WATERLOO (by Meziem Rose)

Njideka is my name. I hate it. It is better to hold, is what it means. It was not a secret that my parents were expecting a son when I was born. My name was a constant reminder that they had to settle for me. They didn’t have any choice either; it wasn’t like they could return me from whence I came and get the son they initially intended. I couldn’t be given away like that; I wasn’t ogiri from the nkwo market by the village square. I sometimes wondered what they would do if they were given the choice; would they, true to my fears, return me and get a son? The thought haunted me; I guess it was the reason I tried so hard to prove that I was much better than any son they could ever have. I made it a point of duty to excel in “boy sports”, so much so that I often forgot that I was a girl. I climbed trees, I won races, I started dog fights, I went hunting; I even tried to join the masquerade cult. The more I tried, the more irritated my parents got. I couldn’t see the embarrassment I was bringing to my family. The villagers called me “Ome ka nwoke”:  She who acts like a man. It was meant to be an insult but I prided in it. My mother, on the other hand, was not much of a fan. She would murmur that the gods refused to give her a son and they wouldn’t allow her enjoy her daughter either. She always screamed at the top of her voice for me to stop acting like the boy that I was not and would never be. If anything it strengthened my resolve.  

 
I got better and better at anything that the boys in the village would engage in. At least, anything that wouldn’t warrant my being stripped and beaten at the village square. Soon I mastered everything; everything except swimming. This was funny being that swimming was a “girl’s sport” too and it was my biggest challenge.  I could swim but I was really bad at it; and the worst part, I would never admit it. If the boys knew that I couldn’t swim, they would insist on a swimming match every time we wanted to ration the udala, ube or oloma we co-operated in plucking or the anu nchi we hunted together. I would never be their equal, ever again. Especially not now, when I was getting them to call me Jide instead of Njideka. So I guarded my secret with my life. I knew I was a little paranoid but I didn’t care. I couldn’t afford to lose all the years of hard work I put into gaining their respect. At least that was what I would tell myself. I knew deep down that I was too arrogant to admit that I could be found wanting in any sport at all, talk less of one girls also participated in. So I let my pride get in the way. 

The fall that cometh after pride can be of many kinds. Some experience it in slow motion, gradually leading them to self-destruct. For others it is as drastic as it is lethal; creeping up on them suddenly without warning. Running through the forest in pursuit of a wounded squirrel that escaped our trap, I was oblivious as to what kind of fall mine would be. We had been running for quite a while now and although I would never admit I was tired I was beginning to shiver from the cold. The chill breeze that swayed the trees in the forest was beginning to have its sway on me too. The cold forest soil beneath my feet was not helping matters either. It seemed I underestimated the effect the cold had on me; as I landed face first on the ground in my attempt to jump over a log. A log I would have no problem leaping over on a normal day. The smell of rotting wood, moist sand and animal droppings helped me find my way up as quickly as I fell. Soon I heard Obinwa’s voice echo in the distance; he had caught the rodent. I hurried towards the direction of the ecstatic voice and I was soon in the company of my fellow hunters. 

“Hold it still, hold it still”, everyone was shouting. 

Obinwa, one of the smallest members of our crew with his equally small hands, was having a hard time doing their bidding. I snatched the rodent from him and snapped its neck. Anyone who has pounded as much yams as mama had forced me to pound would undoubtedly develop a strong grip. The other boys looked at me wide-eyed and open-mouthed and I could feel the familiar swelling in my head; it threatened to rip my hair free of the owu thread that held them bound. I pretended not to notice and proceeded to ask how we were going to share our prize. An argument soon ensued. Ikenna was blamed for setting a lousy trap that caused the squirrel to escape. Afam was bullied for his short legs that made him utterly useless in hunt races. Iheme, the oldest boy in the group always claimed the legs of the squirrel but no one agreed to it this time. Obinwa wanted the majority share to which I argued that the animal would have escaped again if I had not intervened. The argument went on for quite some time and the longer it spanned the colder I got. The breeze in this part of the forest seemed to be colder and I could not tell why. 

