The One Experience

The one experience I had that changed my perspective on so many things.

Date: July 2012. Location: Offa, Nigeria. Event: NYSC.
I have to warn you in advance guys, this will likely not make you laugh as much as the previous write ups on this blog. This is a sober reflection inducing, deep-thought-after-watching-In-Pursuit-of-Happiness kinda write up. You’re going to need to punch a wall to feel manly again after reading this. I hope you got your permission slips, because pack your bags kids, we’re going on a FEELS trip.

I’ve always run away from athletic activities, I volunteered to be toilet washer in my boarding secondary school because it was less physically demanding than other morning chores. Maggots don’t mean anything to me. Thug life. I ran away from camp and man o war activities too. Most of my platoon mates didn’t know me till we were almost done. I however knew about 90% of them. Except in a few instances where I’m pretending so I won’t come off as creepy-stalker-ish, I’m good with faces.

Got out of camp, had to find a nice place to stay. Despite various true life accounts of certain places being inhabited by demons, Djinns and evil spirits, I settled for a two story building in the middle of the market.  Whatever, thug life. About 10 corps members collectively rented the house although we had one or two non-corps member neighbours. Like most of my neighbours, I had gone on a few trips with a few of my belongings but when I was ready to settle finally, I noticed I was the first to move in. It was getting late, about 7 oclock. I had not taken lunch/dinner so I did what everyone who just moved into a new apartment does; get junk food. I got back pretty late. I was kinda-sorta scared sha. Everywhere was dark and I thought I saw someone standing near my door.
“Good evening” she said. A lady’s voice. Igbo accent. I swiftly-albeit, subconsciously brandished my torch like a mopol on night duty. I was scared but I had to see if it had a face. I wanted to say good evening back very calmly, but my guts let me down the same manner Beyonce stood in that elevator without protecting her horseband from domestic violence. “Yes, yes!” I replied (You know how you sound when you’re awoken and you’re trying to pretend you were not in deep sleep). “Are you scared?” She asked. I couldn’t tell if she was serious or trying to tease me. “Do you live here?” I asked. “No, my friend does”, she replied. So, the koko of the gist was that her house was in an isolated neighbourhood and she planned to spend the night with her friend who was my next door neighbour. We got talking and she told me she was a batch B corps member, everything was going pretty cool until she mentioned “platoon 9”. Hell no b****. Ain’t no way you was in my platoon. At that point I started wondering why someone would lie about that kind of thing. I told her she didn’t look familiar anyway, though I did not let her know her actions were “suspect”. Midnight was approaching and we said our nahnyts. Less than 10 minutes after I got in, someone knocked. It was her. “Please don’t tell me you can’t sleep alone and ask to sleep with me” I said- (TO MYSELF OF COURSE). My fears were confirmed and because I had this thing I’ve been trying to exorcise since childhood- I don’t know how to say no, I let her in. I let her sleep on the bed and I slept on the floor. She kept asking me to join her on the bed because there was enough space for two. I was like, nah, I’m cool. I’m compassionate like that (or not!). “Please God, don’t let me regret this”, I whispered to myself.

Admittedly, I was still awake at 2 AM, I could not tell if it was anxiety or intense heartburn I had. 30 minutes later, the heartburn intensified into something more serious than I had ever experienced. The pain was beginning to spread to my back and sent a chill down my spine. I had a fever and my stomach felt like it was filled with molten magma. I was rolling on the floor now and my “guest” noticed. She asked what the problem was, she sounded like she had been awake too. I told her nothing too serious. At this point I was on all fours, dizzy, delirious and nauseous. I had to use the bathroom. I stood up, staggered to the bathroom and threw up mid-way. My guest – she told me her name was  Precious, Precious stood up and held me on my way to the bathroom. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I saw genuine concern. “My tummy”. “Ulcer”. “My drugs”. “Finished”. I managed to mumble. She left me and went to take something from her hand bag. She brought out a blue bottle, same drug I used. “I have ulcer too” she said. I said thanks and grabbed it from her without second thoughts. There was no pipe borne water in the apartment and the only source of water we had was a well. She opened the door and she picked a bucket. I looked at the wall clock. 3 AM. She walked in with a rag and started cleaning my vomit from the floor. Only my mother had done this for me. “How do you feel now”? She asked. I said fine. She asked his question every 20 minutes till daybreak. I actually felt some relief. I did not know if it was because I felt better or just reassured that I was not hosting a ritualist or Ogbanje in my house. The moment shops opened, I left her to get my drugs from a nearby pharmacy. When I got back, she had left. Now, let me tell you something funny, when my next door neighbour moved in finally, I asked about her friend Precious and she told me she did not have any friend in Offa called Precious.

One day I got back from work, about two months after this incident, I heard someone call my name as I rounded up at the balcony. I turned and it was Precious, sitting with my next door neighbour. “Heeyyy!! Babe you just disappeared without telling me. Ada, this is the precious I was talking about”. Precious was happy to see me too. Turned out Precious was a middle name and most people I asked knew her by her First (Igbo) name. We chatted for several minutes and she came around to see her friend about once a month. We were not bffs but whenever she came around, she checked up on me and I always thanked her “for the other day”. This continued till we passed out and everyone went their separate ways.

This experience taught me a few “precious” things about life- some of which are helpful to me till this day. But I won’t push these lessons on you guys, you’re gonna have to decide how and why you feel about it.

THE END.

Authored by Anazuo
Anazuo is one of our authors here at La Critique and can be reached at anazuosalihu@yahoo.com
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