I am not a writer but because the last four years have been turbulent I thought it wise to script something. I suppose someone somewhere might learn from my experiences. I took an hour to type the first chapter. If I get some good reviews, criticisms and interest I will continue. I will call this a True Life Story of a Cameroonian Nairalander.


*It became increasingly difficult to concentrate as noises from different angles echoed through my ears. A hundred yards away from the hospital stood an old saw mill that looked like the remnants of German colonisation on Africa. Its annoying sound blended at midair with the hammer vibrations of carpenters who were replacing brightly coloured roof sheets of a near by church.*

Where are the gods when you need them to be on your side, I questioned from within. What does it cost for a mill man to lose a finger to the roaring blades of a saw mill or a carpenter to fall off the roof top. At least those accidents would temporary halt the noise. As the sun burst through the thick bundle of clouds it fell on the shiny zinc sheets which inturn reflected beams of piercing light directly to my eyes. This wasn't too hard to solve. Moving a few steps away from the reflection left them falling on the bare walls of the Kidney-Dialysis Center. That too was only temporary because as the sun shifted towards the west the reflection inched closer to my comfort zone. Why then does science say the sun doesn't move; I queried within while flashing a grin as if to say I had discovered a new mathematical formula.

"Your envelope has fallen" a soft voice to my left cleared the air. All of sudden the heavy echoes that had plagued the early hours of my hospital visit disappeared . Could she be a messenger of the gods, I sighed from within. Carefully I bent over to pick my envelope, hoping she will say "dont worry Iet me help". As if to display she could read my thoughts she showed her discontent with a wild bite on the piece of bread that had her firm grip. The shock of the ferracious bite, could be felt through my spine as I moved back upwards to take my treasured position beside her.

By this time the air had become still and my mind had come to reality with the business of the day. My gaze had become fixed to my envelope, holding it tightly to prevent another fall. If only she had picked it when it fell I would have droped again to have her do it twice. That should have been a confirmation that she liked me enough for me to spill the beans. "' Dont worry, you be fine" she aired again with that same angelic voice that had brought every noise around to a standstill. "Is this your first" she continued. My mind raced to the center of the universe and back within a second. This certainly wasn't my first, my heart murmured. I am a Field Marshall when it comes to it and you just dont earn that title from your first. As I cleared my throat to brag of my prowess as an acrobat in the sexual arena my eyes fell on the sign post at the entrance which carried a bean like diagram with the inscription HAEMO DIALYSIS CENTER. She definitely wasn't talking about sex then, as this wasn't Hotel Ayaba.

"Oh no, not what you think" I replied trying to sound polished enough to make an impression. As if she didnt get my response she continued with her bread and chocolate fight making sure the crumbs fell no where close to my appetite. Occasionally as if she meant it, the chocolate rolled down her sleeves with a look in her eyes that expressed nothing better than an invitation of "come and lick". This wasn't the right area or place for me to lick I screamed to myself, making sure my soft super cent trousers didn't reveal my thought at the zip area.

As my zip area bulged I could tell blood was pumping to areas it shouldn't be. I had checked my BP in the morning to horrifying figures of 300/155. Franklin Rosevelt the 32th President of the USA had died from strastopheric numbers as mine, at such it was nothing short of God's grace to not only be alive but strong enough for my arteries to pump blood to where it matters most to every male gender of the Homo sapien. I can only talk for my specie.

The presence of my angelic visitor had distracted me from the true worries of the day. It was 2pm and the nephrologist started consultations at 3pm. In an hour I will know my fate. The Dialysis center was the only in the region at such everyday was a busy one. Its three machines were a life line for those whose kidneys had failed and couldn't serve as the filter the once were. As the "dialysians" gossiped amongst themselves you could definitely see their worries. In a country of uncertaintity dialysis materials often run short leaving the patients saturated with toxins that the body cant otherwise remove.

I was eager to learn of the happenings of the center; as in under an hour I will know for certain if I be joining. However looking at my angelic visitor I could tell she couldnt offer much information. The patients on dialysis carried a pain that couldn't escape my view. Swollen legs, fingers, eyelids, dry and scaling skin were typical characteristics. Atsuch you could tell a patient from a caregiver. Despite the filtering capabilities of the dialysis machine the cant perform as well as a kidney. Apart from filtering the kidneys aid in the production of EPO a hormone responsible for red blood cell production. At such dialysis patients are often anaemic, requiring constant blood transfusion. My angelic friend was definitely a care giver to a patient. As my mind raced to decipher the relationship between her and whoever she had accompanied, I could only ask for onething. Let it not be her husband.