 
“Ozugo! It’s enough!” I screamed and the whole company quieted down. “Let’s find a way to share this thing and get out of here, I have work to do”. I tried as best as I could to hide my shivers. I could only hope they didn’t notice. Iheme agreed. “Jide is right. We must look for a way to share it and get moving. Truth be told we were all both equally useful and equally useless in the hunt, pursuit and capture of the squirrel so we have to find an alternative way to share it. I propose a race”. The whole crew erupted again. We could not possibly embark on another race; the pursuit of the squirrel was race enough. Every other sport that Iheme brought up fell on deaf ears; either we had tried that before, it was impartial or we did not have the wherewithal to carry it out. 

 
Soon Obinwa screamed “I have an idea!” For someone so small, he had an awfully loud voice. We all kept our cool to hear what this idea worth bursting our ear drums was about. “Let us try swimming”, he said “Iyi-ofue is just a few paces ahead. We have never tried it before and this way we would be sure it would be impartial”. I was expecting shouts of disagreement to rise again but everyone was surprisingly quiet. I froze. Slowly, they all began to agree and I was panicking. I had to do something, fast! 

 
“But I’m a girl!” was what I managed to come up with. I felt an overwhelming stupidity wash over me the moment the words came out. Ikenna was the first to speak, “When has that ever stopped you from doing anything?” The other boys burst into laughter. I couldn’t believe my ears. They were laughing at… me? Jide? Have they forgotten that I could snap their necks in one swoop as I did the squirrel? However, I was too embarrassed to make threats. I was too embarrassed to even say anything else. The dreaded day of reckoning was upon me. 

“She is right”, came Obinwa’s voice. Thank God, he was always the thoughtful one. “We have to take off our clothes to swim remember” Yes! Yes! Listen to him! The joy I was experiencing was unspeakable; if Obinwa was not shorter than I was, perhaps I would have fallen in love with him that instant. 

The boys began to murmur and they reached a conclusion. Iheme would give me his clothes to wear and they would look away as I changed attires. I was finished; the bubble had been burst. 

“But why iyi-ofue”, I said again, this time with a trembling voice that I could do nothing to hide. “Iyi-ofue is a river and it could be dangerous. Why don’t we retrace our steps and go to the Ikekete stream instead?” 

“Is Ome ka nwoke scared?” came Ikenna’s voice again. I would kill that boy. Strangle him in his sleep, I tell you. I could not possibly let on that I was scared, so I swallowed my voice and trudged behind them. All roads led to Iyi-ofue. 

We were soon at the river; it was not too far like Obinwa said. Either that or it was shorter than I had prayed fervently for in my heart. I could now tell where the chilled breeze was coming from; the river’s current seemed to fan the breeze throughout the forest.  It was the scariest thing I had ever seen. We were to swim to the middle of the river, tap a rock and swim back in record time while the others counted. The meat would be shared according to hierarchy; from the swimmer with the shortest possible time. I was the third person to go and my legs felt like they weighed a ton. Afam and Ikenna swam fairly well; Afam had the shorter time of the two. It was my turn and they threatened to push me into the water themselves before I agreed to enter. 

I dipped my feet in the water and it was surprisingly warmer than I expected. Picturing my bamboo mat and my mother’s ofe ogbono waiting for me, I convinced myself that at the end of all this foolishness I was going straight home. I plunged into the water and began to swim. More like flailing my arms and legs, really. Did I mention I was really bad at this? As I swam ten paces forward, the river’s current brought me five paces backward. It was tiring. After what seemed like an eternity of arm-flailing and leg-flapping, my fingers made contact with the rock and I held on to it for dear life. The boys were on the other end of the river beckoning for me to come back but the river’s current was telling me otherwise. I saw Obinwa run off and from the panicked look on their faces; I could tell he was sent to get help. They were shouting for me to come back before the river’s current got worse. I was cold and tired and my trembling fingers were beginning to slide off the rock. I could feel the rush of the water decrease around me and I decided to make a swim for it. I plunged back into the water, swimming towards the river bank and Iheme’s outstretched hands. I, once again, underestimated how tired my arms and legs were from all the flailing and flapping. My limbs became stiff, smack in the middle of the river. I could feel tension rising towards me and all I remember was water filling all the crevices of my body. The more I tried to scream, the more the water grabbed the opportunity to fill me up. Before long, I became too frightened and tired to scream anymore and my limbs were too stiff to help my predicament. I managed to open my eyes and the figures of my friends were watery, blurry, without definition. So I gave in. I let the water fill me up and bully the air out of my lungs. 

