“Don’t remove the spoon! Bring more onions, he’s breathing now” the voice echoes like flies higgledy-piggledy strewn on stinky muddy water. The atmosphere was absurd, blue blur nightmares with a flash of the past being invisible. What a pain! When voice became voiceless, choked with a five sword spade-like often used to inject yam with fried egg, nothing much to remember but a mere nightmare. Isn’t it strange or awkward sleeping the previous night and forcefully woke up the following day by over ten people sweating and weeping unconsciously, a replica of such. The memoirs of the past keep on flashing like a police torchlight or vigilante rather, better still whatsapp messenger notification.
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It all started as a mere illness, febrile/fevers precisely, it graduated to malaria. With series of self medication and local herbs which prove abortive. Albeit mama Abeni ; a renowned midwife and matron in a well known hospital at Iju ifako, Lagos, prescription, diagnostics and medication, yet no improvement. That moment when nothing could satisfied the weaken intestine except corn pap and a salty 7up. Within a month, I obviously knew what heaven look like. When a hope to survive seems hopeless, life became lifeless, while faith was faithless. The thought of dying in pain, leaving everything behind, my precious mum whose indefatigable and unwearied efforts to succeed in life has sustained me, and my dad whose aim was to witness the success of his children, my siblings, friends and future.
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What about 2006 cowbell mathematics competition I was selected to represent my school; The Apostolic Church (Iju district) bible competition; my creativity, art designs et al?; oh my lovely recording cassette radio that Sunday and I recently bought with our hard savings daily contribution. What about Motunrayo, my crush and best friend that I’m scared to profess my feelings to despite series of love letter stored in my school bag, who will help me to deliver it? The scripture flashed like opera breaking news blinking‘Vanity upon vanity’
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That awkward afternoon, I stared at my mum, her feeble and weary face tells it all, ”will my son survive?” she sighs and heavily breath, shrugged down her shoulder. I could read her mind again “lords let my son survive.” “How are you feeling now?” my Dad break the silence. I cling to my new bible presented to me after a recent bible quiz, I solitary prayed, sober and humble myself, plead for forgiveness of sin, my trespasses and transgression. Like Christ, I began to speak in Hebrew, ‘Eli eli lama sabachthani.’ The word of Hezekiah, weeping and beseeching God to remember how he had walked in truth before God with a perfect heart; a king who has done good things in the presence of the lord. I wept but cannot charge God for mercy; I neither have a perfect heart, nor walk faithfully, truthful in the sight of the lord. Will Shola forgive me for stealing his pen? I’m yet to settle my grudges with Seun,Raimi and I recently had brief conundrum, what about the rest I can’t mention. I wept bitterly and pleaded for grace, the grace to survive or the grace to reign with him in his kingdom. It was a terrible day, I was losing strength, i was dying gradually, my voice was automatic seized, and my legs were dancing to the tune of epilepsy. The end time is near, my eyes stared unblinkingly and went still.
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“Don’t remove the spoon! Bring more onions, he’s breathing now” the voice echoes like flies higgledy-piggledy strewn on stinky muddy water. Just like Celine Deon lyrics ‘I’m alive’ alive indeed! It wasn’t raining but splashes of water were drastically trickling down my cheeks. I pinched myself thrice to be sure if I’m alive. People began trickling into the room to confirm the rumors. Mama Abeni rushed me to the hospital where she worked. The condition became worsen day by day, filled with sorrow and lack of funds. The pain was unbearable that I couldn’t ask God for nothing but death, maybe it was the right thing to plead for or choice less. It sounds awkward wasting money and resources to revive a soul that’s likely not to survive despite the countless of drips received with 4 pants of blood within three weeks.
“Sorry sir and ma. The boy present condition is out of control. We’ve tried all our possible best but no improvement. Only prayer can revive his soul. I’ll suggest we transfer the boy to Lagos State general hospital, Ikeja. Probably he may survive there,” the hospital director recommends her working place uninsured. I was transferred to Ikeja within 24 hours with the aid of the private hospital ambulance. After registration, collection of card et all. I had lost much strength and was shattered away like cellophane being hunted by wind. I was been rushed to emergency ward, where I witness the end time.
I had barely spent two consecutive days in the emergency ward when 5 people gave up to the ghost, the notable one’s was a certain man near my bed being forced with spiritual forces(juju) to come back home from Canada. He alighted at the airport and became mentally disable, he has been in the ward for close to two weeks without speaking nor eyes opened but snored heavily every seconds like pig till he died. The acclaimed story was that his brothers afflict him with spiritual attack to inherit his properties. Also the septuagenarian old man with oxygen for 7days; the little boy probably two years with sickle cells; the pregnant woman; a NYSC member that had a fatal accident. All, I witness their sudden demise. I felt devastated and wept solitary. I asked God again ‘why not me’. I was unable to eat except tea and pieces of equipment that passes liquid food and medicine very slowly through a tube into my vein, 4 drips per day.
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The third day, I was pushed with a wheelchair, transferred to medical ward only to realize after ten minutes that the last bed space had been booked by an unknown. The only alternative was to transfer me to surgical ward where I spent 55 days. Series of test were conducted but nothing could be visible. The doctor asked my dad to donate blood, persistently claiming that I’m short of blood. I pitiable stared at my dad who shrugged down in acceptance. That very day I respected star, gulder and 33, they’ve successfully supply my dad with excess heamoglobin“ I hope this man won’t die untimely, despite the blood he donated previously" I thought. The only thing that crossed my mind was ‘my village people’ because I recently came back from village for the final burial ceremony of my late grandma. I was given blood transfusion twice in additions to the four previous bloods. I became friend with Ade, a cripple. He has been hospitalized for over a year.
