I never liked white shirts. But, while in college of Medicine, it was forced on me. The school authority was so obsessed with making us pliant, subservient, loyal, for our own good because, one could not have gone through the process, without being pliant. So, there were many rules, just like we have in boarding schools. And I hated those rules.
The uniform was white shirt and any tie colour, for the boys, even under the scorching sun and, white gowns, a specific style that was buttoned down in front, for the ladies. Plus lab coats for every practical or clinical secession, to protect us from contamination. The rules were enforced all the time. And at times, to the point of turning students back from school or the teaching hospital, for breaking the rules.
Still, I rebelled. As soon as I passed 3rd MB, I stopped wearing white shirts. It was colorful shirts and matching tie 'ti take over,' that is, I chose to wear only the colours of shirts and matching ties as it pleased me.
Waking up, after nights of sadness and insomnia, as my college days were and, spicing up the days by wearing some colourful shirts with matching tie, was, sure as hell, better than putting on dull, faded white shirts.
And I only put on lab coats on extreme cases. I needed colour in my life to fight the boredom of medical school. And I was successful; many girls called me handsome and I loved it until, that sunny morning of pediatrics long case. Lolz!
It had been preceded by a frustratingly long period of one preliminary exam after another. One course yet, it took almost four weeks of multiple choice test, another multiple choice test. Then, another one, followed by theory and then, another multiple choice test, to arrive at the main thing- the long case. The almighty long case which had the power to make or mar.
There, one could be veto-failed, or passed. One’s life lay in the hands of the examiners and, even the gods had no power to save one. And it was my third attempt. And it had cost me an academic year.
It was the first time I was experiencing such a set back and life and college didn’t give a shit about how angry I felt. They were ready to fuck me up again, if I failed again. The only way was to prove myself worthy of 50% of the marks.
And so, even though I had done relatively well, in the preliminary exams and was poised for the long case, I made sure to attend all the tutorials, even as I hated being in the same class with students who were once my juniors, absorbing all the shame and indignity, all the self loathing and pity that came with it.
But, that was the beginning of such feelings. The more, 'archival' guys had laughed at me. “You wey still get new reg number dey complain, what about those whose reg numbers na 199 something?” they asked me often. Yet, I had to damn all the shame and do my best or worse could happen.
I even had to, shamelessly, 'front' myself to the consultants, to see me, to recognize me, to know me so that if push came to shove, someone would take pity, even as I knew that in college, 'I. M,' ie, ima mmadu, ie, cronyism, meant nothing to the examiners.
Still, I tried the very shameful, running after lecturers, after classes, to ask questions, to ‘form’ serious student. Smh.
I tried to do my part. I left the rest to the gods.
***
The D-day came and I woke up very early, having not slept a wink because, I couldn’t stop dreaming of the possible evil scenario of failing again.
I had spent the night thinking about going for a deliverance or exorcism because I had started fearing that someone in the village had a hand in my ordeal. The night had been full of horror and I had woken up with a headache.
Simple pediatrics that children, little boys and girls, passed without stress. Imagine how much self pity I had in my head?
I took my bath, using cold water, even with the rain and cold; I always tried to punish my body for betraying me and, put on my best shirt and tie combination and then, my black pull over and went off to the teaching hospital, carrying that big back pack my little sister, Chioma, had given to me the last time I visited home.
Of course, I couldn’t eat anything. My stomach was too ashamed to eat, like it was every time, those days. I said my rosary, as I walked through the bush path, to the hospital.
Once there, I brought out my ‘rule of thumb’ and started reading, revising, in between closing in on the people who had gone in before me to ask: “How was it?” “Who did you meet?” “Is Obidike, there?” “What about prof Ibe?” And that day, I found no favorable answers to those questions because those powerful teachers where there, in the wards, waiting for me, to make sure I was not too dangerous to be released on the masses, prompting me to keep asking the gods, why me? Why was it that in each of the previous attempts, I always found a way to meet those powerful and detailed teachers, teachers who left no stones, unturned, in the quest to raise safe doctors?. But, I had to keep fighting, in my mind.
I needed to win the psychological battle because the faces of those who had gone in earlier, weren’t favorable at all. When they were done, most of them had come out wearing sad faces.
The men, heaved their shoulders up and down, sighing, muttering, “O ka m si jee? But, why? Why did I fuck up this clinical? Is this how my journey ends?”
