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I was certain I was not going to write this week. I wanted to take a one-week break. After respite from malaria for many years, I had forgotten the early symptoms, until it breached my defences. By the time I scrambled my defence mechanisms together, the enemy was already inside my territory (Please do not trivialise the ongoing war between Israel and Hamas by allowing your mind to go there). The malaria was not even my major problem. Malaria has been a regular visitor as far back as I can remember: 1970. It was the sneezing and the dry cough. They were so ferocious.
But a short text I got on Wednesday morning made me to change my mind: “My husband is gone.” The message was from my friend’s wife, a former classmate and brother, Mark Eyetu. We had met at Ekwerigbe Primary School, Ozoro, Isoko North, Delta State, in 1973. That is 50 years ago. My father had been posted to Ozoro and the whole family relocated from Ughelli. I too changed primary school. That was when I met Mark. After primary school, Mark and I lost contact. Around 2021, we reunited. He refreshed my memory on our days in primary school and some of what transpired in the intervening years. It was like we never lost contact.
At this time he was already undergoing treatment. In one of my conversations with him, he requested me to carry out some enquiries for him in Lagos which I did and gave him a feedback. He sent me a message on July 24, 2021, that “I will be going to UCH (University of Ibadan teaching Hospital) on Sunday.” By July 25, he sent another message that, “I’m in Ibadan now. I arrived almost two hours ago.” At that time, I was unable to respond promptly because I was going through my own health challenges. I had hinted him, but I did not want to bother him with details because he had enough in his plate. On July 29, 2021, he called me three times, but I could not respond. He sent a message: “Francis, pick up your call. I just want to hear your voice. I’m worried. Thank you.” I reverted and told him I am fine and would keep in touch. But I did not keep my promise because I was weighed down.
He called again on August 12 and 24, 2021. I was unable to take his calls, but I sent him a message on August 24. He replied that “my side (that is UCH) na wao! The machine got bad after two weeks of treatment. We are waiting for them to put it right.” There are probably not more than 10 of these machines in Nigeria. The ones in private clinics and hospitals are no go areas. Even the ones in teaching hospitals cost a fortune over the period of the treatment. We continued talking till September 14, 2021. Then we lost touch. My phone was locked and then my health situation took a dramatic turn. It was not until nine months later that my phone was unlocked, a couple of months after I escaped death by the skin of my teeth.
When I got my phone back, there were thousands of messages, some of which I was unable to respond to till date. For those still angry that I snubbed them, please understand. I am still healing. You do not judge another person from the comfort of your home. We are all dealing with issues and if you see the battle scars of some of the people you are angry with, you will feel stupid.
Anyway, some of the messages I read were from Mark. I knew he would be worried sick. He had sent a message on October 27, 2021: “Francis, it has taken such a long time. Hope all is well. Still waiting for your call and also praying for you. I’m fine.” Of course, I could not respond because I was in coma.
Some days later he followed with another message: “Hi Francis, what is going on. Are you OK. I have been in Lagos for three weeks with the mind that your phone will ring one of these days to no avail. You haven’t replied any of my messages. I am worried, my brother. I won’t stop praying for you, just let me hear from you. I am really worried. I pray God to hear and bless you; I mean heal and bless you.” Still I could not respond because I was still in coma. The last message was a Christmas message on December 25, 2021. I was out of coma and intensive care unit, but still in hospital, but I did not have my phone. I only got to see these messages after the phone was unlocked in April 2022.
We continued keeping in touch and sharing information. The last time we spoke, he told me his health was deteriorating. By September, I sent him messages that were unread. I called, but the phone was off. I sent my brother to look for him, but he could not get me any useful information. In desperation I went on social media found the wife’s page. The last time I visited him in Effurun, the wife was not at home, so I did not get to meet her. I dropped a message in her inbox that I am trying to reach her husband. Apparently, Mark had said a lot about me, so she responded and I was able to restore communication. Since then, I had been communicating with the wife. On one occasion she was beside Mark and I requested to speak with him. He was apparently in pains. I spoke with him for barely 30 seconds and begged him to give the phone back to the wife. I believe in fighting to the end and made some suggestions. She promised to consult the larger family and revert. It was the person I referred her to who gave me a feedback. We continued talking, hanging unto hope and looking for a miracle. Then on Wednesday morning, I got a message from her: “My husband is gone.”
Mark, you fought a good fight. I saw part of it. Mark was apparently a good husband and father from our interactions. After we reconnected, we met in Lagos and Effurun, Delta State, and it was obvious. I thank God for the brief period I was able to reconnect with Mark. In spite of his challenges, he always had me in mind. That is a trait I cherish: people who put their personal challenges and pains aside to look out for others. May your soul rest in peace, Mark.
NB: I have written previously on our health care system and professionals. We need to up our game. We will all remain losers if the situation continues like this. No one is immune. When you are hit at the wrong time, even your billions cannot save you.