TRAPPED...Part 4.

'Out of the depths I cry to You, O Lord...Lord hear my voice.' 

The silence in the empty church contrasted with the turbulence in my heart. Staring blankly at the crucifix, tears streaming down my cheeks, I could not find words to express the storm within. Only David's plea from the one hundred and thirtieth psalm did justice to my anguish: De profundis clamavi ad te Domine...

I had returned to Lagos three days back, a mess. The events of the previous two weeks had shaken the very foundations of my being. Since I returned, I have spent most of the time alone, trying to make sense of it all. I had helped a random person. A very nice, commendable thing to do. And yet, that singular act of kindness was the birth of evil. Is life really fair? And to think that there is a God up there who allowed it all to happen! I let out a howl. And broke into sobs. I looked at the crucifix again, this time seething with anger. 'Injustice!' I muttered, and rose to go. As I stormed out of the church, I checked the time. 9pm.

I decided to walk home. I had left Victory in the care of my younger sister as I sought to get a handle on myself. I had lost interest in everything. In life. A part of me did not see any reason to continue living. But I just could not contemplate the alternative. Jide was my past. But Victory is my future. 'Why fight a lost cause?' a voice asked. 'Because it is only a moron that goes down without a fight,' another voice replied. 

The road was busy. Conductors were reeling off their destinations like a song. I ran across to the other side of the road. My run was ill-timed and was greeted with blaring of horns and screeching of tyres. I could hear the angered drivers hurling expletives. 'Witch!  You wan die?' I paid little attention. I just continued walking. Passing a roundabout, I made a turn into a lonely street.

The street was dark and quiet, except for the din from a few generators some houses away. A few kiosks were still open. My house was at the end of the adjoining street. As I approached the end of the street, I could make out figures of about five persons gathered beside a big LAWMA refuse bin. They were speaking in hushed tones. One had a flashlight which he frequently pointed to a carton on the ground. I have almost passed them when I heard it. A baby's cry.

I approached them. There were four men and one woman. The one with the flashlight, probably in his mid-twenties, pointed it at the carton again. I followed the light.

Inside the carton, wrapped in a piece of cloth, was a baby. Teary-eyed the baby let out another cry. The lower part of the cloth covering the genitals was soaked wet. 'What happened? Where is the mother?' I asked, touching the woman. 'We no know o!' she began, in Pidgin English. ' I just dey close my kiosk when Olarenwaju ran to me saying that he saw one pikin around the refuse dump.'

'E be like say na the mama leave am for here,' said the boy with the flashlight. 'Na me first hear the baby cry na im I go call Mama Iyabo. A bouncing baby boy. Some people can be heartless!'he said shaking his head and walking away. 

The other men soon dispersed. I was left with Mama Iyabo. 'We need to take this child to the Police Station. This baby cannot stay here all night,' I told her. 'Police kè?' she asked sarcastically, clapping her hands. 'Abegi, I no want Police wahala o!' she said, taking her leave. 'Please Madam, since your house is close, take in the baby for the night. Maybe the mother will come for her baby in the morning,' I pleaded. Mama Iyabo glared at me from head to toe. 'You wan make my husband kill me,abi? Me I get eight children. Eight! And we dey stay for one room.' With that, she hurried off in the direction of her kiosk. I was left alone with the baby.

A gust of cold wind swept past me. I suddenly felt a crude sense of loneliness. I bent down and took a closer look. The baby was quiet, as if aware of his predicament. I proceeded to unwrap the wet cloth. His body was hot. As I touched him, he began to cry. 'Shhhhh!' I said, in a bid to quieten him down. Your mother will soon come. I lifted the carton. Supporting it under my left arm, I went into the adjacent compond. 

It was a bungalow with many rooms. I knocked on the first door. A stern-looking woman answered. 'Kilode? Eh? Why you dey disturb person by this time of the night?' 'Madam no vex...'I began, searching for the right words. 'I found this child by the refuse dump and I wanted to know if you had any idea on who the mother is...' 'Hmmm,' the woman said, eyeing the carton suspiciously. Her tone suddenly changed. 'Oloshi! I resemble mumu for your eye, abi? Abegi, Gerrrout!'she said, slamming the door to my face. I stood there, stunned. 'Kafayat, who was that?'I heard a man's voice ask her on the inside. 'Na one mad woman wey carry one pikin dey waka about...' I left the compound in a hurry.