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History foretells that his family and relatives abandoned him half-year ago. Ade, popularly known as Omo ijoba(Government child) is a villain, and cricky-cracky comedian, a political critic and well loved by all. We became intimate via political augmentative, even though he always won. Though he’s privilege to source for information outside while I’m always indoor listening to my radio and I neither loose as well because I learnt more from him and it redeemed my strength. Ade and I became friends with Mr Paul, a middle-aged man in my ward room. He was a senior driver at Texaco company, he had a fatal accidents on lagos-ibadan express way. The incident claimed his boss life while he survives with, I met and left him there. He shared his wealth of mystery experience with us vis-à-vis.
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On the 30th day at the ward, I was so indisposed, unconscious, and internally weak, a faded palm and whitish eye ball, I was shivering, feeling cold and sweating profusely, the illness was degenerating and systemic strangulating my whole body, my eyes was blank again as their luster light gradually drifting away. The light redeemed back as the high pitch voice of my mum rushed the doctor in. “the boy needs extra bloods again” the doctor affirmatively stated after diagnosing. “These people are so wicked, they thought they are drinking water, after 6 pants they still want more. Are they drinking maltina?” I almost shrieked. “ Malt and ugwu or tomato paste will be preferable, you can give it a try,” Mr Paul suggested. I stared at my mum profusely sweating; the innocent woman had been sleeping under my bed space, silently praying over night. I once pray for death to come but the fact remains that I’m not willing to die again.
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Not quit long, two young ladies with a young man walked into the ward with their ‘assumed to be business bags and umbrellas, they speaks about Jehovah, emphasized on his kingdom even though I was far aback in deep thought soliloquizing on my sin, atrocities and the blood suckers. Where was Jehovah when the vampires are sucking 6 pants of blood freely? I came back alive when a lady taps my shoulder asking me to say after her,”……Jehovah... Forgive me my sin…” she noticed my ignominious reaction during the declaration; my unwillingness to declare my confession; my present condition, wearied face and feeble state and she smile. I absolutely felt like slapping her, I asked, myself whether she’s normal or insane. Is she mocking me? Why would a reasonable lady mock a dying young boy on sick bed? She read my face and smile again. My angered furiously increased. My eyes were flared with fire while I was viciously-tempered. I wanted to inform her that YABAleft is not too far from here when she advert her teeth and smiled again. She clasped her palm to the back region of my neck, while I felt her warm palm sensitizing my mood. Contrary her platonic reaction makes me feel uncomfortable. Could she be sent from the village? I don’t trust all this yellow pawpaw; majority of them are mermaids. What if she’s sent to monitor me?
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“What’s your name?” she asked while smiling. “Oluwaseyifunmi” I replied her affirmatively. I asked myself again. What if she’s sent to ask my name? “Young boy, I don’t know your decision, you got two choice to decides, choice to liberty and choice to death. If you believe you can you will? Hezekiah and Samson had the grace to choose liberty or death. Do you know what they did?’ she asked. “What ma” I requested. “They asked” she whispered and exits the room. That very day I plead for mercy, I choose liberty and sound health, I requested for blood of Jesus; the blood that redeemed my sin. My blood was tested again and was revealed that I had malaria parasite. I was treated for a couple of week and fully recovered. I left the hospital on the 55th days in sound and good health.
Ten years later, a colleague and I went to the same hospital for marketing, I scrutinized the environment, went to different ward, I showed him the emergency ward where I experience mystery, also the surgical ward. We are captured by a prospect, an old man who began to share his wealth of experience even though Dayo was tired of his story and I was thinking of the old man with oxygen, the duo similarly replicate each other. The day was hectic and awkward with the sun smiling while our face was crying. I thought within myself “so I can visit here again.” We left the hall and I give thanks to God
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“Good afternoon Sir, do you still recognize my face?” a young boy asked me with amusement. The voice drifted me alive. I spluttered unaware “erm… erm your…your. You mean your face?” I primly asked “Where?” He replied “at Irrua sir.’ Immediately I recognize Osas, he’s very much healthy. He sounds confident ‘oh illness na bastard!’ I never know he’s so handsome like this. We chaffed for a while before he let out a statement “sir I choose to live, thank God I’m alive.” Then I remembered how I came across him this 5 month ago
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Early this year, I led a charity team to Irrua Specialist Hospital, Edo State for counseling and consultation where I met Osas, a young boy in his early teenage stage. I almost shed tears mere looking at his impecunious condition, it was so terrible. After adequate consultation and counseling I wiped my face and smile. I don t need to put him into suspense because I had definitely known his thought. I repeat the exact statements my mermaid told me a decade ago” Hezekiah and Samson had the grace to choose liberty or death. Do you know what they did?” I hiatus paused, smiled with bemusement and continued “Hezekiah requested for freedom; to free from illness and survived while Samson chooses to die with his enemies. My dear what you need to do is to ask.” We left the ward and headed to another ward
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We all got a story to tell, either positive or negatives; sweetness or bitterness. We all have the grace to choose liberty or death. I choose mine a decade ago. Our present situation and challenges is temporary, I met the boy a week ago at a friend wedding anniversary and remember the past, my ungratefulness to glorify his name till hitherto. I remembered Ade and Mr. Paul; they both had a story to tell. Indeed! When there is live, there is hope. I learnt from the past and correct the future. The only thing about life is that ‘life’ itself is an irony of life. I hope to see my mermaid to thank her for the word of hope if only I would recognize her face again. My name is Samson but I choose to live like Hezekiah.
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Till hitherto, I don’t know what title best fit the story,maybe it deserves no title but I believe we all got non fictional story to tell.
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Ajiboye Seyi Samson is a freelance and investigative writer and journalist.
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