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.

WATER...

I waited, tired and out of breath. I could still hear some gunshots in the far distance. I broke into another sprint, running blindly in the forest under thick darkness. A million thistle pricks and scratches left my body on fire. 

Suddenly, I heard footsteps. In the darkness,I could make out a figure moving a few feet from me Another passenger? One of the robbers? The figure kept moving further away into the forest. I followed. The figure ran. I pursued, using both hands to clear the twigs and branches in my path. I heard a loud thud. And a female shriek pierced the night. 

The figure now lay before me, writhing in pains. As I approached, she was screaming,'No! No!' 'Quiet!' I said, trying to keep my voice down. She stopped screaming,but her tearful sniffs were still audible. 'Were you in the bus?' I asked.

 'Yes.'

 She broke into sobs. 

'Are you hurt?' 

'Slightly,'she replied,trying to get up. 

'We must keep running,'I told her,helping her up. 

'They may be coming after us.' 

We must have ran for another two hours before succumbing to weariness. I was awoken by the blinding noonday sun. My whole body ached terribly. My throat was dry. I struggled up, looked around and despair set in. For all I could see were cassava plants. Covering hectares from where I stood. I heard some rustling and turned. 

Then,I saw her. Lanky. Dark-skinned. Torn clothes. A frown distorting her pretty face.

'Nothing,'she said. 

'What?'I asked, confused. 

'Nothing to eat. Nothing to drink. I woke up early and went to search. Nothing but cassava roots.' 'Then let's get going. I hope we reach a village or something,'I said, looking around in disbelief. 

Her name was Lola. She was going back to Lagos for the Christmas holidays. She had entered Onitsha from her school in Owerri that evening and decided to take the night bus. And she was sitting directly in front of me. Third row. 

'How did you manage to slip into the bush?'I asked her,albeit rhetorically.

'The robbers could have shot you!'

'Or me...'I softly added.

It was night before we got to a settlement. An array of mud huts with light emanating from some windows. We approached the first hut. A woman sat in front, plaiting her daughter's hair. On seeing us, she froze. She called her husband who came out, cutlass in hand. We struggled to narrate our story. 

Hungry. Thirsty. Delirious. 

Only four words in our story made sense. 'Bus'. 'Lagos'. 'Thieves'. 'Run'. 

Maybe they understood. I could hear them embracing us in sympathy. 

My legs felt too heavy. 

I fell. 

As I lay on the cool sandy soil, my parched lips contorted in gratitude, only one thought was on my mind: 

Water.

Me...Smiling!