I went straight to my compound. I knocked at the Caretaker's flat. His son, Tunde, answered the door. 'I did not know you were back,'Mama Tunde said after I was seated,all the while looking curiously at the carton. 'I came back three days ago,' I said, forcing a smile. 'Jide is dead,' I continued, stopping short of bursting into tears. 'Eyaa! Pele...'she said, hugging me.'Aani riru e mo,'she continued, snapping her fingers. 'No more deaths!' 'Amen,'I responded. 'Whose pikin be that?'She was pointing to the carton. 'Hmmm,'I sighed. 'I found this baby near the refuse dump at the end of Olaitan street. Abandoned in the cold. Which mother on earth will do that?' I asked, bringing out the baby from the carton. 

The child started crying. He was light-skinned with jet-black curly hair. The umblical stump was still there, tied at the end with a dirty thread. He could not have been more than a week old. His body was still hot. 'Tunde, get me a clean wrapper,'Mama Tunde called out. 'And check the First Aid box for liquid Paracetamol,'she added. Tunde returned with the items. We cleaned up the baby and gave him the liquid drug. Mama Tunde handed the baby over to me. 'We will take him to the police station in the morning. Clean the navel with methylated spirit and cotton wool. And feed the baby.' 'Thank you, Ma,'I said rising. 'Goodnight.'

I was worn-out when I got to my flat. I prepared some milk for the baby which he gulped down hungrily. I brought out Victory's old cot and laid the baby inside. I changed into my pink pyjamas but was too tired to button it. I sleep-walked to my bed. And dozed off.

I saw many people in my room. I tried to make out their faces but they were strange. Then I saw the cot and I remembered. The baby! I ran to the cot. It was empty. 'Where is the baby?' I asked, facing them. They did not seem to hear me. Then I heard a familiar voice and turned. It was Mama Tunde. She was carrying the baby. She did not seem to notice me. I spoke to her but she did not respond. The door opened. Nkechi entered with Victory. 'Vikky Baby!' I beamed, going to hug her. But a force held me back. And Vikky looked past me. Nkechi spoke up,'The Police will be hear any minute. When they are done, we can remove the body.' I noticed they were all looking at the bed. I turned to look. And I froze in horror. Clad in an unbuttoned pyjamas, I was lying there.

TRAPPED...Part 3.

I stared at his corpse. Ashen, pale and rigid, his lifeless body laid stretched out on the bed. Rigor mortis. Jide had passed on exactly five minutes to midnight. The nurses came to screen the body. They then proceeded to remove the urinary catheter and the cannula in his right hand. I went outside the ward, a neatly-folded sheet of paper in my hand. Before he gave up the ghost, he had motioned to his shirt's breast pocket. I put in my hand and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. 'It explains everything,'he said, amidst gasps. His breathing became more laboured. I ran to call the nurse. When we returned, he was no longer breathing.

It had been one month since we came down from Lagos. Jide had begun recovering in the hospital. After the second week, he had began to eat. His still had diarrhea but the frequency had reduced. By the third week, he had regained sufficient strength as to walk around. I remember him even asking me for a pen and paper once. I had laughed and asked him if he wanted to become a writer. But I had obliged him. I never knew what became of that paper I gave him. Until now. 

Last week, his health took a dramatic turn. Downhill. He refused both food and medication. The pleas of the doctor and nurses fell on deaf ears. He was placed on IV fluids. But he keep pulling out the cannula through which the fluids were administered. Exasperated, he doctor had explained to me that morning that he is left with no choice but to refer him to another hospital. I pleaded with him to give me some time to make some arrangements with the family. The hospital agreed we could leave the next day. But Jide left first. Long before dawn. 

I sat on the pavement. The tears kept coming. I allowed them to flow freely. I called Emeka and informed him of what happened. Wiping off tears, I unfolded the sheet of paper I was holding. It was a letter. Date of writing was the previous week. And the hand-writing was unmistakeable.

"Stella m,

I am a broken man. I was broken eight years ago when I stood in front of your shop, bag in hand asking to spend the night. You tried to do the impossible: mend a broken man. And you almost succeeded. Sweetheart, you loved too much. I never thought I deserved all that love. I have never known love all my life apart from early childhood before I ran away from home. Afterwards, it had been a cycle of abuse, hatred, fear and evil. I have seen shit. I have done shit too. Oga Aboy,my master at Aba, abused me sexually. Repeatedly. My fellow man! It was constant pain. I could not tell anyone. When I could not bear it any longer, I ran away. And showed up in front of your shop.

You showed me love, no doubt. But it was more than my heart could carry. My past haunted me. I sought refuge in the bosom of women. Various women. I thought their moans will drown the cries of pain piercing my consciousness. But, no. Pain proved to be more powerful than pleasure. I was expecting you to push me away. Out of your house. Out of your life. Because I didn't deserve you. But you hung on. I remember the day you told me you had a miscarriage. I was drunk and I had beaten you over something petty. The guilt of putting you through that never left me.

