Ezinne

Most times, I find it difficult to smile for the camera. Have always found it difficult to. Have always seen it as something abnormal. Like dancing. I  guess it’s because, I am not the normal guy down the hood.

I became aware of it, from childhood when mother would always rebuke me during photo shoots. Or when something good happened and I was supposed to smile. And, I didn’t.

"Put up a smile, you moody child! Why don't you ever smile?"

Then, she’d proceed to use every trick in her armory to try to get me to smile. All to no avail.

I didn't understand her then. I thought she was just being overtly overbearing. That’s how my little mind interpreted a mother’s intense love  for her child  who  looked  exactly  like  her, on whose face, she wanted to see beautiful smiles.

And she’s a beautiful woman, my mother. Watching  her  smile  would  most  certainly,  make anyone  smile. But, not me-the young me.

And so, she rebuked and rebuked.

“Even your mother’s smile cannot get you to smile,” she’d sigh in disgust.

It was same thing during my nursery school graduation. The same during secondary school graduation. It was same during my matriculation. And on that one she almost flared up.

“The least you can do for your extended family is to smile in a picture you’re taking with them. You’re going to be their first doctor.”

Then, she  put on that  frown, that long  face, that mine looks exactly  like on a normal day.

Yet, I did not smile.

There was still non for my convocation. I didn't even wear the gown, didn’t  take  pictures and, didn't inform them about the damn ceremony.

Not that it mattered, anyway. Convocation had since become nothing to celebrate in this country. The country has become a very difficult  place.

***

So, when I woke up  this morning, having dreamt all night long  about the hefty  fee I’ve had  to pay  for an MSc  program I’ve just enrolled for,  I was certain I wasn’t gonna smile all day.

I was sure that my  face was  consistently  going  to look  like the  one  my  friend  Ugochi Iroegbu  used to  call  ‘sad face,’ back then, in unec, when she always tried to get me to smile more often. “You don’t know how handsome you  look  when you smile,” she’d smile.

I  was sure I  wasn’t  going to  smile when my new little ‘patient’ friend, the  little girl  recovering  from some  serious injuries, following  a road traffic accident, would  ask for my phone and for me  to  pose  for  a picture.

She has  been  doing that since she became my  friend,  since she started  walking again, after I removed  her last sutures, deeply  rueful that the nylon sutures might have marred her most immaculate skin.

Yet, she’s still such a cute  little  fellow  with  the  loveliest of brown eyes, dimples and an electrifying smile and, since she’s been asking  me  to  pose  for  pictures,  I’ve been managing to smile for her. Strange. But today had started in a bad way and I  didn’t  think I’d smile for  her.

So, ward  round  over,  I went  to  her  room  to give  her  injections,  silently praying that she wouldn’t ask  for my  phone,  for a  pose and her other  demands like me inspecting her wounds and reassuring her that they were all fine- little things her  grandmother told me, a few days ago, “make her- your wife,  happy.”

But, soon as injections were over, the cute voice went “Doctor can I take  a picture of you? You’re  looking fine  today.” She gave  out the  most radiant  smile.

But, I said “no.” “Today is not  a good  day.” I tried not to look at her face.

I wanted to leave  as  soon  as  possible, to go after my chores in the hospital. But,  she  held me  back. “Please, let me  snap  you,” she insisted.

“Next time,” I tried to  sound nice. “I’m busy.”

I knew she wasn’t happy with my ‘impatient’ replies  but, I just had to make her understand that the day wasn’t a good one. I had issues, bearing down on me. And taking pictures was not one of them.

So, I walked away from her room and, into the  oxygen room  to get  my  stethoscope and my new Pharmacology text book. I wanted to read something, in  between attending to the patients.

But, a soft knock soon followed me. And when I opened the door, there was little Ezinne, looking  at  me  imploringly. So imploringly that the scars on her face  appeared more conspicuous.

“Why are you sad?,” her  voice  sounded  broken. “Grandmother said  I shouldn’t  bother my husband  because ‘can’t I see that  he  is  unhappy?’”

She looked at one of her scars,  the  biggest  one on her left thigh- a blackened rough scar, one that’d likely be the reminder of that dark day when she was brought in by the Keke that had knocked her down, her blood dripping here and there, the Keke driver- a chronically ill looking  middle aged man, fidgeting and muttering “I’ve killed somebody’s child.”

“Why is my  husband  sad?” Her eyes looked even more imploring.

There was a moment of silence. And, I could hear the leaves of the pine trees  caressing one another. Then, She began  to cry.

Really?

I  was shocked. I could have said ‘moved’ but, things don’t easily move me when I have issues to sort out especially, financial issues. But, that’s my little friend crying. So, I bent over and consoled her.

The nurses at the table began  to laugh, to ask what was wrong between ‘husband and wife.’

“Stop crying,” I  consoled. “You know I hate to  see you  cry.”

“Then, let me take a picture of you.”

It’s not even as  if  she  knew  how  to  use  the  camera properly. And it’s not as if she got  to keep  any of the pictures she took of me. But, right  there  and  then,  I sensed  that the relationship between us and  the joy she  got  from  it  stemmed  from  me, each  day, looking at each  blurred  pictures  she  took  and  smiling,  calling her a ‘brilliant photographer.’ And  perhaps  because of  the fact  that ‘true friends don’t  feel comfortable when we  don’t  smile,’ as Ugochi  would  often put it during those  days in unec.

So, I decided  to  flash  a smile. No matter  how fake  it  appeared. And, once I had smiled, I  watched  her  face soften up too and, the tears dry away.

I handed her the phone and went to stand in front of the new door, striking my  usual  pose, faking a smile. As always, whenever I’ve had to,  in front of the camera.

Soon, the camera  went off a number of times and the little girl beamed out another  beautiful smile.

“Here,” she  stretched out her hand, bearing the infinix hote note, coming closer to  where I  squatted, tying my  shoes lace.

“See how handsome  you look when  you  smile?” She giggled.

“Grandmother said  my husband  must  be  handsome.” She took my stethoscope from the table and hung it  on my  neck. “Now, off you go to work.”

By now, I couldn’t hold back  the  care  free laughter. Or should I  say ‘emotional laughter.’ Just  as she  could not keep  back her  joy  when  I gave her some eclaise.

We both ended up laughing, till our eyes got  misty.

***

She said “bye,  doctor” and, began  to  walk  away, back to her room, to her grandmother who had called for her to come take her tablets. The limp was still in her steps. And  her full  black  hair  bounced  in a carefree ponytail.

As I watched her  walk,  I thought  about  my  mother  and  how  happy  she would have  been had she been  able to get me to smile and be happy the way little  Ezinne  had  just  done. Especially, on those  beautiful  days  that she  tried  her  best  but  failed  to  make  me  smile.

I thought about having a daughter and naming her Ezinne.

I thought about Mercy-Iroegbu Ugochi Niteh and her sweetness towards me. A friend I’ll never forget.