Haemo diaysis is performed thrice a week in sessions of three hurried hours. That not withstanding most patients on the popular section spend an entire day waiting for their turn. "You nova die" a young girl of about 23 threw in the air as she entered the comfortably air conditioned waiting room. Shocked from my comfortable veranda standing position I peeped through the light green tinted opaque window to get an idea of who she was adressing. A few patients resting on automatic hospital chairs that looked like beds replied back in same manner. Though the majority of patients were 40+ a handful were in their 20's with the youngest aged 7.

I had began to familiarise with what could be my new home. Gently the gossiped of those who died recently. "Them burry Paul for their compound ya" one said. Immediately my mind scanned through its hard drives and carried me to few weeks behind. Two weeks behind I ran into a secondary school classmate who mentioned the demised of his younger brother Paul to kidney failure after a few months on dialaysis. It definitely must be same Paul they were referring to, I thought to myself. Paul from what I got from the brother went to the hospital with swollen feets and got informed his kidneys had failed. A bachelor in his mid thirties his biggest undoing was cigarettes. Diagnosed with end stage kidney failure and severe High Blood Pressure Paul sadly smoked to his grave. He would proceed to light up a pack of cigarrete immediately after a dialysis session. He was burried with a pack of St Moritz his favourite brand.

As 3pm drew near my heart raced faster. In the morning I had recorded 172 beats per minute. With more adrenaline pumping I knew that record had been broken. I had deviced a way of counting my heart beats even without a monitor. I would place my index finger at the vein beside my ear and count to the clock. Very accurate it was. However standing beside my new found friend I wasn't prepared to reveal all of my panic modes.

My new found angelic friend was pretty . Earlier when I bent to pick my envelope I noticed the enormous vegetation on her round legs. The often say girls with such full legs are from the Bakossi tribe. Even in my worry as I stood next to her all that flesh behind was obvious. We were both leaning on the yellow oil painted walls of the front view of the dialysis center. Despite both leaning on same surface her body edged forward several centimeters than mine; evidence of what she carried behind. Her face was straight with a complexion of an anthill. Her glasses definitely the fashionable one, gave her an air of superiority without her asking for it. She measured slightly above my shoulders giving her a height in the 5"8 " plus. Her slightly above knee blue flowerish gown gave her a true barbie look. Wasn't it a blessing that my wife refused to follow me to the hospital that faithful day. Talk of the gods favouring their own.

The envelope in my hand contained the results of 26 different urine and blood tests. This was my second visit to the neprologist having seen 7 other specialists in vain. On my first visit he was impressed in my wealth of knowledge on my condition and assured me together we will tailor an appropriate treatment. But first I needed to run a batch of tests to check for cause but most importantly kidney function. I had been hypertensive as early as 20years old and there was no denying over the period if 17 years it could have destroyed my kidneys finally skyrocketting my BP to the numbers I was getting. I had picked up the results from a private lab and as much as I could interprete them I didnt have the courage to open the envelope and be the one to broke my own dialysis sentence. Atsuch I kept it sealed and waited for the neprologist.

3:20 pm and as the nephrologist drove into his unit my heart raced out of my mouth. In that flight of fright moment every document in my hands scattered on the green tiled floor. The shock and panic on my face was obvious. As if to comfirm she was willing to be mine without me asking my pretty angel graciously bent down this time around, held her gown conciously with her left hand to prevent it from lifting and reached out for my envelope with her right. As she grabbed the other documents that raced with the wind I noticed a big shade of plaster midway between her neck and chest. My eyes widened in shock, capturing the moment as much as the could. Could this pretty angel be on dialysis. That characteristic plaster covering is the catheter outlet where the dialysis machine connects to the body. No this couldn't be, I shook my head in same manner of disbelieve as one who had seen his pastor drinking vodka in a prostitutes house. An ordinary wound to the lower shoulder that must be. No one could carry a charm that illuminating in the face of a dialysis crisis, I concluded. Still as she handed my documents with a pleasant smile that exposed her well placed dentition and upper middle gap tooth, I knew I couldnt conclude without asking questions.*

To be continued.

Beautifully written.

Nice one.

Artiiclebeast:
Beautifully written.

Nice one.

Thanks. That is encouraging.