I hardly mentioned marriage with you. The real reason was because I know I would make a bad father. I cannot give what I do not have. I am still trying to figure out my life. And to become responsible for another person's life? Quite a long jump. I never considered myself marriage material. So I was baffled when I saw you having hopes. In order not to crash your hopes, I kept mum.

When I tested HIV positive, I knew the chicken had come home to roost. I have been reckless and careless. And I got what I deserved. You can then imagine my surprise when I became well after starting my drugs. I was very healthy. And nobody knew my status. 'This is not fair!' I told myself.

'I deserve to be sick and unwell. I deserve to suffer. I deserve to die.' So, I stopped taking my drugs.

My claimed healing was a ruse. I wanted to become so sick that you will get tired of me and leave me. I wanted you to abandon me. But you didn't. You hung on. Believing what? I dare to ask. That I will get well? Hmmm...You really are one stubborn lover!

I watched you clean my shit. I watched you clean my vomitus. I watched you take care of the only evidence that I was here: our baby, Victory. I know she will turn out a strong and loving woman, just like you. Take good care of her. I doubt if she can remember what I look like when she is grown. Also, tell her to stay away from men like me. Broken men. Because we can self-destruct. I will give you an example. After writing this letter, I will stop taking food and medications. You may think I am trying to kill myself. But I see it as setting you free. For eight years, you have fluttered, like an a bird in a cage. After I am gone, you will be free to fly. I will also be setting myself free from this shell of a body. I will be transiting into the afterlife. I know I still have a shot at life. But I am too broken to try. I am no saint. Thus, I am not expecting choirs and angels. I really don't know what to expect.

I have rarely told you this in all of eight years. I love you. Very much. But it matters very little now because by the time you will be reading this letter, I will be dead.'

TRAPPED...Part 2.

It was raining heavily. The sound of the raindrops hitting the roof drowned completely the noise from three busy sewing machines inside my shop. Suddenly, a young boy ran into the shop, drenched. 'Oyibo, what is it?' I asked, as he made his way to where I was working. 'Aunty Stella,' he began, almost breathless, 'It is Uncle Jide o! He just collapsed in his shop.' I sprang up immediately and ran out into the rain, in the direction of my second shop. 'Madam, thank God you are here,' Oyibo's mother said, on sighting me enter the shop. I was soaking wet. 'What happened?' I asked no one in particular. Jide was lying on the floor, barely conscious but breathing. 'We found him like this some minutes ago, so I sent my son to call you.' I flagged down a cab and with her help, carried Jide inside the car and headed for the nearest hospital.

'Are you his wife?' the doctor asked me, after Jide had been admitted into the ward. I paused. 'His girlfriend,' I replied, looking away. "Are you aware of his 'condition'?" he continued. I could sense the dilemma in his voice. 'Yes. We both have HIV but he has refused to take his drugs for some time now.' 'Why? How long?'he asked, looking concerned. 'One year,' I replied. 'For no good reason.' I called a friend to help me drop off Victory at the hospital after school. 'V-baby!' I beamed, as she ran towards me outside the ward. I gave her three-year old frame a warm hug and led her inside the room. She seemed oblivious of her present environment. Until she saw her dad. 'Daddy!' she called out, reaching down from my arms to touch him. 'Shhhh! He is sleeping,' I told her, setting her down. 'Mummy see!' she said, showing me what she drew in her dog-eared notebook.'Beautiful!'I said, giving her another hug. Tears welled up in my eyes. Victory is the only happiness I have known in eight years. Since I met Jide.

After two days, Jide had become fully conscious. The doctor had explained that his immune system has been severely compromised by HIV and that the disease is progressing to affect several organs. Luckily, the 'rampaging' virus can still be overcome if Jide starts taking his drugs consistently. As the doctor left, I looked at Jide. Only one question was on my mind. 'Why did you ever stop taking you drugs?' I asked, almost in tears. He merely looked away. Two days later, Emeka, his younger brother showed up. He said his people sent him to bring Jide back to the East, close to home. I felt relieved, partly because I had borne Jide's cross alone for years. And partly because I was getting tired of the whole drama. Jide was frail and shaking as we were leaving the hospital. Emeka pleaded that I follow them down to the East and said I could return as soon as they get Jide into another hospital. So, with my shops under lock and key and Victory safely tied to my back, we boarded the next bus to Onitsha.

