You know that feeling you feel when you have mixed-feelings and you don’t really know how to feel. That’s the worst kind of feeling ever. Many a people could perceive ‘trouble looming’ even from a thousand miles away, but not so many would know how to react when such arises.
They say desperate situations calls for desperate measures. Femi quickly picked his shirt and jolted out of the room in the speed of light, without taking his bath nor brushing his teeth. He struggled to wear the shirt on his way to St’ Valentine’s Lodge. On his arrival, he met a group of sympathizers gathered at the entrance leading to Bishop’s room. The gestures on the faces of the people re-affirmed his earlier postulation of doom. He walked straight into the room and met Skipo badly injured with a bandage pasted on his left shoulder. He became perplexed and out of curiosity, he enquired what had happened but Skipo could barely speak. One of the on-lookers said that they were robbed but was unable to provide further details.
Femi noticed that Bishop was no where to be found, but before he could ask another question, Bishop came inside the room with someone who was dressed like an okada man. Femi then assisted Bishop as they swiftly carried Skipo outside and placed him on a bike while heading to the school clinic. The sympathizers were seen leaving the scene immediately the bike zoomed off. Femi was heading back to lock the door, then he saw his generator kept on the corridor, very close to the entrance. He bundled the generator, kept it inside the room, locked the door and off he went to the school clinic.
The clinic was a beehive of activites, several patients were in their respective wards responding to treatment, and it was actually difficult locating the actual room where Skipo was admitted. Femi walked to the counter which hosted the presence of three middle-aged women gossiping in igala dialet. He greeted them accordingly but none paid him a listening ear, he waited for a while before attempting to greet again, just then, one of the women responded.
“How may I help you?” She asked in an unprofessional way, instead of saying “How may I be of help?” or so I say.
“A friend of mine was rushed her today, I’d like to know the room where he was admitted”
“Whats your friend’s name?” She inquired without looking at his face, while she opened a register which seemed to contain the names of various patients.
Femi became tongue-tied, he knew Skipo wasn’t a real name which prompted him to stand still like someone struck by lightening.
“I’m waiting!” The fierce looking woman interrupted his thought.
Femi then recalled that Skipo had contested for the position of “Director of social” in his department and his real name was bodly inscribed there.
“Olarewaju, Olarewaju Jimoh, Ma! That’s his name.” He said.
The nurse scanned through the list of names and instructed him to take a left turn, then straight to the right before reaching the ward where he was admitted. Femi felt unease seeing sick patients suffering from one illness or the other, as a hospital wasn’t a place he would visit on a normal day. Finally, he arrived at the ward where he met Skipo placed on a sick bed with two drips attached to his arm and chest. He halted for a second, and then began walking slowly towards them with a heavy heart, he was praying inwardly that the situation wasn’t as severe as it looks. Bishop caught a glimpse of him and couldn’t help but stare distastefully.
“How’s his health, and hope he’s getting better?” Femi asked speaking fluent english immediately he reached their stance.
“Well, he’s recuperating slowly. The nurse said he lost some blood due to the delay with first-aid treatment. I just hope he gets better soon enough” Bishop responded.
Femi took a deep breath and then sat on a bench beside Bishop. “So, do you intend to inform his parents about his condition?” Femi asked.
“No! I’m not sure that would be necessary. Where do I even start from?” Bishop asked himself a question, though, without expecting an answer.
“So, tell me, what actually happened?” Femi enquired.
Bishop wore a moody look on his face as he began to narrate their ordeal the night before. The striking thing was that they both communicated in plain english which was quite uncommon.
The moment femi left the room together with Tracey to his own apartment, they left the door ajar without informing them that they were leaving. Although, informing them before hand wouldn’t have made much a difference because they were obviously engrossed in the fvcking spree to envision any unforeseen circumstances.
Bishop took a deep breath and positioned himself properly, he wore the face of an old man who tasted poo and dangled his head slowly in a pitiable manner as though disgusted by the tragic incident. He demonstrated these gestures to appear like a professional story teller, and painted a delicate issue with levity, this is a typical suffering and smiling syndrome.
To Be Continued…
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