06/02/2026
SICKLE CELL AWARENESS
My name is Zainab. Iām 27 years old. An SS.
That is, I live with sickle cell disease.
My parents are both AS.
Oh, they They knew.
They were told.
They still married.
They said God approved it. They said love would be enough. They said faith would cover the consequences.
I am the consequence.
I was diagnosed before I was two. My childhood memories are not playgrounds or cartoons,they are; hospitals, needles, and adults whispering when they thought I couldnāt hear.
In primary school, I missed classes so often that teachers stopped asking why. Some classmates thought I was pretending. Some thought I was cursed. I learned early how to smile while feeling different.
By secondary school, the pain episodes became more frequent. I would wake up excited for school and end the day on a hospital bed. I watched my mates grow normally while my life moved in pauses, school, hospital, recovery, repeat.
At 15, I lost my younger brother to sickle cell.
We were both SS.
That day changed me forever.
My parents broke down in front of me ā crying, apologizing, saying āWe followed faith. We didnāt thinkā¦ā
But the damage had already been done.
Sometimes I forgive them.
Sometimes I resent them deeply.
Both feelings live in me.
In university, I tried to be normal. I joined sickle cell advocacy groups, volunteered with awareness organizations, spoke at events, encouraged parents to test their genotype. People call me strong. They call me a warrior.
What they donāt see is me crying alone at night after another silent pain episode.
They donāt see the fear that comes with planning a future in a body that doesnāt always cooperate.
And Relationships?
Thatās another wound.
Iāve been loved⦠briefly.
The moment conversations turn serious about marriage, children, commitmentā¦.they leave. Some are honest. Some ghost me. Some promise forever and disappear quietly.
One man once said he would do anything for me. He talked about taking me abroad, better care, a life