Njideka was my name. I miss it. Now I am called Nne iyi; the sentry that stands guard over Iyi-ofue’s lethal fluidity. The voice that whispers in the ears of foolhardy youths, blinded by the fog of adventure. Calling out: Don’t jump in! Don’t do it! Iyi-ofue only lusts for your blood! To drink it all up like she did mine.

HAPPILY NEVER AFTER (by Chibuogwu Anne)

The high level of security present wasn’t going to intimidate me.

Prince and I had met at a gala thrown in his father’s honour by the president and I was sure I was the least bigwig present there –hell! I wasn’t even a public figure to begin with, yet, he had noticed me. He was the heir to the third richest man in the country and I was an orphan that had been job hunting for
the better part of four years while squatting with a family friend, Lydia and her younger sister. It was the former who had lent me the jumpsuit and loafers (which she had sworn she got from the store that
sold only two pieces of the same size, of everything). Lydia had made me swear to be back early as she
wanted to wear the same outfit to a club that same day. In my defence I hadn’t planned to go for the event, she had made me go in her place because she had accepted the invite and didn’t feel like going anymore. So I had gone, and met Prince who took to me at once and said my dressing represented his
alter ego, the simple and down-to-earth side of him. Initially, I had been as frightened as a fish swept off to dry land, but after we had got off very quickly and easily, I couldn’t believe my luck. Even when he asked to dance with me, I had been so lightheaded from swooning so much, I missed the first step. My God! How he laughed so richly and genuinely to my fallibility! For a moment it had felt like it was just
us at the gala, making up scenarios and finding something about everybody to make fun of.

And then, I remembered I had to get back to Lydia.

I couldn’t afford to piss off my benefactor and so I told prince I had to leave to get back home. He promised to personally drop me off at my house after the gala and got me to stay a few more minutes.
When the calls and angry texts started to roll in, I knew I had passed my boundary. Prince knew nothing of my life and who was I kidding to think he’d want to take this further? He hadn’t even asked for my contact details! At least I could count on Lydia to an extent. The devil you know, right…? I dashed out
with that thought, not bothering to look back to say goodbyes, or even bothering to pick up Lydia’s shoe when it got stuck and pulled from my foot. All I wanted to do was honour my promise to Lydia. I couldn’t find the cab I came with so I hailed another. Anything to get me back early to Lydia. It was all cold and
quiet when I got back. Lydia had worn something else out and raved all the while to anyone who cared to listen about how ungrateful I was. She had even gone as far as outlining reasons why I was so misfortunate, to her listeners. That night, I had wept well into my dreams.

How was I going to tell her I has lost a foot of her one-in-town shoe!

Now, 13months later, standing outside this grand cathedral, looking down at the spot where a lone tear had smudged the wedding invite I was holding, I realised maybe Lydia had being right about my fortunes. How else could I explain why it wasn’t my name on the invite and not hers? To be fair, Prince had tried
to find me with the only clue he had then, the shoe and asking the cab driver who and where I was; but he had only picked me halfway and had no clue where I lived. After many questions and inquiries, he had finally traced me to Lydia’s residence but had found Lydia instead who had pulled off a perfect representation of me. The shoe had fit of course, it was hers and she had the gala invite to prove she had been there. So here I was, being the invitee instead of the celebrant. I had sworn never to have anything to do with Lydia again, but she had touched the tail of a dragon and must now live with the burns. I had not been able to live with myself after she humiliated me that way, I needed to get closure, and to let her know I never forgot; the shotgun in my pocket would make sure of that.

My name is Cinderella, and I am a fiery-tailed princess.

