It happened to my friend: The HIV/AIDS worry (1)

I had just come in tired after a long, hard day at work. I waded through a tight traffic. Quite amazing that traffic was rather hectic at that time of the night on the Island. I wondered about Lagosians. I worried about the poor rest culture in our own dear Lagos State. Everything seems to be constantly on the move. Twenty-four-seven. I wish the government of Fashola would come up with a deliberate plan to boost the multibillion naira night economy of arguably Africa’s wealthiest state. Huge opportunities waiting to be tapped.

Too late for dinner. So, I skipped. Had a quick wash. Wanted to sleep, rest my tired head. I was about deciding if I would have to get up later in the night to retrieve some lost hours of the day. And, at that moment, my cell-phone came on rather loudly. A bit irritated though. The name of the caller appeared. Ikenna! It’s relieving. I did not bargain for what came next.

‘Tony, I will like to talk to you about something… something serious,’ Ikenna said, across the line. His voice had gone slight. I wondered if he was stealing the call to me.

‘Where are the usual and expected curtsies?’ I asked.

‘Oh, Tony, please, set them aside,’ he said and continued: ‘I’d like to talk to you on something quite important.’

‘Ikenna, it’s almost 11pm… it’s quite late… all the same, go ahead, I am listening.’

‘No, don’t want to do that on phone…. We need to see to talk… you in front of me and discuss.’

‘Where are you?’ I asked. Confused.

‘Home, Gbagada,’ he answered.

‘And, you know the distance between us, don’t you?’ I asked, my brows raised in worry. ‘Meanwhile, where’s your wife and where will you tell her you are going at this time of the night?’ I threw at him.

‘She’s at home… I will tell her I am off to you and if she has any doubt… I can handle that with ease.’

‘What about the night-men – the criminals, have you thought about them, driving from Gbagada to Lekki at this time of the night, hmmm?’ I asked. Covered with even more worries.

‘Tony, their presence means less to me right now… in fact, I prefer being hit dead by them,’ he responded.

‘Ok, come,’ I gave in, sensing some desperation. ‘I am waiting for you.’

‘See you in a jiffy.’ He hung up.

Ikenna and I had only met recently. In fact, about three months ago. It was on the landing of one of the stairways at the Ikeja Airport. We almost bumped into each other. We laughed. Apologies exchanged. We went our separate ways. Some minutes later, we bumped into each other again. It was at the bureau d’ change. At six feet four inches, Ikenna loomed large over me at less than six. We looked like an athlete – Asafa Powell to give you a photo of him. We traded pleasantries, exchanged cards and promised to stay in touch. I remained in the country while he travelled to Ghana for a conference. Or so, I thought. Just as he came back, he called. We exchanged a few more calls until we agreed it was time we met up.

Less than half an hour later, the shrill sound of my cell-phone brought me out of my reverie. It was Emmanuel, one of the best gate-men around.

‘Emma, anything?’ I asked.

‘Oga, one man – Ikenna say he want see you,’ he responded in his usual English.

‘Let him come in,’ I gave my blessing.

I jumped out of bed, dragged up a pair of shorts. My pyjamas had been thrown somewhere. I rushed downstairs to unlock the door for Ikenna. Less than a minute later, Ikenna showed up. Shock rankled me. Ikenna was wraith-like. I held on for some seconds.

‘Don’t you want to welcome me in?’ he asked.

‘Ikenna, what’s the matter with you?’ I threw in return. Completely baffled. ‘You’ve lost so much weight, oh my God!’ I screamed, a bit insensitive.

‘Please, show me the way to your living-room,’ he requested. It was without life.

‘You mean, sitting-room?’ I corrected, without meaning to.

‘Whatever!’

We walked down the short path to the sitting. I observed him a bit more – head to toe and back. Again and again, Ikenna looked really gaunt. He was not Asafa Powell-looking anymore. He was somebody else. His head looked rather massive on a lean frame and I could, with ease, see his shoulder blades jutting out. He was now the complete other-self of his once athletic built. Now, my sensitivity had taken a greater hold of me. I chose to can my feelings or rather my thoughts. Waiting. His was to talk me through his worries. Mine was to listen to him, I thought o myself. He fell into a couch. Defeated.

‘Need some water?’ I asked.

‘No,’ he answered. ‘Take this,’ he offered me a piece of paper.

To be continued next week.

Strictly Impersonal

Tony Monye