Our bus got to Onitsha by 6pm. Emeka's wife was waiting for us at the park. Jide had vomited twice during the journey and I had cleaned him up with the spare wrapper I had. She helped us carry Jide into her car, parked just outside the park. She drove. Exhausted, I slept off. I was awoken by a light flashing on my face. Shielding my face, I tried to adjust my eyes. Police check-point. I checked the time. 8pm. 'Where are we?' I asked. 'Somewhere in Delta state,' Emeka said. 'I called a doctor friend of mine and he asked us to bring Jide.' We drove for another one hour before I noticed the car slowing down. We pulled up inside a hospital just in front of the Emergency. A nurse brought a wheelchair which we used to move Jide into the Emergency. A young bespectacled doctor met us. 'Your brother?' he asked Emeka, motioning to Jide. 'Yes,' Emeka replied. The doctor asked series of questions, all the while writing in a folder. When he was done, someone came from the lab to collect Jide's blood for some tests. 'We are admitting him,' he told Emeka. 'If all goes well, your brother will recover fully.' We were taken to the ward. After Jide had been admitted, Emeka and his wife left with Victory. I allowed them take her because I couldn't have left a toddler running around a hospital while I looked after Jide. Emeka also gave me ten thousand naira. 'For food and drugs,' he said. And I settled into a most unpleasant task: getting Jide to eat and take his drugs.

A night passed. Two days. Then two weeks. Jide was getting stronger. I even heard the doctor say something about discharging him. I had gotten accustomed to the ward now. It was in a separate building, just adjacent to the main ward. By the nature of the patients lying there, I figured it was strictly for chronically ill patients. There were five beds in all numbered numerically. Bed 5 was vacant. Jide was Bed 1. Bed 2 was a pretty, young woman. She was being looked after by her mother and sister. Her boyfriend visited daily. I met him sobbing at the entrance of the ward one afternoon. 'What happened?' I asked. 'Why are people so wicked?' he asked, amid sobs. 'Could you believe that Lilian knew she had HIV and never mentioned it to me? And allowed me make love to her unprotected for two years?' 'You mean she has been aware for two years?' I asked, surprised. 'She said so herself,' he replied, heading to the direction of the lab. I stood, bewildered. Fifteen minutes later, I saw him running towards me. I was washing outside the ward. 'I tested negative!' he said, beaming with smiles. 'God help me test negative in three months.' That was the last I saw of him at the hospital. Bed 3 was a blind man probably in his fifties. He was admitted a week after we came. He was being looked after by his newly married wife. I was washing plates outside the ward one day when I overheard her querying the doctor. 'How can he have HIV when he cannot see? I am telling you that this is all spiritual,'she said, with the doctor looking surprised. 'Have you been tested?' the doctor asked. 'Yes, and I am negative. How can you reconcile that?'she asked. As the doctor walked away, she continued. 'His children confessed to striking him with blindness and I know they are responsible for this.' The doctor merely laughed.

Bed 4 was another young woman, nursed by her fiance. She had been in the ward only four days. It was my first time of seeing man nurse someone. He was always there. Cleaning. Washing. Feeding. Talk of a domesticated man! One evening, I met her sitting outside the ward. I joined her and we got talking. Her fiance had gone out to buy food. 'You have such a nice, supportive man,'I said, voicing my admiration. She smiled. 'Do you know anything about HIV?' she asked, visibly pained. 'Oh...'I said, looking away.'It is not a death sentence,' I continued, facing her. 'Easy to say,'she snapped. 'Look. I too have HIV,ok?' I told her, noting the surprise in her eyes.'It is no big deal. Just take your drugs daily and you will be fine,' I concluded. 'I like your confidence,'she said. After about five minutes, she spoke up, her voice laden with emotion. 'He caused all this!' 'How?'I asked, confused. 'Is he positive too?' 'No,'she said. 'He is negative. And he is the only man I have known.' 'How come?' I asked, more confused. 'I took in for him last year,'she began, wiping off a tear. 'We have been dating for six years. When I told him I was pregnant, he said he wasn't ready...that we can't start a family yet. He just started his business then and was struggling to find his feet. He suggested I should abort the baby.' I looked on, dazed. 

"He took me to this place. It was a flat in a busy part of the town. There were about twenty young girls sitting in a room. We paid near the entrance and I was given a number and shown where to sit. Occasionally, the door to the adjacent room opens and a young girl comes out. A voice behind the door will call out 'Next!' and the next girl in line will enter. After about five hours, it was my turn. On entering the room, my first instinct was to turn and run. Lying in a bowl were bloody metallic instruments, adjacent to an worn couch. A bearded old man with blood-stained gloves motioned me to lie on the couch. I did. He told me to spread my legs," she said, fighting back tears. 'When he was done, I was deeply traumatized. Emotionally shredded. I didn't speak to my fiance for a week. Gradually, I came around. His business took off. He came to see my people for the introduction. We were attending marriage class in my church. Last week, the church requested we run some basic tests: blood group, genotype, HIV. You can imagine my shock when I was told I was HIV positive.' 