KADARA STREET(by Meziem Rose)

There was noise everywhere. It was amazing really. Considering that the concert was holding in a football field five streets away but the wind was able to carry the noise all the way across. It was either that or I was mistaking the noise for the excitement that buzzed in the street where I was making my hair. Iya muyiwa was even humming to herself with delight as she twisted and turned my hair to form an intricate maze of weaving; She was plaiting the Evelyn King hairstyle and I instructed her to add a little more shakara to the style, like I always wanted it. It was my job to make my hairstyle outstanding; after all I was in charge of the Hair Roster being the Social Prefect. It was only fair that my hair should be a mighty signboard screaming: “This is what you are supposed to plait!” That way it was easier to punish defaulters whilst flaunting my extravagant hairstyle.

Iya muyiwa’s humming was pleasant at first but it now seemed like she was paying more attention to the melody than the artwork she was constructing on my head and I was not about to let her ruin my scalp. “E de roraa (take it easy now) “, it was all I could do to prevent myself from screaming at her. “Pele my dear” she replied. If only I had eyes at the back of my head, she would have frozen from the spine-chilling glare than was plastered on my face. It’s a pity we weren’t in her shop, the ginormous grandmother mirror would have helped convey the message. Instead we were stationed in front of her house, my chair facing the road while she stood behind me weaving my hair. My frown even deepened when I saw Aunty Deborah approaching. The woman was a pest, not just an ordinary pest. The specie of mosquitoes that appear to whisper absurdities in your ears when you are preparing for a good night’s rest. She approached us dragging her feet, her usual way of announcing her presence. The smug smile on her face was just too peculiar, it was obvious that she came bearing gossip. “E ku ise o (well done o)”, she was too pre-occupied with finding where to seat that she didn’t notice that Iya muyiwa barely paid her any attention. She wouldn’t have cared either, all she wanted to do was let out the steaming gossip that was burning in her chest. She leaned against the wall and began to speak, “Iya muyiwa, e tie mo nnkan to sele (you don’t even know what happened). Waheed Odupa is performing in the football field at Kadara Street and the organisers just found out that he isn’t the only one that agreed to perform. Maberu just called and confirmed that he was on his way to the event and now there is a huge fire on the mountain”. Iya muyiwa was now interested, truth be told I was too. “Which fire is on the mountain again Deborah”, Iya muyiwa replied in the most i-don’t-like-you-but-your-gist-makes-sense tone I had ever heard. She went on and on about how the two rival musicians had never performed in the same show for years, talk less of being in the same place at the same time. The organisers were having a hard time trying to get Waheed and his cohorts to leave the show without informing them about the reason. A big fight was about to ensue between the organisers and Waheed’s people when they found out that he was asked to leave because of another musician. We could only imagine what would happen when Maberu's people arrive at the scene and the cat is let out of the bag.

Not too long after, we could see people coming down from Kadara street in hurried steps. In their twos and then in threes and soon enough their steps seemed to be even more hurried. I was very uncomfortable sitting by the roadside and watching people hurry past like something was about to happen. “Iya muyiwa, don’t you think we should go inside?” She sensed the fear in my voice and she gave my head a soft pat, “You worry too much, Abidemi, they are probably excited because of the show and all the drama, I suspect Maberu’s people are even here already. Its nothing, so ti gbo (do you hear)?” True to her words, Malaika’s people were around and people were no longer walking back home. People were running; men, women and children alike. We were snapped out of our ignorance with the sound of gunshots. Before we knew what was happening, two big men headed straight for us carrying knives. Iya Muyiwa and Aunty Deborah took to their heels and locked the doors behind them. There was not enough time for me to stand, clear around my chair and make a run for it. So I froze. They grabbed me; one of the men held the knife against my throat while the other ran his hands through my body searching for valuables. I tried not to look into the eyes of the guy with the knife as his partner took my phone and money and ran his hands in places that had never been touched. I looked up in shock and I met the thief’s gaze. His eyes were red, like the colour of the sun setting behind him. He wasn’t too happy that I saw his face, the main reason I had tried to avoid it earlier. I tried not to talk so I held my breath, pleading with my eyes. With a swift move of his hand, the knife ran through my throat and blood came racing down. Like it was in a hurry to be introduced to my blue satin blouse. I sat on the chair struggling to let air into my lungs and past the blood that was choking me, but it all bubbled out the slit in my throat. I shouldn’t have held my breath earlier, it would have been nice to take one last breath. What does breathing feel like again? I could hardly remember.