The ladies simply came out crying. One even refused to proceed to the last exam which was viva. She told the tale of how the consultant had told her to come back in six months time, crying, running to her Lodge, in the village which hosted the teaching hospital. Still, I fought the battle to be strong.
The time for recess came and I stood up to stretch my legs while waiting for the consultants to have some snacks. As I walked towards the paper stand, my eyes met that of prof. He beckoned me to come.
Jesus! What did I do again? Couldn’t he have waited for my turn, before failing me?
The questions came heavy, even though I knew that they never failed anyone, willfully, that the student who failed, failed because he or she was not good enough.
I walked, my knees, knocking together. I greeted him. “Goooood, after… aft….. . after nnnnoon sir!”
I never knew I was a stammerer, stuttering, as my eyes were fixed on his glasses- clean glass, shielding his grizzly eyes, topped by fine white brows, exuding brilliance, wisdom and pediatrics.
He did not acknowledge my greeting. He just asked me, “How many attempts?” he looked up from his newspaper.
“Third,” I answered. “Third attempt, sir.”
What is it again? I asked in my mind.
“Make it fourth.” He waved me away.
The gods of my fathers!!! What did he just say? What’s the meaning of that? What just happened? Another failure?
A fourth and last chance beckoned. My liver, instantly, cut into two. My heart sank into my belly, even though I knew somewhere in my head that he could not possibly have meant it-that I had failed, already.
I pleaded, begged, knelt, cried, all in a matter of minutes, to no avail. He only watched me, with an inscrutable face and when he got tired of my histrionics, he stood up and walked away, his petite stature, in stark contrast to the powerful aura he exuded.
O Kam si jee? I was suddenly sure that what had been happening to me must have come from the village.
I ran after him, feelings like an overfeed fool, the hems of my lab coat, flying about.
He just kept walking, till when he got into the consultants’ room and I tried to follow.
He stopped me using his left hand and looked me over and over. Then pointing at me, he asked Dr Obidike, “Obidike, how long will it take this idiot to buy white shirts?”
I stood there, willing the gods to direct the answers.
Obidike, the legendary pediatrics 'lord commander,' looked up from his text book, which he had been reading, getting ready for the next student that would come his way. Lolz!
“Six months or even forever,” he answered.
They burst out laughing. And they laughed for quite a while.
After the while, Obidike said to me, “I thought you were a good boy, why are you dressed in a coloured shirt? What kind of foolishness is that?”
It suddenly dawned on me, what foolishness, actually meant- thinking I could rebel against the authority, any how I liked, up to the point of coming for a clinical exam in the wrong uniform, expecting to be ignored.
I had become so used to wearing coloured shirts, that on that very morning, I had forgotten about the exam, at that brief moment when, under the influence of the antidepressants I had taken at night, I had thought nothing about uniform, when I dressed up in the purple shirt and matching light purple, black patterned tie and black trousers. Wonder why people had cast some strange glances at me while I walked along the verandah of ward 6? But, Everyone had been very busy and tensed up and, no one had the time to call me to order.
Nna mehn, guy had to do something, urgently.
Ozigbo Ozigbo, mua ebido gabkiriwa ala. I started running upandan. But, I couldn’t decide whether to run home or not to.
I ran here and there. Tried to borrow from those who had finished their own exam but, just looking at their faces, discouraged me because, they still had viva to go through, though it hadn’t started. And time was ticking.
I called my bike man and told him to come pick me, ‘sharp, sharp.’ But, he was not around. I tried to run but, my legs were heavy with trepidation. What’s if I left and they called my number? I felt like a buffoon, now.
But, there was no other option but, to look for another bike. But, bikes were so scarce on that day that many people had to trek to their destinations.
I started running when I found non. I ran like a he goat, like a frightened child, running from an aggressive chicken until, something happened.
I fell on the dirt road, leading into the village I was living in, in order to be closer to the teaching hospital.
I fell and my back pack fell apart, while the red dust, covered me. A group of women, carrying heavy loads on their heads, walking under the scorching sun, stood by and, pitied me.
But then, I regained my strength, immediately, when I looked at the flayed back pack and, found a white shirt. A well ironed and, packaged ‘F&F’ white shirt. It was so crisp, so white, in the contrasting dust of the dirt road. It was so full of hope.
