2
——— ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ———
‘He Didn’t Make It Alive’
Femi’s phone beeped twice with a ‘low battery’ warning, shaking him awake.
It was 12:43pm.
He had dozed off through the last half-hour. ‘I thought I fully charged this phone last night. What’s low battery again?’ Femi hissed, rubbing his eyes half-asleep, as he shoved his phone into his trouser pocket.
‘You can now go in, sir. Wing C, room number seven. That’s the seventh door on your left,’ the receptionist informed Femi who looked around glumly. ‘The patient is now awake. Please no interrogation,’ she continued.
Femi lifted himself gracefully without eyeing the receptionist. ‘Please no interrogation,’ he mimicked her. ‘Who the hell does she think she’s talking to?’ he murmured as he carefully adjusted his neatly ironed uniform to perfection. ‘She hasn’t heard of Femo,’ he praised himself as he gallantly made his way to the hallway.
Femi stall danced as he walked through the long and somewhat empty hallway with his eyes locked on the labels of every room door. His face was crafted in delight as his fancy dress shoes moved in fine rhythmical African dance patterns.
Infected with undiluted joy, he sang loudly to Wizkid’s ‘Jaiye Jaiye’ afrobeat song, replacing the artiste’s lyrics with his own words.
’Femi, bad policeman. I dey catch corny man.
You already know. I crack every case…’’
He lifted his tightly fisted hands up, close to his face, throwing them back and forth, like a professional boxer guarding his face in a boxing ring from the punches of a deadly opponent, while patiently waiting for the perfect opportunity to sling a winning punch.
‘Femi you’re too much,’ he celebrated himself before continuing his cheerful song of self-praise.
’…You for become musician.’
Femi was happily in oblivion that he failed to notice two young female nurses walking behind him, laughing loudly at the cracked voice of the officer.
He was tone-deaf.
And it was dreadful.
It seemed like his throat was dry, cracked and patched.
——— ✿ ✿ ✿ ———
In a neat medium-size room, Chioma, a hapless, young, beautiful lady with small healing facial scars, sobbed in confusion. Her wandering eyes circled around every inch of the room, trying to forcefully embrace her new environment, as a thin needle ran partly into her vein.
The room was dead silent.
One could literally hear the soundless dripping of clear fluids draining into Chioma’s vein. There was a two-layer cabinet beside her. On the cabinet was a basket of red flowers and a desk telephone planted next to it. On the other side of the bed was a black luxury leather armchair. Hanged on the wall behind her were two charming oil paintings of nursing African mothers.
With a scattered hair that fell across her shoulders, and worn-off makeup, she tried to call out to someone, but the words steaming on her tongue failed to break free through her gritted teeth. Bitter tears trickled down freely as she groaned in pain.
A surge of tormenting flashback hit her in one gigantic wave. She tried to get up from the bed in defense against the hazy and torturing images lurking around her. It was too much for her to handle.
Femi scurried into the room through the doorway. ‘Oh no, don’t get up. You will reopen your stitches,’ he strutted further into the room, straight towards the bed and helped her to lay on her back again. ‘Where am I?’ she muttered, laying back flat. ‘You’re at Saint Nicholas Hospital,’ Femi replied with same softness. ‘You were brought here early this morning after a motor accident last night. You lost a lot of blood before getting here, so you’re indeed lucky to be alive.’
He froze for a moment too long before speaking again, using the time to appreciate the natural beauty of the agonizing lady.
‘You are very beauti…’
He didn’t complete the sentence, instead he swallowed the rest of his unprofessional comment. ‘What?’ She half-frowned at him. Speedily, he hid his face in embarrassment. ‘I meant to say that you’re very lucky to be alive,’ he moped.
Chioma stared hard at him for a while, saying nothing. She broke into a subtle smile after observing the discomfort the officer had been casted into. ‘What day is it?’ she muttered, dispelling the embarrassment enveloping the gentleman. In relief, he repositioned his head to catch a pleasing sight of the breathing beauty. ‘It’s February fifteen. You have been in coma for hours.’ His face brightened.
Along the hallway, a doctor headed smartly towards Chioma’s room for a quick check-up.
How to describe him?
Healthy-looking would come to mind, which in fact, he was. A Caucasian with scanty white-hair growth, average-heighted, bald-headed, possibly in his late-50s, in a glistening white overall, unbuttoned completely, uncovering his yellow shirt and a stethoscope hung around his neck.
Femi raised his left hand to his eyes and peeked sharply at the face of his gold wristwatch loosely wrapped around his wrist and dangling. ‘It is well past one o’clock in the afternoon,’ he continued. ‘Wait a minute, where’s Uche?’ Chioma was no longer at ease. Though she acted calmly, she really didn’t know where she was, or if she could trust Femi.