OH BABY!(by Chiekwe Onyinye)

The baby was sick. She was blinking faster than normal. I panicked; I loved her with her big eyes and red, rosy cheeks. I was only ten, but I carried her so frequently, mother used to ask me where I got my energy from. Now lifting her from her cot, I carried her to mother in the kitchen.

"Mommy, Bernie is sick, she’s blinking too fast". Mother said nothing, just kept chopping. I repeated it, tapping her hard.
"He", she said, finally turning to me, not looking at Bernie. "He has been blinking rapidly. Bernie is male"
I was angry; Bernie was a girl! I wanted a sister, not a brother. This was a frequent argument between my parents and me. But right now, what did it matter what sex Bernie was? She...he was sick! I was only ten but I knew about death. About a year ago, my grandmother had died in my presence.
My panic mounted. Mother was always like this with Bernie. It was obvious she did not love her…him, she never hid it. But it wasn't enough reason not to care; correcting me about his sex instead of finding a solution. The baby kept blinking, more rapidly even.

I was hysterical, I tapped mother harder. Not turning this time, she said. “Obinna, when I’m done with dinner, I'll see to Bernie”.
Now, I was furious. I hurried to my room and took out the parcel I always kept hidden in Bernie’s cot.

Mother had recently begun to complain to my father about me and my unusual strength, warning him that I needed to be watched closely. This was after the incident with her mother.
I hoped the strength she spoke so much about wouldn’t fail me now.

Back to the kitchen, mother was still chopping. I stood directly behind her. “Mommy...” She ignored me. I kept calling her, tugging at her cloth until finally dropping her chopping knife, she sighed and started turning to me.
As she turned, I plunged the knife in my hand into her side.
I watched as her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed with pain. She tried to speak but only blood spurted out.  She finally fell…on the same side I had plunged the knife into, driving it deeper in.

My father returned home. I heard the routine car honk, heard the front door open, heard him call out for mother, then me. His voice drew closer. Then he came into the kitchen. His eyes flew to his wife lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood and me standing there, now holding the dripping knife.
The horror on his face reminded me of the look on my mother's face when she came home one day to find her mother with her head severely bashed in, and me sitting beside the body crying softly and holding a big stick covered with blood.
A terrible fight had ensued between my parents afterwards; my mother had insisted on what she saw while my father had stood up for me; I was simply too young to have carried out what vicious act mother was accusing me of. Besides, his only son could do no wrong.
That was about a year ago.

Tears streaming down my face, I pointed to the baby now laying in the corner "Bernie was sick, but mommy kept chopping. Now she's dead; Bernie’s dead"
The horror on his face was replaced with realization. For the first time ever, he didn’t playfully correct me about the sex of the baby; neither did he remind me that Bernie was actually a doll.
I was devastated too; I had lost my favourite doll, Bernie.

UNSPOKEN(by Meziem Rose)