I felt like crying. In fact, I felt the tears of relief, tears of joy, roll down my cheeks and mix with the fine grains of red sand. I’d later remember, after everything, that my darling aunty, Nkem itanyi, had put it in the back pack, when I visited a few days ago and I was yet to unpack it.
I quickly got up from my lowly fall, pulled out the beautiful, purple shirt and used it to wipe the dust, put on the white shirt and then, in a short while, appeared in front of prof, all sweaty and ruffled.
My God! Prof. Again? My mind flashed back to my first attempt when he had asked me how to administer 50% dextrose and I had stupidly, answered “ I’ll just hang it and let it run fast,” and, of course, failed instantly.
But, I had to force my mind back to the present, in order not to get too jittery because, the past was full of horror, and horror rolls with jitters.
I greeted prof and began my presentation.
My clerking had been a little dramatic, when the mother of the baby I was asked to clerk, refused to give me any attention, looking away in anger, sighing. “Bia, mind yaself,” she had retorted back at me, when I begged her to tell me the things that were wrong with her baby, how and when they started, etc- the things I needed to know about the baby.
She had been asked such questions by many before me, and normally, being human, she was fed up with having to keep answering the same question over and over again.
But, I'd sort out the problem by bribing her with five hundred naira, which would bring instant smile and cooperation, from her. My diagnosis was bronchopneumonia. And now, I was presenting to Prof.
Questions came. Left, right and center. Faster, more rapid, than I could take. And my knees jerked and my tongue fluttered and my liver cut to pieces and my heart melted, my extremities, feeling cold.
But, in the end, I got the answers right. I knew because, he hadn’t walked away while I spoke, he had waited for me to finish answering.
I thought it was over when he listened to the baby’s chest and said “You might just be right, you’re free to go.”
What? I was free to go?
I hesitated awhile before taking my first step. But, he called me back after some time, to come and examine the abdomen of the child.
What has abdominal examination, got to do with bronchopneumonia? I dared not voice the question, though, because when you’re with the deity, you dare not talk.
I returned and stood at the side of the baby that was the right side when I had clerked him, before prof changed the position of the baby and, occupied the correct right side.
I was about to start examining when he pulled out his score sheet, from his ward coat pocket, and readied his pen, perhaps to finally fail me.
What was he writing again? I thought he had already scored me.
Bang! I felt hot flushes down my spine. And something came over me, like a demon. I became possessed and, I was ready to fight if he wrote down anything else on that sheet. Because I knew that whatever he was about to write again was not going to favour me. But, the gods came to my aid and I realized my error.
Quickly, I ran to the other side of the bed, the current, correct, right side and shoved prof, gently. “Sir, this is the right side. I should stay here. Can you, please,…….”
He began to laugh. Imagine? The legend, the amadioha of pediatrics, began to laugh? And said “You can go now,” putting back the score sheet and the scary pen, into his ward coat.
***
The result was released on a windy evening. I had finished cooking egusi soup but, couldn’t eat it. Tension. Real para bein dey hol me.
I was writing something about becoming a monster, if I failed again, about becoming every bad thing a human could be, like a sexually immoral man and everything a sinner could be; I could no longer stomach the pain of failing after being a good boy from birth, yet, the ‘badt’ guys who clubbed and drank and carried women, etc, excelled.
I was writing “why are all the ‘bad’ guys excelling while me, way no dey go club, way no dey carry woman, go dey fail……..?” when my guy, Ejike, called. He sounded serious. He was the one I had asked to check it and call me.
“Guy, you have to be strong, take a cup of water and calm down. There’s more to life than pediatrics…….,” he consoled.
Instantly, I felt the world crumple on me, I felt the devil laughing at me, ready to welcome me to his fold. I saw my death, at the door. Certainly, that was the end.
I put down the phone and tried to listen to the many voices that tormented me, during those days but, I heard nothing but, the rustle of the wind outside. It was so strong that I could hear the breaking of branches of the many trees that lined the compound. The rain would soon come.
I felt dizzy and was about to fall on my knees when my idiot friend started laughing….. I still can’t remember how I had heard him, since I hadn’t put the phone on loud speaker. I just heard him laughing, saying, “you passed.”
I picked it up and he was still laughing. I could hear the others laughing, too. I had passed pediatrics. Indeed. Like many others, like my fellow archival men. Lolz!
©Nnaemeka Ugwu
1 comment:
Another wonderful but hilarious piece.... Really had a good laugh. Good job. Keep it up.
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