It is mid-morning in Narok, and the sun blazes fiercely, sending waves of heat through the corrugated iron sheets of a small makeshift house.
Inside, Vincent Chacha sits on a worn-out chair, wiping sweat from his brow. The modest one-room dwelling is all he can afford for his family, yet he remains grateful that they at least have a roof over their heads—something many humble families struggle to secure.
However, beneath this fragile sense of shelter, a deeper struggle unfolds. Chacha’s face reveals a story of anguish.
For the past seven years, his second-born son has suffered from sickle cell disease, a condition that has turned their lives into a continuous cycle of hospital visits, medical bills, and sleepless nights.
“It started when he was just seven months old,” Chacha recalls. “He wouldn’t stop crying, and he seemed restless. We took him to several hospitals before he was finally diagnosed with sickle cell disease at a facility in Nairobi.”
Without a formal job for years, Chacha relied on the National Hospital Insurance Fund (NHIF) to cover his son’s medical expenses. However, when the Social Health Authority (SHA) replaced NHIF, he encountered new challenges in accessing treatment.
“Previously, NHIF covered most of his hospital bills,” he explains. “With SHA, many facilities refuse to bill us, and we often struggle to get the assistance we need. Sometimes, when he’s admitted, SHA steps in, but it’s not always reliable.”
His son’s condition has deprived him of a normal childhood. Constant fatigue, pain, and difficulty breathing keep him bedridden for much of the time. School feels like a distant dream.
“My son is always in pain, too tired to move,” Chacha says with a heavy heart. “He can’t play with other children or even attend school like his brothers. It’s devastating.”
Irene Chacha, the boy’s mother, shares the agony of watching her son’s health deteriorate as he ages.
“With each passing year, his condition worsens,” she says. “He hardly sleeps at night, crying in pain. Sometimes, he struggles to breathe, and we panic, fearing the worst.”
The financial burden is overwhelming. Each month, the family must take their son for check-ups. His weekly medication alone costs Sh 3,000—a sum far beyond their means.
“Hospital visits have become our routine,” Irene laments. “Every month, we have to go for check-ups, and the cost of medicine is unbearable.”
During their last visit, doctors delivered heartbreaking news: their son needed a bone marrow transplant, an expensive procedure.
“We don’t know how we’ll afford it,” she admits. “We’re pleading with well-wishers, donors, and the government to help us raise funds for this life-saving procedure.”
Dr. John Gicuke of Equity Afya Narok explains that sickle cell disease is a genetic blood disorder caused by a mutation in red blood cells. The cells take on a crescent shape, making it difficult for them to transport oxygen effectively.
“This condition leads to anaemia in children,” Dr. Gicuke explains. “The most common symptoms include chronic fatigue and severe pain, as the misshapen red blood cells struggle to pass through blood vessels.”
The disease primarily occurs in children whose parents are both carriers of the sickle cell gene. Unfortunately, many couples are unaware of their genetic status before having children.
“It’s not their fault,” Dr. Gicuke says. “Most Kenyans cannot afford DNA gene sequencing to determine compatibility before starting a family. Many parents only discover they are carriers after their child falls ill.”
Symptoms often appear around the seventh month of life; once maternal blood is depleted from the baby’s system.
“For the first six months, babies seem fine,” Dr. Gicuke notes. “Then suddenly, they become irritable, anemic, and experience severe fatigue.”
The disease is typically diagnosed through a Peripheral Blood Film (PBF) test. While medication helps manage symptoms, the only definitive cure is a bone marrow transplant, ideally performed before the age of 16.
“This procedure is extremely costly, often requiring treatment abroad and costing millions of shillings,” Dr. Gicuke says. “Only the wealthy can afford it easily.”
For Chacha’s family, the hope of a cure hinges on the kindness of strangers. As they fight to keep their son alive, they can only pray that someone, somewhere, will extend a helping hand.
By Lamech Willy. A