“My name is Edidiong and I am HIV Positive”. She was nervous, they could tell. Surely, she was expecting everyone to hurl stones at her or probably start running. They could also tell this was her first time of saying it out loud and she was still far from getting comfortable in her own skin. “Hello Edidiong”. “Hello Edidiong” resonated from all corners of the small classroom where everyone was seated. She kept her eyes fixed to the small Heart to Heart flex banner that hung against the black board. She could not look anyone in the eyes. “Relax Edidiong”, the doctor said. “Everyone seated here is also HIV Positive, you are not alone”. It was automatic the way tears came flowing down her eyes which were still fixated on the banner. James who was closest to her tried to comfort her but the minute his hand touched hers, she leapt out of her seat and headed straight for the door. The doctor sprang up and followed her. “Edidiong, wait!” she screamed as she hurried after her as fast as her short legs could carry her. As if it were on second thought, Edidiong stood still. She was a very strange girl, the doctor thought to herself, but then the virus could turn even the most peculiar of people to hollowed-out souls, broken, dark and obviously strange.
”Edidiong, why did you leave? I told you it was okay.” She turned around like clockwork and faced the doctor but her eyes were no longer the timid ones that were transfixed to the banner back at the classroom. These eyes were cold, dark and full of an emotion scarier than anything the doctor had ever seen.
“I thought you said it is a support group?” The doctor nodded. “Then why was that man trying to touch me?” Touching Edidiong out of reassurance could mean getting choked to death so the doctor decided to keep her hands to herself.
“He wasn’t trying to touch you, he just wanted to….”
“I know what he wanted”, Edidiong cut in, at the verge of screaming. “I know what they all want”. She knew arguing with her would be to no avail, the young lady obviously had it all figured out in her head.
“Don’t worry, I will take you as far away from him as possible. You will seat in between Franca and Isioma. Is that okay?”
Silence.
The doctor took her silence for assent and led her back to the classroom. True to her words, Edidiong was soon seated in between two ordinary looking ladies. The support group meeting proceeded as usual. Edidiong was marvelled by the testimonies of other people; there were different cases for different people. The person she felt the most pity for was a guy called David, he wasn’t like the rest of them who God was trying to punish for their wrongdoings;  he contracted the virus from the barber’s shop in his village back at Uduma. At least if he was telling the truth, no one could really know for sure. When it got to Edidiong’s turn, she looked helplessly at the doctor and slowly shook her head. The doctor, who by this time was already introduced as Dr. Elizabeth Ugwu, took the hint and re-assured the class that Edidiong would testify in the next meeting. Everyone could see Edidiong’s chest heave, the sigh of relief was heartfelt. Soon enough, the meeting was dismissed and they all went their separate ways. All except Dr Ugwu and Edidiong. There was still a lot of work to be done on the young lady and the doctor made it her duty to persuade her by all means to attend the next meeting.

The journey back to Nekede was stressful. She had to travel to Udi every week for the support group meeting; it had been 2 months now since she first joined. There were new people with new testimonies; some cases were alike, others were so bizarre you wondered if anyone in the world was safe from the disease. She still had not gotten around to sharing her testimony. Even though she was far away from Nekede, she couldn’t shake the feeling that news will get back to the campus somehow and her life would be ruined. The irony; as if her life wasn’t ruined anyways. She tried to hold back her tears, it seemed like the only thing she did nowadays: holding back tears. On the bright side she was getting better and better at it. All she had to do was focus on a spot and hold on tight to something, anything. Like the handbill in her hands. Isioma had invited everyone to a church program, she was in such a hurry to leave the meeting that she just grabbed the handbill and made for the door. She spread out the crumpled handbill and read. “ARK OF FIRE MINISTERIES” Blah. Blah. Blah. “DELIVER US FROM ALL EVIL”. Oh she needed delivering alright, from almost everything in her life. She looked at the Pastor on the handbill; the middle-aged looked like the Pastor-est Pastor that ever Pastored.Whatever that means. She decided to go for the program, she felt safe with Isioma and she had a good feeling about it. It had been a long time she talked to the big man upstairs and it was mostly because she was ashamed. It was a crusade after all, she hoped that among the hundreds of people who would gather, maybe (just maybe) he would barely notice her.