She was sobbing freely now. I tried to console her. 'Whatever we cannot change, we must embrace and overcome,'I told her. 'No matter how dark the night, morning eventually comes.' When she had wiped her tears, we watched the sun go down. 'Tomorrow, we will rise with the sun, stronger than ever before,'I said, rising to go inside. She smiled.

CHILDREN...

Children

Little precious jewels

How could helpless, dependent neonates

Wield such a power to move

Even the strongest of men to tears

Like a golden egg 

They lie in our hands

Vulnerable yet impregnable

Their future amorphous yet glorious

Their cry rallies us to action

Their smile is pure joy 

Children

The vigor with which they suckle

The speed with which they grow

Like a young sapling they shoot forth

Sit, crawl, stand and then walk

Teeth appear 

They experiment with diet

Their mind pure and unspoiled

They view the world with glee

As an infinite playground

Their curiosity, deep as an ocean

Spills forth buckets of questions 

As soon as they begin to talk 

Children

Life's assurance of continuity

Some grow up docile

The rest grow up rebels of nature

We try to beat them into submission

To enforce rules, values and norms 

What we kill in this process we may never know

But the finished product: bright, obedient, little chaps

We enroll them in schools

Plan out their lives and lay it out before them

Imbued with innate potentials, they grow

And begin to see the world how we want them to see it 

A warfare 

Children

The days of innocence are over

The white satin has been tainted with blots of ink

'Forgive me, father, for I have sinned

This is my first confession'

Evil is known and called by its name 

They are being pushed and pulled from every side

Society. Media. Internet. Television

Our new wine suddenly acquires the taste of vinegar

But in all, the wine is still good

Puberty and menarche set in

And the hormones break loose 

But they are still children

Confused by the formation of new feelings

Girls grow breasts and become rounder

Boys acquire new baritone and chin hairs

They also acquire new tastes

Playing with the opposite sex now cause sparks 

And arouse strange emotions

They society circles in

Like hawks on a bird of prey

With new demands and new responsibilities

Some are crushed under the pressure

The remaining come out bruised by experience 

They may have grown tall

But they are still children

MASS...

The halos of the saints

Plain-faced yet bemused

The burning incense from the thurible

Swinging like a giant pendulum

In the hands of the alter boy

Our pious faces ashen with repentance 

Our hearts of varied consistency

Some good soil, pliable

Others hewn rocks, impregnable

I admired the procession

As they made their way to the altar 

'In nomine Patri et filio...'

The Trinity has descended

The Holy Spirit set to rekindle

Our smothered flame

'Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa'

Sin departs 

Forgiveness granted

Our hearts emboldened

Our divine relationship restored 

The readings spoke to me

'O that today you listen to his voice

Harden not your heart'

As I chanted the responsorial psalm

I felt my fortresses breaking down

The Lord taking possession of His own 

No arguments, no rationalizations

Stunned, I moped throughout the homily

Trying to figure out the turmoil in my mind

Hearing one faint, small voice 

Consecration came

The priest with intense fervor

Is turning bread and wine

Into the body and blood of Christ

Calvary is re-enacted

Heaven and earth watched in amazement 

I knelt in awe in humble adoration

Grateful for witnessing the making of history 

'Pater noster, qui est in caelis...'

We said the Lord's prayer

Beseeching to be delivered from all evil

At the 'Lamb of God'

Mercy is unleashed

The feast is ready 

As I walked back from the altar

After receiving His body and blood

I heard the voice again

This time it was distinct

'You are mine'

AIRBORNE...

I was asleep

And suddenly I wasn't

I must either be floating or flying

But surely I was in the air

Soaring in the morning skies 

My flight took me to a market square

So much hustling and bustling

At the north end of the market

I saw a crowd gathered

At the centre of the crowd

A young boy,eight perhaps 

Was being beaten by an elderly man

Some in the crowd shouted 'Amosu!'

Others screamed 'Witch!'

The young boy's pleas fell on deaf ears

I tried to land but my body couldn't move

It seemed I have been cursed only to watch 

He was beaten till he collapsed

And the crowd dispersed

I shook my head in dismay 

I made a brief stop at a crusade ground

The cacophony of voices

With intermittent shouts of 'Amen!'

