ShortStory II Testimony Time

TESTIMONY TIME

        I was barely 8, and was gradually nearing my early grave. What other notion could a kid in class four nurture than to insinuate that nature was against his existence?

        Though highly cerebral, I was so tender to lead a cause toward emancipating my person from the untold bondage. I became a shadow of myself and the talk of the day within my nuclear cum extended family, and of course the vicinity therein.

        My darling mum, being a qualified nurse, was very helpful to the situation at hand. In fact, she was my messiah to assert the least. Messiah, in the sense that, I was suffering from a medical condition. At 7, I was diagnosed of hepatitis, precisely Hepatitis B.

        I had grown to believe that the aforementioned disease was so cruel that it could claim the bearer’s life unannounced. Being a professional, my mum kept telling me in a language I would comprehend that it wasn’t as deadly as I learnt even though I could overtime widely see in her eyes fear and anguish, especially each time I got struck by the monster.

         I was transferred from a hospital to another on a regular basis, drank pints of blood donated by my relatives; and in some cases, it would seem as if all hopes had been lost. That was how my beloved family rolled for years; yes, a good number of years.

         At the time, use of cell phones was still inborn in the global community, particularly the Nigerian society. And, internet services were not yet ubiquitous; hence, only letter writing was in vogue. Each time any member of my family wrote home, he or she would concentrate mainly on the ailment. They would want to be intimated on the journey thus far and how exactly I was faring at the moment.

          I wasn’t bedridden and there was no time I was, but within me, I was only about two centimeters away from graveyard. It was so serious and was telling on me – both physically and emotionally – that everyone far and near began to reason that it wasn’t just a medical condition.

         It’s noteworthy that my parents’ scarce economy was expended in the process. In spite of the whooping expenses, they weren’t deterred, rather were so committed towards ensuring that I became a better person health wise.

         The situation continued unabated till when we encountered a certain pediatrician who told us that it could best be addressed via dietary. Thereof, I was placed under the care of a renowned dietician.

         She (the dietician) recommended that I should henceforth quit taking various foods and drinks, which included red meat, fried diets, and alcoholics, among others. From what was presented, it seemed I had to begin to detest most of the foods I had ab initio been enjoying both as human and a kid. The conditions alone brought another brand of shock into my already battered bone marrow. Nevertheless, neither did I nor my parents have any choice than to stick strictly to the laid down rules.

        “Hello Fred!” the paediatrician, Dr. Okafor called the moment he walked into the ward where I was hospitalized.

          It was about 8:30 am, and my second day in the centre.

        “Good morning, doctor.” I greeted, lying in my bracket.

        “Morning dear.” he responded. “How are you today?”

        “I am fine, doctor.”

        “I can see you are.” he concurred, nodding and calmly raised my left arm up, then looked at my mum who was seated right beside me. “Hope he slept well?” He asked her.

         I guessed she had already gone to his office to make some pressing enquiries, so there wasn’t need for exchange of pleasantries between them when he stepped into the ward.      

         She nodded immediately. “Yes, he did.” she supplemented. “I really thank God.”

         “Nothing would happen to him.” He assured my pleasant mother, and allowed my arm to return to the bed.

          “Amen oooh!” she exclaimed enthusiastically.

          “Once you stick to the recommended diets,” quoth Dr. Okafor. “He would never suffer from it again.”

          “Okay.” she replied. “I will try my best.”

           He detached his stethoscope from his neck and tenderly placed it on my chest with his right hand. “Do you feel pain here?” He inquired, touching the chest with the other hand as he listened to the gadget.

        “No sir.” I responded.

        “Alright.” he said, withdrew the equipment. “You will be discharged today, okay?”

        “Oh, thank you doctor!” I exclaimed elatedly, looked at my mum.

          She smiled at me in appreciation. “Thank you, doc.” She added, twisting her neck towards him.

       “You are welcome.” He said, hesitantly turned and walked away.

          Thereafter, ‘special’ dishes were made for me. All my soups were cooked without oil and even meat, except fish. Fresh tomatoes were used as the colouring agents. Same measure was applicable to rice, either jollof or stewed. I was taking enough water at intervals, mostly during meals. Aside water, my other food supplements were only natural fruits including oranges, banana, guava, carrot, garden eggs, and what have you.

        That was how I managed the situation for over a year. During this period, I was not unlike a total stranger at home because I inadvertently began detesting virtually every other food to include those I wasn’t advised to avoid. Before I could take anything, I had to consult my mum who would give me a go ahead order or ask me to steer clear of it, as the case might be. I was only doing it to save my humble soul.