AMEN! AMEN! HOLY GHOST……… FIRE!!!!! Edidiong thought she would go deaf at the end of the night. For people who came to be delivered, they seemed awfully excited. The pastor, on his own, was hopping from one end of the stage to another like there was fire burning inside his shoes. He could have used up a whole packet of handkerchiefs by now, judging from how the sweat carefully drew maps of different nations on his sky blue shirt. Edidiong was getting uncomfortable, she kept adjusting herself on the plastic chair so much that the legs of the chair began to bend under her weight. She caught the eye of an old lady who was staring at her suspiciously, what with the way she was adjusting on her seat after every chant of Holy Ghost Fire. Edidiong laughed out loud. She couldn’t hear the sound of her laughter amidst all the fire brand chants of the congregation but it felt good to laugh again. Maybe the excitement was rubbing off on her after all. Soon the hulabaloo died down and the pastor began to prophesy; “There is a brother here that is about to lose his job…” “There is a lady here with the issue of blood…” “There is a barren woman here…” “I see a sister here that is HIV Positive...” Edidiong shot up from her chair, she could not believe it. He noticed her! The big man upstairs noticed her!  She listened intently for the remaining half of the prophecy. “The bible says that he was bruised for our transgressions, wounded for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon him and by his stripes you are healed in JESUS Name” The crowd erupted with thundering Amens and Halleluias and a few people fell onto the floor leaving  broken plastic chairs in their wake. “Go back to the clinic that diagnosed you, don’t go to a new clinic. Oh Jesus, I said go back to the same clinic that diagnosed you, God is delivering you from that evil tonight. I. can’t. Hear. Your. Amen!” The crowd thundered their Amen with Edidiong’s voice mixed up in the jamboree. It wasn’t a coincidence, it wasn’t a coincidence. Isioma was also jumping up and about and it occurred to Edidiong that she wasn’t the only sister in the grounds diagnosed with HIV; there could be hundreds of them even . All the same, she had made up her mind, she was going to take the chance and head back to the primary health clinic in Nekede.

The clinic smelt the same. A mixture of drugs, cheap antiseptic and crushed dreams. Yes, same old, same old. She walked into the clinic presented her card and got processed. She headed over to the lab and took her seat amongst the sick, the old and the probably dying. It was a crowded place, she was only lucky enough to seat at the edge of the bench facing the entrance. It had been a little over an hour that she sat when she saw a very round nurse approaching. It might have been six months since she was sentenced to death but she would never forget the face of the nurse who dealt the blow. She tried to hide her face and she was doing a very good job of it when she suddenly heard “you there, yellow paw paw, follow me” She looked up at the nurse, wondering what other life shattering news she came to bring. Her eyes met the nurse’s and the nurse gasped. “Oh my God. She is here o, Dr.Obinna, she came” Luckily, Dr.Obinna was nearby and he appeared in the hallway in no time. He looked up at her, hardly believing his eyes. There was something in his eyes that seemed like a mixture of both relief and something else, maybe regret? Soon some nurses gathered and were whispering to each other, shaking up a frenzy. Edidiong was bewildered as the doctor led her into the office and closed the door behind them.
“Doctor I don’t understand. What happened? Am I going to die today?”
“Nobody is dying here today, my dear. What’s your name? Your full name”.
“Edidiong Bassey sir”
“Not Etim Edidiong”
“No, Edidiong Bassey sir”. She sat through at least a half-hour long lecture about human beings and there fallible nature. How technology isn’t what it is in Nigeria compared to other countries and how stressful hospital work could be. Edidiong listened very carefully but was restless all the same. Did she also have cancer? Was the HIV not enough?
“We made a mistake ma. The test results we gave you was for one Etim Edidiong. Funny enough, Nurse Ethel brought up your name in the ward prayers yesterday morning. We all thought that since you didn’t attend your heart to heart sessions in the clinic; it could have happened that maybe you made a rash decision and took your life. Words cannot express how deeply sorry I am, how deeply sorry we all are” Edidiong was still having a hard time processing all that she had heard
“Doctor, I don’t understand what are you saying? What is going on?”
“Edidiong, you don’t have the virus, you’re not going to die. You are a healthy woman” The world was spinning, the hospital was moving round in circles. The doctor was not surprised when she fell to the floor.
Edidiong was leaving the hospital a different person. It didn’t matter that she had thought of killing herself and tried it twice to no avail; she was healthy. It didn’t matter that the taxi guy and his cohorts had their way with her and left her for dead; she was healthy. It didn’t matter that she spent years dealing with her uncle sneaking into her room with his sons at night; she was healthy. It didn’t matter that she was still broken, battered and ashamed. None of that mattered, she was going to live. Bright light; End of the tunnel.