The salutations changed after I turned fifty. Or maybe that was when I noticed.
‘How is your wife?’
‘How are the kids?’
‘Hearing from your mother? Hope she is fine’
That is the Nigerian way. The guys would shake your hand, smile but never ask about you.
I had two responses, the short one which was ‘fine’ and the long one which was ‘how long do you have?’
I had to answer ‘fine’ most of the time because I usually don’t like talking about my problems. Things were far from fine. There had been a domestic earthquake at home and I as boarded the plane for Lagos it felt I was escaping from tremors to go see more tremors. My mother’s hands had been shaking for some time now.
31/01/2022
AF 1165 Birmingham to Paris was a 1 hour 20 minutes affair. I was given some orange squash and a sandwich for my troubles. I chewed in anger as I had read a comment by someone on social media poking fun at a Presidential aspirant for having a hand tremor. Before I went into medical school I had been taught at home not to make jest of the symptoms and signs of disease. This was a cruel sport but alas; the world is full of cruelty. This is the same reason that no one in public office in Nigeria discloses their medical diagnosis to anyone; not even in death. The reasoning is that no one can berate you for dying from a ‘brief illness’. Confidentiality is not taken seriously either, and it is not unknown for medical reports to appear on social media. So the politicians fly abroad for treatments in places where their secrets are kept safe.
AF148 Paris to Lagos was a better journey. I had registered for the Lagos City Marathon for something to distract me from why I was really travelling to Nigeria. I had done a lot of running, stretches, balance drills that included standing on one leg, all in preparation for the big race. A few perceptive people had asked, ‘hope everything was fine’ when I told them I was travelling to Naija.
I told them, everything was fine and I was going to run the marathon. Ironically I was also going to see my mother who was now struggling to walk as her muscles had become stiff and the grace, poise and agility of youth had deserted her leaving behind tremors. I had tremors on my mind. The whole country appeared to have tremors on their minds also.
As we landed I looked through the window to see Lagos lit up. I was soon pushing my trolley to the car park where my brother was waiting. Some offered to change my Dollars and others offered to push the trolley. I thanked them for their kind offers and moved on.
This was Naija. Everything hot, everything ginger. My mum stayed up to wait for me and she watched me eat.
1/02/2022
No one ever shouted from the rooftops with a heart overflowing with joy that they could button their shirts or do their zips. Hand movements are taken for granted. Everyone thinks they would pick up pens at will forever. People dress up in the mornings thinking about their neighbour’s designer outfits. Isn’t it better to button up your Primak than have people help you button up Armani? Well my mum now needed help with getting up and dressing in the morning. Everyone had to get used to it. It was a struggle for me as my last visit to Lagos was in 2018 when I ‘really’ came to run the Lagos City Marathon and my mum was independently mobile. Since then I had studied her life for my next book: It takes a village and had thought a lot about her in the 70s and 80s. The energy and drive was all gone now.
I went to the Teslim Balogun Stadium early to get my running number and was given Race Number 444. It tickled me no end.
John 4:44 Jesus himself testified, that a prophet hath no honour in his own country.
The slogan The Race Never Stops was everywhere in the stadium. On the way back home I was on social media and the Presidential race indeed never stops in the country. The anti-tremor caucus were vile today. They showed videos of a man’s tremor and insinuated he was not fit to be a President. What if he had been in a wheel chair?
As it was for Nigeria so it was for neurological diseases: Things Fall Apart; the centre could not hold. The brain no more gave out instructions that a substantial part of Nigeria could respond to and the future looked shaky.
Back home I sat with my mum at the table. I have balance, suppleness and dexterity to spare having been a dancer most of my adult life. Ownership of the running number 444 indicated that I ran faster than 90% of the population. I also wrote with a pen without tremors albeit with an unattractive writing. 13,091 steps was my tally for the previous day; accumulated from my early morning run and walking through the airports in Paris and Lagos. My mother was down to 120 steps a day and though she had given me life, I couldn’t give her some of my fitness. Na so we dey look each other.
I went out for a run later in the day and found the roads difficult. The uncovered man holes meant I constantly looked down, and then the Okada motorbikes that left the roads and joined us on pavement meant I always looked behind me. Then there were people on either side all trying to avoid something. So my eyes were on my sides. I had 14,862 steps by the time I went to bed.