The doctor marched in.
‘Hello!’ he greeted in a fancy British accent. Chioma could smell it all over the sterile air—her boyfriend didn’t make it alive. ‘I asked you, where is Uche?’ she yelled, trying to get up again. ‘Please don’t, madam,’ the doctor pleaded. ‘I won’t advice you to do that. You need rest. A lot of it. That is the only way we would be able to discharge you tomorrow morning.’
He grabbed her hand, squeezed it a little, and shook his head. ‘You need to calm down. Take a deep breath and calm yourself down.’
A tear trailed down her face.
‘I can’t be calm until I know where Uche is.’
He released her hand.
‘Mister Femi here will answer all of your questions. That’s why he is here.’ He smiled at Femi before listening to her heartbeat with his stethoscope plugged into his ears.
Chioma’s eyes were locked on Femi who could feel the orbs on her face piercing through his skin, but he averted his own gaze. ‘Like the doctor said, you need to rest. I promise to answer any question you have as long as you promise to stay calm.’ Femi refused to meet her gaze and this made her restless.
Instead, he stepped away from her burning glare and quietly sat on the edge of the bed. Mildly, he towed her left hand in between his coarse palms. Her eyes were quickly latched on the sight of Femi’s hands caressing hers.
Back at the station, Kunle was upright, in front of the detention cell, with a long, red, hardcover notebook in his hands. He flicked the cover open and flipped rapidly through the pages until he was at the middle of the leaves. He stopped flipping shortly and browsed through the content of the page before his eyes.
His eyes froze before he began calling out the names of detainees. ‘Dare!’ he began.
‘Present!’
‘Segun!’
‘Present!’
‘Where are you? Let me see you.’
His eyes wandered for a fleeting moment in search of Segun. After holding sight of the prisoner, he looked down into the notebook again. ‘Hassan!’ There was no answer. ‘Hassan!’ he woofed again. Still no response. ‘Where’s that aboki?’ he demanded. ‘He’s sleeping,’ a voice streamed from deep inside the cell. ‘I hope he is not dead,’ Kunle slurred.
‘Kunle, if the Chief ask after me, tell him I’ve gone to join Femi at the hospital,’ rolled off Tega’s tongue before marching out of the station. ‘Obinna!’ he barked. ‘Present!’ Kunle’s call continued.
Back at the hospital, Chioma quickly yanked her hand from Femi’s caress. In an attempt to dodge the embarrassment drifting his way, Femi snaked his hands into his trouser pockets regretfully. He rose up to his feet, and swaggered towards the doctor. ‘How’s she doing, doctor?’ he politely asked in hushed tones. ‘She is miraculously recovering. Within the next twenty four hours or less, with the necessary rest needed, she should be out of here and back to her normal life.’
‘But I need to talk to her right now. I need to know everything she remembers from last night.’ Femi worried. ‘Sure, go ahead, but don’t push her too hard to remember everything. These things take time. You know, she’s still fragile.’
They smiled and shook hands before the doctor slipped out the doorway, shutting the door behind him, and leaving the two alone in silence.
Growing tension filled the room as Femi and Chioma stared hard at each other. ‘You said you will answer any question I have, so where’s Uche?’
Chioma broke the awkward long silence.
Femi inched closer to the bed before initiating a brief hush-hush talk. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he apologized almost in a whisper.
‘It’s alright,’ Chioma cooed.
‘It’s alright?’ Femi inquired in shock.
‘You held my hand to comfort me. It’s okay. I understand,’ Chioma agitated Femi. ‘No, I’m not apologizing for holding your hand,’ he clarified, and Chioma’s face was instantly baked with wrinkles. ‘Of course I’m apologizing for that too, but… but, but, I’m also apologizing because he didn’t make it alive,’ Femi stuttered, endorsing Chioma’s suspicion.
The phrase ‘he didn’t make it alive’ dropped on her heart like a foreign missile on enemy soil. She wrapped herself up in her arms and shed a few quiet tears.
Elsewhere, Tega arrived at the rowdy Obalende Bus Park. He was greeted by a sight of sweaty pedestrians breezing through the chaotic park crammed with neglected yellow buses, which had two black stripes painted across their entire length. The symbol for commercial vehicles in Lagos. The park was disturbingly noisy with unkempt bus conductors calling out the destinations of their various buses.
Petty traders, mostly women, both young and old, carried large bowls of soft drinks, table waters and ‘pure’ water sachets. Some roamed around the park hawking, while others stood in front of bus’ entrances, yelling out the names of the item they sold. Young men carrying cartons of sausage or locally-made showcases of cheap candy and mint gum, gathered in groups, lost in chitter-chatter and singing laughter. One of the bus conductors yelled repeatedly:
‘Mile 2! Cele Ijesha! Mile 2!
