A harmless phone call was all posterity used to keep me alive. Without that fated call, I’d either be six feet under the ground, if the grave digger wasn’t drunk beyond his analytical limit; or on the highway to the great beyond, if my past misdemeanours connived to further punish me. Whichever way, I’d be irredeemable.
The call came from Rasheed, my only sister’s husband of six years. He had called to inform me that she was in the labour room, about to put to bed. For years, the pair had struggled to have a baby. I was happy that, at last, after three miscarriages and six years of childlessness, our collective prayers were being answered. It didn’t occur to me that that piece of news would usher in my own disaster.
“It is well Rasheed,” I told him over the phone, as I turned the corner to the street where my office was located, “She’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, Akin, I know she’ll be fine. But there’s a problem.” Rasheed answered, the slightest trace of worry colouring his usually hapless speech.
“What’s the problem?” I asked, pressing the phone harder into my ears as if I might miss what he had to say.
“Morayo needs blood, as soon as possible. And I know you guys share the same blood group…”
“Blood? Is that all? I’m on my way.” I cut in, not allowing him to finish. If my blood was all that is needed to get my much-wanted niece/nephew to this world, I am very willing and available to give as much as is needed; I thought to myself as I did a sharp u-turn, the danfo driver behind me bathing my illegality with street expletives.
I got to the hospital sweating like an unskilled barber trying out a new hairstyle on a high-profile customer, even though my car AC was at its electro-mechanical best.
Rasheed met me at the door and we practically jogged to the lab where my blood sample was taken for screening, prior to the transfusion. We were told to wait a few minutes at the reception. Twenty minutes later, a petite nurse strolled quickly into the reception, the flat soles of her shoes going ‘slap slap’ on the terrazzo floor.
“Who is Akin Bolodeoku?” she asked.
I signaled by slowly raising my left hand, my thoughts scattered in a million places like the sparkles of a Christmas firecracker.
I would never forget the empathic look on the nurse’s face. Its either she was freshly out of Nursing School or absolutely half-baked. With her brows lifted and mouth ajar, she shook her head in a slow, helpless manner reminiscent of an unwilling conveyor of bad news.
“I…I…I am sorry, we can’t use your blood for her, sir.” She stuttered, her lifted brows falling dramatically like a fed-up mother whose child had just been reported for being part of a recurrent domestic upheaval.
“Why not?” Rasheed asked, worry and anxiety caressing his chubby face.
“I… I…please come with me; you have to talk to my superior.” The nurse said to me as she began to walk away, prodding us to follow her. We followed obediently.
“But there must be a reason!” I said to myself in a shaky voice. What could make me unfit to donate blood? HIV? The thought set my heartbeat in a wild pirouette. I remembered Dayo, my secondary school friend who contracted the virus and was abandoned by friends and family. The scholarship he had won to study abroad became useless when the foreign country’s embassy refused to grant him a student visa. Deserted and lonely, Dayo was found dangling from the ceiling fan in his one-room apartment. He had been dead for at least two days before his over-bloated body was discovered by curious neighbours alerted to the ungainly smell oozing from his room.
By the time we got to her boss, my entire body vibrated with unfettered abandon. The man was less tactful as he just went straight to the matter after the customary greeting.
“You have acute type B Hepatitis sir.”
That was some four years ago. An accidental blood screening saved my life. Thank goodness Morayo needed blood; if not for her, I would not have known I was a walking dead. As for her, she had the baby –without any transfusion. The doctors said it was a miracle.
I agree. That miracle saved my life too.
###
WOE!!! CLAP. CLAP. CLAP. YOU HAD ME TURNED IN AND OUT WITH THIS ONE…VERY NICE INDEED…
?A FEW TYPOS CREPT IN THOUGH AND SOME SENTENCES WERE OVERLOADED AND TASKING I MUST SAY:
“Blood? Is that all? I’m on my way.” I cut in, not allowing him to finish. If my blood was all that is needed to get my much-wanted niece/nephew to this world, I am very willing and available to give as much as is needed; I thought to myself as I did a sharp u-turn, the danfo driver behind me bathing my illegality with street expletives.
THIS KIND OF SENTENCE CAN ALMOST KILL THE READER
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Xikay!
?Thanks, again. I cant seem to point my finger on any typo, maybe a slip in punctuation but not a typo. could you be kind enough to show me one? maybe my eyes -or grammar- needs upgrading!
Ah, that sentence overload again! I will change, I promise I will. After all, that’s why we are all here: to get better. You see you dont lament about my punctuations again, ehn, no worry, sentence overload is on its way outta my writing.
Above all, you consider this nice. That’s flattering considering the fact that it didnt make the final shortlist for the African Writing Contest.
But still, I appreciate your time and efforts. Thanks man.
Banky
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Very good story bro, just a few typos here and there like @Xikay mentioned, well done.
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Scopeman,
?I thank you for reading, as always.
I wanted the story to serve a number of purposes chief of which is to encourage everyone to go for blood screening. HIV is about the least viral disease anyone can contract, there are tens of deadlier illnesses. Hepatitis falls into that category. This story was inspired by a friend’s story…I couldn’t resist retelling it spiced, of course, with my wandering creativity!
Like I told Xikay, abeg, point out one of the typos for me abeg.
Thanks again.
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Wow!…Nice, Nice, Nice, I didn’t even notice the typos.. Great job!
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Mercy Baby,
?Wow! Thanks for enjoying it and taking time to comment!
I didnt notice the typos too but if my guys say its there, then we must find it out, abi?
Thanks again.
Much love.
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like mercy i didnt notice the typos, i was caught up in the story. it was a great story
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Febbie,
?Thanks for the kind words, I do appreciate it.
A great story? maybe…
Thanks for your time.
Much love.
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I also did not notice typos but the long sentences were killing. I had to read the second sentence three times to get it, and that almost biased me. But I’m glad I continued. There were other overlong sentences, and unnecessary metaphorical embellishments eg, “her lifted brows falling dramatically like a fed-up mother whose child had just been reported for being part of a recurrent domestic upheaval.” I’m sure there’s a easier way to related dropped brows?
Still, tight story, great message and well told. Well done.
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Thanks Myne.
?ooooohhhhh! The sentence overload, again. *sighs* I’ll change, I promise, I will.
Thanks for taking the time to read and comment on this, I appreciate that.
Much Love,
Banky
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i think the other comentators have said mentioned the sentence over load enough, all in all a good story, the message is very clear,
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Meena,
?Yeah.I will work on it like I promised.
Thanks for dropping by.
Kisses
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Very good….
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Thanks man…
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DWE,
Early in the story, the MC says “It didn’t occur to me that that piece of news would usher in my own disaster.” But discovering that he had Hepatitis B surely is NOT a disaster, since his life was saved by finding this out.
I didn’t really understand what the implications of him having hepatitis-B was. Is it incurable? Can it be cured if found early enough? This prevented me from really appreciating how the MC felt.
And lastly I felt the transition in the last paragraph was a bit too sudden. I had to re-read it to realise that he discovered the illness four years ago.
But the story was very readable, with very interesting use of figures of speech.
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