02/02/2022 Wednesday
The Taxify car was an ancient of days. I knew the answer to my silly question as the words left my mouth. ‘Is there AC?’ Winding down the windows was a struggle as was opening the back doors at our destination. My mother has a colonoscopy after which she went home and I walked back to Teslim Balogun Stadium to the Reddington Zaine lab to do my Day 2 Covid test. The petite lady alarmed me by saying she would be taking the swab himself and she looked very efficient. Up my nose and almost to my brain that swab went and next thing I was gagging as she moved the swab like those music conductors in charge of orchestras. I dropped by at the bank to collect a new soft token and surprised myself by refusing to give my pen to this random lady who needed a pen. I had imagined her hands full of viruses.
I walked back to the diagnostic centre to collect the typed Colonoscopy report and then walked back in the direction of the Stadium again. Alhaji Masha Road was one i walked on a lot in the 80s. The low cost housing blocks on the left with strange electrical wiring looked strange to behold. The building looked like a human body that had bleached its skin for it had a thousand shades of colour. All the nerves were on the surface in a grotesque formation. I could almost see a weather beaten brain on the roof sending epileptic shock waves into the building. I wondered what the condition of the toilets might me. At the end of the road was the National Stadium Surulere and to the right I saw Eric Moore Towers in the distance. Alone, walking, I wondered where all the people I went to secondary school with were now. The people who walked this roads with me. We watched Football matches at Teslim Balogun Stadium (formerly UAC Sports ground) when our beloved St Finbarr’s Football team ruled Lagos.
Alone walking; I stepped back in time and was grateful I was still here and that I had written about my time in school. It does really take a village.
At Adeniran Ogunsanya, I tried to buy a SIM card and the ‘network was down’. There was a ‘Nationwide problem’ with the NIN (National Identification Number) computers. Things have a way of breaking down in Naija. The brain; the great nerve centre sometimes cannot send the right messages to the peripheral parts. No network is ubiquitous the diagnosis heard from the mouths of every citizen. Security, electric power and financial accountability were in constant high frequency tremors that ensured that the country’s leadership and people were on different wavelength.
At home I went through the archives; pictures and documents. This took hours. I got an e mail to say my Covid test was Negative.
04/02/2022 Friday
I decided to register for the Ile Ife Heritage Marathon and 10km race taking place on Sunday the 6th of February. I couldn’t do it on line but the organiser of the race Dayo Reiman agreed to enter me in manually even though the registration for the virtual race had closed on the 31st of January. She e- mailed my running Bib which my brother printed out for me.
05/02/2022 Saturday
I call this internal packing. It does get confusing
sometimes when I have to pack stuff to go and sleep elsewhere. The last thing I
want to do is forget an item. The taxi fare to Lekki was N5,900. It felt
exorbitant. You could buy a whole car for that same amount in bygone years.
06/02/2022 Sunday
I put on my race number 114 and hit the streets of Lekki
hoping to do my 10km in about an hour and 10 minutes. It did not transpire how
I had envisaged but it was good all the same. I had a minor shock as I ran up
the pedestrian bridge and found an Okada in hot pursuit. I got out of the way
but there was one coming in the other direction. A few people were sleeping on
the steps having spent the night there. More motor bikes sped in both
directions with so much confidence that I doubted myself for thinking the motor
bikes were breaking traffic rules. I filmed the motorbikes and put it up on a WhatsApp
group for clarification.
To be Nigerian is to
be tortured
It appears that traffic laws are subject to private
interpretation. I attended House on The Rock for morning service. Pastor
Appreciation Day. It was quite an inspirational morning as the Church honoured
Pastor Paul Adefarasin for his service to humanity. Like always happens when
the acts of an inspirational figure is on public display, I got to a point and
wondered what I was doing with my life. The achievements were incredible.
I had a lecture in me I was keen to unleash on students
which was entitled:
How to improve your
writing.
It is always good to go back to the Alma Mata and inspire
the students.
A few of my former classmates as St Finbarr’s College Akoka helped to facilitate the day.
Sam/Emmanuel/Baba/Godwin 1980 set. St Finbarr's College
There were a lot of messages exchanged between us
and the school administrators.
9-2-2022 Wednesday
I had not walked into the school since 1980. Well I walked
through the gates in 2017 during my morning run while on holiday in Lagos and
the gatemen refused me entry without an appointment. They didn’t even allow me snap
a picture with the bust of the late Father Slattery. Even though annoyed I
respected their sticking to the rules they had been handed.
It was strange walking around the school after my talk. Sitting in the class rooms brought memories back.