Almost drowned the preacher's voice

There,just beside the pulpit lay a young girl

She couldn't be more than nine 

'Wicked marine spirit,Come out!'the Preacher ordered.

And the congregation,facing the girl

Cast and bound the evil spirit

I looked at the little girl

The tears in her eyes could not hide her confusion

She just lay there, sobbing 

Suddenly I found myself in the operating room, surgical knife in hand

I tried to shout but no sound emanated

The facemask pressed on my nose and mouth

I turned and saw my Consultant fully gowned

A pregnant woman lay on the table

'Prolonged obstructed labour,'he said 'No fetal heart tone.Cut,I'll assist'

We brought out a fresh stillbirth 

In an instant I found myself in the ward

Consoling the woman

'Doctor,I want to show you something'

She unwrapped the body of her dead baby

'See this?' she pointed at a scar on the baby's forehead

'I did this to him the last time he came' 

'He is Ogbanje'

I just stood there, mouth agape 

As I turned to look at the woman

She was no longer there

I looked around me

I saw only empty space

As I looked down

I saw a cluster of buildings with roads in between 

I was airborne

THE RAINMAKER...

The clouds gathered and across the skyline a flash of lightning

Warned everyone of an imminent downpour

I stood by my window,gazing at the sky

Only one person occupying my thoughts: Ugonnaya. 

We went to primary school together

She was plump and chubby so everyone called her 'Fatty'

I was the only person calling her 'Ugo' so we became friends

Her father was the village rainmaker

Before every event,he is approached to prevent the rains

And even if the clouds have gathered 

The event will be rain-free. 

One dry season,during break, a classmate rushed into the class

'Eze is beating up Fatty,'he told me

I ran out to the field and met Ugo with a bloody nose

I helped her up and led her into the class

We could hear Eze and the other bullies calling her 'Fatty-bom-bom' and

laughing 

Ugo became sad and immediately the atmosphere changed

A heavy wind blew and sent everyone screaming and running into their

classes

I looked intently at her face

A tear rolled down her cheek

The class became dark,there was a clap of thunder,followed by a heavy rain

Eze and the other boys ran into the class,soaked to their pants,shivering

Ugo tried to suppress a giggle. 

Another day,we went out to hunt 'ewi' or bushrat

It was mid-December and the yam harvest was being concluded

We've caught the first and were trying to smoke out the second when she

said

"Let's go. It's about to rain."

'No way,'I said.'Look the sky is still sunny' 'Is it?'she asked, walking away

I looked again. 

True,there were dark clouds gathering

I followed her,bushrat in one hand,'mbazu' in the other

'Run ahead of me,'she said

I ignored her

The rain started,I was getting soaked I ran. 

She was ahead of me,walking fast

Rain was not touching her

As I ran past her,the rain stopped beating me

If I dropped behind her,I got soaked

I ran straight to her house

As I sat, shivering by the kitchen fire 

She held me and whispered softly,'I make rain.' 

It has been fifteen years since I saw her

But we've been in touch through letters and calls

She couldn't go to the university

She now has a son,Chuchu, who she said is 'as plump as Fatty'

'When are you coming?' she asked

'Tomorrow,'I replied,'if it doesn't rain' 

I could hear the giggle in her voice.

'No rain,then,'she said

Early the next morning,I set out for my village

By midday,I was in their house

It was the rainy season, she was coming back from the farm

A small,chubby boy was with her,basket on the head

We embraced,laughed,joked for three hours 

Then the clouds began to gather

I went outside. 

Chuchu followed me

He looked up. 

I noticed he was smiling

I followed his gaze

Together we watched the gathering clouds disperse

And the sun came out.

BLOOD...

It was 10 pm

I just stepped outside the hospital gate to buy something cold to drink

As I gulped the chilled Coca-Cola

I silently prayed for the strength to stay the night 

As I was leaving the shop

I took a casual glance down the road

A man was approaching in sauntering steps

'Another drunk,'I concluded, shaking my head

Then I heard a soft thud

I looked again 

The man had fallen to the ground

Out of curiosity, I approached where he lay

He was face down, so I turned him

I could barely make out his face in the enveloping darkness

But he happened to be clutching his stomach

'Help me,' he pleaded, gasping for breath 

Touching his abdomen,I noticed a warm liquid has soaked his shirt

And it had that familiar smell

Blood 

I returned with two gatemen

Together we carried him into the Accident and Emergency

There was a gaping wound on the abdomen probably from a gunshot

There was another smaller exit wound at the back

We presumed he had been shot at close range

He has lost a lot of blood and his vital signs were in disarray 

Pulse was one hundred and forty-two

Blood pressure was sixty over forty

Extremities were getting cold

He has lost consciousness 

His blood group was O-negative

Which made matters worse as there was no O-neg blood in the blood bank

that night

And no one around was a match

So while we tried bringing him out of shock using normal saline

He was taken to the theatre to suture the bleeding arteries and close the wounds

But it was obvious to all that without blood administered fast

He might not make it 

As I made my way to the blood bank to negotiate what next to do

A young man approached me

'That man,that man you brought in now,'he began in a shaky voice

'I want to donate blood for him'

