jeanette arrives, finished with work. She talks about Mam Irma as ‘mi baby’. Talks loudly to her. Sings a song with her. I don’t know that song.
I tidy up my things in my own ‘flat’.
Once I’m done, I sit down with Mama Irma, hold her hand and stroke her arms and legs. Moniek gave me some massage oil from Rituals, which I use liberally. I had to search for it at Schiphol, but there was a separate Rituals shop, which I was directed to by a nice lady at the perfumery.
At 8:30 p.m., Mem wants to close the door. Over and out. Mum goes to bed. There is a whistle on her bed. Mem put it there again because she couldn’t hear her weak voice when she called her at night. Now she whistles when something is wrong. Mem can hear that sharp sound.