         The experience was really hectic for me being a kid who was supposed to fall in love with almost every cooked food. But I had to cope because I had no option, though every effort was possible owing to my mum’s steady attention. You can now understand why I saw her as my messiah. Well, as a medical personnel and mother, she had no option than to respond accordingly.

         At 10, my doctor asked my parents to bring me for further diagnoses, which they complied. There and behold, no trace of Hepatitis B was found in my entire system. Months later, I repeated the tests and same results were observed thereof.

         “Congratulations Fred!” exclaimed Dr. Okafor as he walked up to where I was seated alongside my mum right in his office.

        On hearing the remark, my mum jumped up and I was compelled to follow suit. Therein, she hugged me tightly and passionately too. My dad later got the final breaking news when we got home. It was indeed celebration galore for the entire Nwaozor family.

        Since then till now, I have never been diagnosed of any form of hepatitis infection. If you asked me, I would say it was all about sacrifice and self denial.

       The rest is history, please!   

FDN Nwaozor 

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri

_________________________________

frednwaozor@gmail.com

Twitter: @mediambassador 

http://facebook.com/theMediaAmbassador 

               

Opinion II What Should We Tell The Pensioners?

WHAT SHOULD WE TELL THE PENSIONERS?

        

The last time I checked, the teeming Imo pensioners otherwise known as senior citizens were conspicuously bemused and astonished over what could best be described as ‘breach of contract’. The situation was ostensibly helpless, hence the need for a sober reflection.

         

It would be recalled that recently – precisely in July 2017 – the Imo state’s governor, Chief Rochas Okorocha graciously announced the second receipt of the Paris Club refund, and equally used the medium to clarify that the fund would be used to clear the pending arrears of pensions accruable to the state’s retirees as well as pay workers’ salaries.

         

Those of us who had closely watched the revered senior citizens wallow in penury were so pleased over the announcement, thus intensely appreciated the number-one citizen for thinking in such remarkable direction. In fact, at the time, we couldn’t wait to observe the pensioners smile at least once again.

         

Lest I forget; penultimate year, the government had what seemed like a deal with the pensioners. The former pleaded with the latter to forfeit sixty percent (60%) of each of their respective pension arrears ranging from past years till December 2016, promising to start paying their pension promptly – and in full – starting from January 2017. Majority of the creditors complied with the plea just for the sake of peace and way forward. Though some of those who refused to comply are yet to receive their pay as regards the period in review, it’s worth noting that that’s not the concern of this very piece.

         

Having sacrificed greatly in order to ease the burden for the government with the view of ensuring that 2017 henceforth, they would never be regarded as creditors to the government regarding arrears of pensions, it is saddening to note that the pensioners are still not sure what their fate entails when it calls for payment of pensions in the Eastern Heartland.

         

Sometime two months ago, after the declaration of the receipt of the Paris Club refund, they were called to Owerri to collect the arrears of pensions owed them having undergone a rigorous verification conducted by a committee set up by the governor. They went to the venue for the payment, expecting to receive at least eight months of pension arrears – ranging from January to August 2017 – only for them to be handed over cheques  required to take care of just three months of their various pensions. However, they were asked to return the following week for the remaining payment. It’s noteworthy that some of them are yet to receive their cheques for the first three months of the year.

          

It’s pertinent to acknowledge that something very impressive transpired while the cheques were being issued to the senior citizens. Some account officers from the state’s Pension Board were found wanting, thus were instantly arrested by the police via the request of the government. It would be recalled that the Imo government had before then been crying foul that so much funds were being utilized on payment of pension in the state owing to leakages yet to be discovered.

          

Hence, when the indicted pension officers were caught and the misappropriations ascertained therein, I immensely jubilated as well as applauded the Rescue Mission Administration, hoping that the revelation would go a long way in ensuring that the teeming pensioners were no longer owed subsequently since the cause of the inconsequential excesses had been brought in the government’s know.

          

Intriguingly, the case remains the same till date. The pensioners are still looking forward to when the ‘next month’ would be to collect their balance as pledged by the government. Against this backdrop, they keep asking the informed minds like us what their fate actually entails. And frankly, I have gotten tired and exhausted of telling them that the government is on it, hence they ought to exercise patience. Right now, I’m asking; what should we tell the pensioners?

          

I can’t vividly remember how many times I have written as well as spoken on the lingering impasse between the government and the pensioners. For the umpteenth time, I’ve taken my precious time to deliberate on this unending quagmire. Funnily enough, when I was trying to protect the government’s image, some of the pensioners alleged that they were offered dud cheques; that the cheques given to them were bounced when presented at the banks. The report got me destabilized and helpless.