At my wits end, I took him to be screened

Fortunately,he was a match 

We transfused the patient with the pint he donated

The next day,he met me outside the ward

'I learnt he still needs more blood'

'Yes,'I replied,'We are arranging for that'

'Well,I bought two pints of O-neg blood this morning,'he said

'I kept them at the blood bank' 

'Are you his relative?'I asked, struck by his selflessness

'No,'he responded, forcing a smile 'Just a friend' 

Three days later, I met him again in the hallway

As I went to see the patient

'Come with me,' I beckoned

The patient was awake when we entered

He was still in pains but managed a smile

'See the man who saved your life,'I began pointing at the young man 

'I'm glad I was of help,'the young man said,all the while looking at the floor

'Thank you,'the patient said in a whisper and motioned me to come

I drew near,my head across his chest

In a voice ladden with pain,the patient said

'This is the man who shot me'

I was rooted to the spot

ETERNITY...

We come in

Young, robust, fresh-faced

Eyes are sharp, minds alert

Eager to re-discover the art of healing

Our teachers

Diverse, gray hairs, well-read Demanding and exacting

'It is a tough race they tell us

Survival of the fittest' 

We begin

Physics, Maths, Chemistry

Zoology, Biology

But that's only to warm up the brain

For the heavy bombardment that follows

Anatomy ushers in the muscles and bones Nerves, Arteries, Organs, Systems

The cadavers, lifeless and at our mercy

An ever constant reminder of our mortality

We study, forget, re-study

Biochemistry and Metabolism

Physiology and function of every detail Of this universe called 'The Human Body' 

We progress

Pathology arrives with all possible disease processes

We learn and master every microorganism

Past, present, future

A world of drugs beckons

Pharmacology, a bitter-sweet pill 

We memorize every drug

Origins, how it works, and for which condition

As well as the side-effects 

We continue

At the patients' bedside

Like an astute detective

We learn to ask questions

Like Santa Claus

We learn to coax children 

Like an experienced midwife

We learn to deliver women in labour

We go for outreaches in communities

And help improve their health 

We persist

Through the eight-hour ward rounds

Through the six-hour surgeries

Standing with wobbling feet

Taking it all in a gulp

Still studying, forgetting, re-studying 

Countless clinical conferences

And innumerable tutorials

After six, eight, or ten grueling years

Depending on the skill of the barber

Or the sharpness of the blade

We are set free on oath 'To do no harm' 

We exit

Bald, bespectacled, worn-out

Fewer than we came in

Our younger ones have long returned

From NYSC and are now working

The business of saving lives have begun But we can't help but wonder

How did they succeed

In turning six years into eternity?

TRAPPED...Part 1.

'Oh No! Not again!' I muttered under my breath. But the offensive smell cannot lie. As I cringed my nose way from the pungent smell, I hesitantly rose up to do what had inadvertently become a routine in the past two weeks: cleaning watery shit. For the fifth time that morning, Jide had soiled himself. As I slowly undid the rope girding his trousers, I looked at the figure lying helplessly on the bed in the solitary ward. Bag of bones. Skeleton. No word can succintly describe him. The man I loved had become less than a shadow of himself. His cheek bones jutted out, a complete caricature of the man I fell in love with eight years ago.

I was closing my shop one evening when he approached me, young, handsome, fresh-faced. He was carrying a traveling bag. 'Madam, please, I just arrived Lagos and I am kinda stranded,' he said in a rich baritone. 'I really need a place to spend the night and sort myself out,'he pleaded persuasively. I was then a burgeoning tailor, doing well by all 'Lagos' standards: had many rich customers, lived in a flat, had two shops and three student tailors. I looked him head to toe, his chubby face cutting a pathetic picture. "I don't really oblige strangers but I am making an exception for you. Just one night."'Plenty thanks,' he said, effusing with gratitude. "I'm Jide,"he said. 'Stella,' I replied, curtly.