Four hundred Naira bus! Mile 2!
Hol’ your change oh, I no get change!’
Tega strolled into one of the buses headed for Mile 2 and claimed a seat by the edge of the entrance. ‘Pilot, bus don full. Fire down!’ The bus conductor informed the driver that his bus had reached full capacity. He hopped on the already moving bus, dangerously hanging by the bus’ entrance as the wrecking bus inched away from the park, leaving a trail of air pollution in its path.
Femi dipped his hand into his pocket. He pulled out his phone and navigated to a saved photograph in its gallery. ‘Careful observations of the tire marks left at the accident scene indicate that your vehicle didn’t sway, so this wasn’t a mechanical failure.’ Femi passed his phone to Chioma, stretching his hand completely. She didn’t receive it.
Her eyelids were swollen, cheeks puffy and eyes filled with tears. ‘It seems like Uche deliberately stirred his vehicle off the road and straight through a building. Is this true?’ he continued, but she was already blown away by whirlwinds of thoughts.
Femi retreated his phone and put it away into his pocket. ‘Did you hear what I just said?’ He tapped her lightly on the shoulder, interrupting her thoughts. This propelled a shiver down her spine as she jerked back to her senses.
She turned her face to him and eyed him in an awfully rude way. ‘Was there an argument between you and the deceased?’ He didn’t seem to care. ‘I need you to assist me here,’ he pleaded for her cooperation, but she didn’t break her silence. ‘Do you remember everything from last night, or anything at all?’ He moped, but she still didn’t break her silence.
Tega’s bus sped roughly into a sandy bus park, raising dust in its wake. The bus conductor jumped down from the bus to the filthy ground as the bus slowly came to a halt, making way for his passengers to disembark to the wild park.
‘Everybody come down. Everybody come down here,’ the conductor yelled. ‘Na last bus stop be this,’ he shouted in Pidgin English. Tega was the first to disembark. He emerged from the bus to discover a cool dry wind blowing. He was greeted by a familiar sight of weary petty traders under colorful umbrellas. For a moment, he stood and glanced around, listening to near sounds of traders and distant noises of buses prying along the main road. ‘Fun mi owo mi,’ a tatty park boy with a pile of ragged banknotes in one hand, harassed the bus conductor in Yoruba.
‘Can’t you see that I carried an officer?’ The bus conductor pointed his forefinger at Tega. ‘That isn’t my concern,’ the park boy mumbled indifferently, discarding his claim. ‘Fun mi owo mi jo,’ he taxed again, while Tega stomped sand from his boot before swaggering further away from the park as civilians made way for him.
——— ✿ ✿ ✿ ———
‘We could talk some other time when you’re ready,’ Femi was frustrated. It was time to release Chioma. ‘Take some rest now,’ he forced a slice of smile upon his lips. He spun around and headed for the exit.
‘I. Never. Loved. Him,’ Chioma hissed, each word separated by her gritted teeth and angered tone, halting him in his tracks. He turned as soon as he heard her mutter those four words. Almost at the door, he paced back into the room until he stood few inches shy from her. ‘Hold on, I need to record your statement for future references. Is that okay?’ he asked in anxiety.
She nodded stiffly in affirmation.
He stepped to the other side of the bed and sat comfortably on the black leather armchair, leg crossed, flashing a winning smile. Simultaneously, he pulled out a mobile tape recorder from his left trouser pocket and pushed down the record button.
‘This is Sergeant Kolawole, NP Three Seven Six Eight. I’m at Saint Nicholas Hospital where a victim from last night’s motor accident along Lekki-Epe expressway is currently receiving medical treatment. This is her account of the event.’ He lifted the recorder closer to his lips. ‘The next voice you will hear is hers.’ Femi shoved the recorder to Chioma who sat up, leaning back against the pillows. ‘If there were two people meant for each other but fated to be apart, it was Emeka and I…’ Chioma started delicately, diving into a pool of thoughts as she recounted an event from the day before.
‘…We met, or more accurately first saw each other at Exquisite Restaurant on Fola Osibo Street. We sat at different tables in line with each other and we were both there with our significant others. It was Saint Valentine’s Day…’
‘…We were both bored even though we were committed to the one who sat before us. They both had big surprises for us that night. Uche’d planned a marriage proposal to me, and Amara had decided it was time to let Emeka know he was going to be a father, but neither one of us were pleased with what awaited us…’
‘…However, catching sight of Emeka made me escape my worries into a dream that rescued me. Though it was but for a fleeting moment and I had to focus on the reality I was to live with, my heart was forever grateful…’ Femi spent an awful long time listening to Chioma recount her Valentine dilemma.