The late seventies was a time when my parents were in peak physical fitness and had the wherewithal to kick me from Surulere to Akoka if I peradventure decided I didn’t want to attend school. I would have speed through the air and Father Slattery had enough football skills to control my descending body with his right foot and kick me into class.
I inspected the boarding house and said hello to the students. It
was a fulfillng day and I gave out copies of my books to both staff and
students.
12/02/2022 Saturday
I woke up by 4:30am and was soon dressed for the Lagos City
Marathon. I was prepared. I had bought my sweets and chocolates for the race
the night before and they were all chilling in the freezer. I looked out the
window into the black Naija early morning and this triggered an internal
dialogue.
‘Those loud bangs last
night, were they really fireworks? If they were gunshots, have the bullets
finished? What if the Angel of Death is determined to fly out of Lagos with a
full plane this morning and there are 15 empty seats waiting to be filled?
I cancelled my plans
to leave at 5am and waited till 6am as I
cannot koman kee maisef.
The last time I rang
this race was the 10th of February 2018 and my mum was up when I was
leaving. Things had changed a lot in four short years. The will and strength
for such things were now long gone. There would be no post-race gathering at
Sapper’s water front on Bonny Camp this time around. Four years ago when we had
gathered at the restaurant my mother had jokingly said she was the ‘mama of the
marathon’ and thus justified eating to replenish her energies.
There was no one at
the starting line up as they had left thirty minutes earlier. I was running
alone and soon caught up with another late comer. Running alone is a different
race. No banter, no camaraderie, you alone with your thoughts and your bladder.
I made a detour to answer natures call on some grassy patch in front of a
fence. It felt illegal but wetin man go do na? It was at this point I
remembered my sweets in the fridge back home. I was running without carbs to
munch in solitude.
I get good ideas in solitude. I did not share my mother’s
womb with a twin and I am certain I would not be sharing my coffin with anyone
when the time is up. They would cry about how much they would miss you then
throw you in the dirt (after all there is a reception to attend after
internment. Being alone with legs moving is a different kind of solitude. It reminds you that the hard things
are usually done alone.
By the 10Th Kilometre I was on the Third Mainland Bridge;
Nigeria’s most important bridge. It was deserted as expected and a bus crept up
on us asking us to jump on the vehicle taking people to the finish line. I
explained I started late and moved on. The run up to kilometre 17 was arduous.
I had no snacks and even though there were water stations, I needed calories.
There lagoon below looked ugly today and my toes began to hurt. This was the
bridge afflicted with tremors in 2006 and caused rumours of its eminent
collapse into the lagoon to spread. I was slipping into a pit of doubt and
began to recite every prayer I could think of. Not completing the race was an impossibility
in my mind yet I saw no way that I could complete it. I was starving and
thinking of how hard it is to go from Surulere to Eko Atlantic City. This was a
journey that was impossible to do for many people. A Surulere house might cost
$50,000 while a flat in Eko Atlantic could go for $1 millon. The journey from
the mainland to the Island was in some instances was as far as the heavens are
from the earth. My dad and mum drove from Surulere to their offices on the
Island for many years using the Carter Bridge and the Eko Bridge. My dad has
since died having left Lagos on an invisible bridge to the great beyond while
my mum even though alive could no longer drive or walk across any of the
bridges that lead to the Lagos Island.
Last year people claimed they saw cracks in the bridge but
there were none today. I was the one feeling cracks in my hamstrings. I ran and it felt like the bridge stretched
longer. It took an eternity to go from one Kilometre sign to the next. I wished
the race was over but I simultaneously knew it was a few hours to go. The conflict
was torture. Like when I was in the theatre assisting my Professor of Surgery
at King’s College Hospital Camberwell in an operation. After three hours I was
exhausted and that was when I had the biggest buttock itch I had ever felt
while my gloved hands were in the patient’s belly.
The wicked itch had a mind of its own and travelled up my
back before returning to my bum. That operation went on forever but a life was
at stake. The parents were sat outside and Prof worked on the child’s liver
with gentle deliberate movements. You stood there till the job was done.
By the 20th Kilometre the heavens opened. The rains
were angry and seeking to exert revenge for something. The skies were dark and
the lightening was frightening. I was soaked to the underpants and the messages
from my toes were not great. I knew I was losing toes nails but there was no
need to stop now. I bought snacks from road side vendors and staggered on along
Osbourne Road. The pores of my running shoes oozed water and squeaky sounds
with each step. Next came Gerrard and Alexander roads before crossing the
Lekki-Ikoyi bridge; Nigeria’s prettiest bridge. This newest of bridges was a
symbol of modernity and hope for the young Nigerians otherwise known as the
EndSars generation. Runners, motorists and film makers all love this bridge.