He followed me to my apartment. It was three blocks away from the shop. I learnt that night he was the first son in a family of five, and he had travelled to Lagos from the East in search of greener pasture. He had undergone apprenticeship with a tailor in Aba but absconded just a year before the agreed seven years' training, citing maltreatment as an excuse. He went on to show me some of his clothes which he claimed to have sown himself. 'Hmmm... Impressive. You must be a very good tailor then,' I told him. 'Maybe,' he said, blushing. The rest of the night was calm.

One night turned to one week. And one week turned to one month. Jide was charming at his best, manipulative at his worst. But I allowed him to stay. Maybe because he had nowhere else to go. I fed him and took care of his financial needs. My boyfriend was mad when he learnt that Jide was staying with me. I tried to make him understand and when he couldn't, we split. Gradually, things between us got physical...we became intimate. I gave him a space in my second shop and help him start off his tailoring. He turned out to be better than he claimed. Soon, he was doing very well. But he had one big  flaw: women.

At first, I was flattered. That my man was the toast of ladies. Then it became irritating. And outrightly embarrasing. He would disappear after close of work, only to return at midnight. Reeking of alcohol and looking ruffled. I tried to stomach it, partly because people have come to know us as a couple. And partly because I was two months pregnant for him.The day I threatened to throw him out, he beat me into a pulp. I miscarried the next day. After my miscarriage, he begged me fervently to forgive him and promised to turn a new leaf. Two months later, he told me he want to meet my people. He has never said that before. 'Why?' I queried. 'Because, I'll like to marry you,'he said, holding my hands. I was dumbstruck.

'Hmmm...Stella,' my younger sister, Nkechi, quipped. 'Who is that dude?' 'He is my boyfriend o!' I replied giggling. We had visited my relatives in Apapa and my sister had called me aside.'What?' I asked, noticing the frown on her face. "I don't like him,' she said emphatically.'He looks too flashy.' I laughed her off. 'Young girls,' I wondered. 'What do they know?' We later travelled to my village at Jide's request. He met my parents and promised to come with his people soon. We also went to his village and met his people. When he told them all I did for him, they were overflowing with gratitude. His mother even took him aside and made him promise her that he would marry no other but me. We went back to Lagos. Four years passed. No other mention of the marriage matter. To make issues worse, everybody around thought that we were married. And I couldn't help but answer his 'madam'. His womanizing took another turn. He started bringing different women to our house. My house. I was six months pregnant for him and didn't want to make a fuss to avoid another miscarriage. Almost every night, I cry myself to sleep and struggle to block out their sensual moans.

'The doctor will like to see you,' the elderly nurse told me. I had gone for my antenatal clinic and was told to carry out some tests. 'Madam,' the doctor began, looking me squarely in the face. 'Your test results just came out. Ultrasound scan showed your baby is doing well.' 'Thank God,' I gasped. 'You also tested positive for HIV I and II.' 'What?' I screamed. 'How come?' I pressed, confused. "I don't sleep around. I have been faithful to one man and last year when I did this test, it was negative!" 'Has your man been faithful to you?' the doctor asked,quizzically. 'Hell no!' I muttered, inaudibly. 'Jide has killed me!' I sobbed, uncontrollably. I was started on Anti-Retroviral drugs to prevent the virus from infecting my baby. I was broken when I got home. I told him everything and pleaded with him to get tested. After two weeks, he agreed. And he was positive too. His CD4 count was done. It was 300. He was started on anti-retrovirals too. Problem is, he never took his drugs. I gave birth to a bouncing baby girl, whom I named Victory. And I never stopped taking my drugs.

Two years passed. I noticed rashes all over Jide's body. When I asked him, he told me it was the scars  of chicken pox he had as a child. But  the rashes kept coming. He also began to lose weight. And he started coughing. The cough defied all cough medications. Then, he started stooling frequently. Everyone knew my man was sick. Very sick. I took him to the hospital. And the doctor dropped the bombshell. Jide's HIV has progressed to AIDS. If he is started on medications, he will recover. We spent a month in the hospital, he recovered and was discharged on medications. He started taking his drugs, and regained some of his weight. 

One evening,I entered the room with Victory and met him jumping and screaming. 'What happened?' I asked, astonished. 'I have been healed of my HIV,'he shouted with glee, emptying the cup containing the antiretroviral drugs into the toilet. 'Stop!' I shouted, but it was too late. 'I am free!' he continued. 'Why not do a test before you conclude?' I asked. 'God healed me and you are talking of test?'he retorted, with a smirk on his face. I shook my head in disbelief and entered the adjacent room. I paused at the mirror. I barely recognized who I saw. A tired, famished, weary girl in her late-twenties trapped with a stubborn, dubious and unfaithful mad man.