Ironically the young Nigerians are unable to afford real estate in the
neighbourhood. Mark Zuckerberg went running on the bridge during his visit to
Nigeria further enhancing the iconic image of the bridge
At the finish line at Eko Atlantic I was surprised to be there, in pains and snapping photographs with my medal. It is impossible to express the sense of fulfilment one gets.
I had met four of my friends in the
flesh for the first time Asmau Vivien, Dayo Akinbode Reiman who arranged the
Ife Marathon race I had taken part in the week before, Sage Hasson the poet and
Ngozi Ugoji.
I got home and I saw my toes were all damaged. Both big toe
nails sat on a throne of blood. This race took a lot out of me and I walked
like a duck with hip pains. The good thing was that I had raised quite a bit of
money for the Orphanage in Ikorodu.
I was walking differently the next day. It was the gait of
success. Every muscle below my belly button was in severe pain and going up
those stairs at House on the Rock was as arduous as walking up Mount Zion bare
footed in the middle of winter. This was beginning to be the longest I have
been in Nigeria since 1989 and it was beautiful rediscovering my roots at close
range.
Monday 14/02/2022
Enate and I wore our life jackets and took our seats in a
boat at the Lekki jetty and the noisy outboard engine came to life on
the Lagos Lagoon. We got to the jetty in Ikorodu and found the Okada guys who
took us to town. We hopped in a Rickshaw and arrived at the Orphanage. It was
quite emotional meeting the founder Mummy Grace who shares the same birthday
with me. We had a tour of the property that included a bakery and primary
school. I meet the kids. It was the best Valentine’s Day ever. When it was time
to go, the prayers for me and my supporters in fund raising made me shed a few
tears. The journey back was exciting in some respects. We got trapped in the
water as the jetty was full of water hyacinth that came in with the tide. The
outboard engine coughed and spluttered then died and we began to drift in the
water. In the end the boat handlers manoeuvred us out of our trap after about
forty minutes. The engine needed to be freed of plant debris twice.
Tuesday 15/02/2022
We got our N3k tickets and boarded the train at Mobolaji Johnson Ebuta Metta train station heading for Abeokuta.
It was fortunate I had been warned about the air conditioning on these trains the day before. It felt like they were trying to freeze our body parts.
I had my jacket and hat on. That must be the coldest air conditioning in Nigerian transportation history. A lady with a loud voice spoke for so long on her phone that I knew all about her family on the journey. She mentioned names which I googled.
Wole Soyinka Station in Abeokuta was quite grand but you got the feeling they ran out of money towards the end. There were no good roads to walk out to. It was Okada time on bumpy terrain. The Kuti Heritage Museum, Olumo Rock and the Olusegun Obasanjo Presidential Library was how we spent the day. Every car has its petrol and we are all like cars.
The Olumo Rock had a lot of mystique to it and it rose to its reputation.
The Kuti residence was like going into the factory floor of an icon manufacturing establishment and the Olusegun Obasanjo Presidential Library looked like a version of the White House in Africa.
The Olusegun Obasanjo Presidential Library Abeokuta
As we rode on our Okada’s back to Wole Soyinka
train station we went past the Moshood Abiola Stadium. There was no time to
visit it. I was being infused with my type of fuel. My life growing up in Lagos
had a backdrop synthesized by these great men from the City who all had major
influence in Lagos. Music, government, business and in the literary world.
The lady with the loud telephone voice was back at it all
the way to Lagos. Apparently there had been a death and a dispute about an
inheritance. As she dropped names we read about them on Google.
17/02/2022 Thursday
I made history by paying for my costliest Taxi journey. N7,000 Lekki to Ilepeju for an interview on Rave TV.
My friend Pelu Awofeso turned
up and did another interview about running the Lagos City Marathon. I stopped
by at Emmanuel’s yard and sampled products from their bakery before going home
to mama. I prepared my slides for PowerPoint my presentation at our primary
school Sunnyfields Primary School Adelabu while sitting at the dining table
with my mum.
18/02/2022 Friday
Before we went into the school hall, the school headmistress
brought out the 1st term examination results for my class dated 14th
December 1973. It was a table of results for 30 pupils and I was 4th
placed. I was up to 3rd position by the end of the second term 29th
March 1974 and by the end of the third term on the 28th June 1974 I
was down to 10th. This was Primary 4 S. As I read through the names
I could hear my teacher’s voice do the roll call in the morning. Each pupil usually
responded with a loud ‘Present Sir’. Old documents make me happy. There is a
historian in me somewhere trying to get out. The inner historian sees
expression during medical consultations when I inquire able the ‘history of
presenting complaint’.
There is that sensation of your life flashing before your
eyes when you see old documents about yourself.
In the school Hall, (which appeared to have shrunk in size
since I was a pupil in 1975) there was a large banner above the stage which
read:
Motivational Talk
Keep Pushing Keep
Moving
I shared the stage with Mrs Ireti Elegbe-Ogunlesi and we both shared our experiences in life using our participation in the Lagos City Marathon as an example of preserving to the end.
The kids enjoyed looking at
our medals and race shirts. The questions that followed showed we had captured
but their attention and imagination.
19/02/2022 Saturday
About 2pm I asked my mum to change her clothes so we could take
a few pictures. She was soon ready and so was I. We all had a photoshoot at
home which went well. None of us knew it was the last time this would happen.
Every action under the heavens is destined to happen for the last time one day
but we know this in retrospect.
I later left for
Lekki where I had a meet up with my Finbarr’s classmates at the Sailor’s
Lounge. There must be a ploy by Lagos venues to induce deafness in the Lagos population,
I had to beg them to lower the music volume a few times. The food and ambience
was great and so was the company.
20/02/2022 Sunday
Three straight Sundays in House on the Rock Lagos and Pastor
Ify Adefarasin (wife of the head Pastor) preached. Sometimes I search for
meaning in every pattern of events that stick out. The pulpit is a male dominated
place and we need to challenge our expectations.
My usual Sunday greeting to my friend is: How was church,
wetin Pastor Paul preach?
Things must change and nothing is set in stone.
It was busy after church. We drove to do a Covid test and the swab was handled by the health assistant. She was enthusiastic about her job and up my nose she went as if she was prospecting for diamonds. By the time she got to my throat I was gagging for Nigeria. Next stop was the market to to shop for caps and then on to the National Museum.
I had always wanted to see the car our Head of State was assassinated in. The Mercedes was bullet
riddled. I found the process painful as those bullets killed Murtala Mohammed
in the streets of Lagos on the 13th of February 1976.
I thought of the many killed by bullets since then. We have
unknown soldiers, unknown police and unknown civilians (according to Fela). So
many homicides but few indictments for murder. Landmark beach was the last stop
to release the tension. Water always takes my tension away.
Monday 21/2/2022
We attend a naming ceremony for twins. It was a
representation of the new generation of parents and children. My friend Enate
encouraged the parents to bring up the twins in the way of the Lord. He used
personal examples that included me and a few stared at me. People end to take a
second look when they hear ‘Doctor’. I rushed home to pack. I said goodbye to
my mother and told her I would be back in May. Her voice was not as strong as
before and the tremors remained in her hands.
I’m off to the airport with a heart full of memories tinged with some
sadness.
Things were changing and I had to embrace change.
Generations come and go but the earth remains.
My sleep on the
aircraft was interrupted with a vivid dream that saw Nigeria twerking
vigorously on the edge of a precipice. Nigerians were thrown in the ecstasy
staring at the quivering buttocks in scorching sunlight. Hunger and ill winds
from the Atlantic blew across the land and the crowd began to lose weight, yet
they cried in pleasure wildly like people possessed. China materialised and began
to spray dollar by flinging it into the skies. The descent of the crisps
Dollars that moved almost in slow motion made Nigeria dance harder because she
mistook a crippling loan for a gift. The buttocks and legs began to drift west
and east and the innards dropped to the floor. A hand materialised to sew the
country together with a golden bright needle and a magic thread of unity but a
tremor in the hand prevented the needle to be threaded. The earth began to
shake. The tremor was severe. People and country began to fall off the edge.
‘Is there a Doctor on the plane?’
The announcement shook me out of my nightmare.
I knew a great shaking was coming
26 At that time his voice shook the
earth, but now he has promised, “Once more I will shake not only the earth
but also the heavens.”[e] 27 The
words “once more” indicate the removing of what can be shaken—that is, created
things—so that what cannot be shaken may remain.
28 Therefore, since we are receiving a
kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God
acceptably with reverence and awe, 29 for our “God is a
consuming fire.”[f]
Mrs Charity Orhiunu
2/3/1944 to 6/5/2022
27/07/2022
Dr Wilson Orhiunu
Babawilly