          

I wouldn’t like to comment on this anomaly again, thus I urge the government headed by a man who I believe is compassionate to look into the eyes of the angry pensioners and tell them nothing but the gospel truth. They have surely waited patiently, hence at the moment, have exhausted the patience. It’s invariably my pleasure to mediate between the two parties involved, but it pisses my person off whenever I sense melodrama.

           

Penultimate week, the government disclosed that the unfortunate situation was informed by paucity of funds, thus promising to pay up when things normalized. If such notice holds water or anything to go by, then one would like to know what really happened to the Paris Club refund that was received of late in which we were told would be used to clear backlog of pension arrears.      

         

It’s noteworthy that they are asking for their rights, not privilege. It suffices to say that I see no reason they ought to be begging for such entitlement. I truly share their plights; that’s the reason I’m always concerned about these brouhahas.

          

So, at this juncture I repeat; what should we tell the pensioners? Should they start expecting another messiah, or remain resilient? It’s needless to state that only a straightforward and specific answer is required in this regard. Think about it!

Comrade FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri

________________________________

frednwaozor@gmail.com

Twitter: @mediambassador

     

ShortStory I Reality of Life (II)

REALITY OF LIFE (II)

        Mr. Jerry Odom had never in his whole life dreamt of being a resident of Lagos, if not as a result of his parents’ persuasions. They had rigorously conscientized him to consider changing environment, which according to them, could be of great help as regards his job-hunting plight. It was after all these he thought it wise to choose the aforesaid city, which over the years had been reckoned to be the most popular and populous territory in the entire Nigerian society.

        Yet, since five years back he found his apparent miserable person in the highly revered province, nothing had changed positively in his entire life as against his anticipation, if not that he had added more years to his age; he was 33 when he left for the city, but now 38.

        The very moment he landed in Lagos, he became a commercial tricycle rider. He was lucky to encounter a man, Chief Olaja who owned many tricycles otherwise known as ‘Keke’ and wanted to lease one of them – that was at the time not in any driver’s custody – to any interested driver on hire purchase. That was how Chief Olaja who was a well-known businessman operated; he purchased all kinds of vehicles and thereof entrust them on prospective drivers on a hire purchase basis.

        Unfortunately, in the long run, Mr. Jerry had a misunderstanding with the boss, thus the tricycle was retrieved from him. The incident marked the commencement of another horrible era in his life.

        Towards seeking for survival, he needed to jettison his pride. In other to resist the forsaking side of life, he was required to appear like a nobody. In view of this, he wittingly emerged an assistant driver, equally referred to as conductor. This ostensibly implied that he was thrown to fire from frying pan. He operated as a conductor for years till he had a rethink subsequently.

         It’s noteworthy that he was intermittently vigorously searching for a white-collar job while he was into all these activities, all to no avail. At a point, having been bounced back at one marketing institution, he almost decided going back to where he came from being Cross-River State but later remained resilient.

        In the fourth year of his stay in Lagos, having denounced his job as an assistant driver, he gathered the little capital he had and ventured into trading. He activated a small shop where he traded on all sorts of minor commodities, which included confectionaries and provisions.

        Owing to poor patronage, sometimes Mr. Jerry would consider hawking his wares along the major roads situated within the locality of his humble shop. Each time he hawked, the shop would be kept partially locked. That was how he rolled relentlessly till one fateful day when something very fascinating transpired.

        “Jerry!” Mr. Ben exclaimed at the top of his voice as soon as he winded down the windscreen of his black Lexus Jeep having caught the sight of the dude, shocked.

        Mr. Ben was Jerry’s classmate way back in the University of Calabar (UniCal) during their first degree programmes. This was the first time he would sight him after their NYSC experience. On sighting him, he purposely applied his brakes right before him as if he wanted to patronize his wares.

         Of course nothing had apparently changed in Jerry’s life, if not the rags he was putting on, thus Ben needn’t stress himself much before he could recognize him. On the contrary, a lot had conspicuously changed in the life of the latter; hence, very hectic for the former to place his facial outlook let alone figuring out his current posture which was now huge compared to the previous one that could best be described as ‘lean’.

        “You can’t remember me?” enquired Ben, smiling as he held his steering firmly.

        “Ben…!” Jerry shouted the moment he eventually recalled the old face. “Oh, my Go….d!!”

        Mr. Ben quietly opened the car door, stepped out and leaned uprightly on it folding his arms.

        Mr. Jerry on his part was still carrying his wares comprised mainly handkerchief, car phone chargers and chewing gums, among others in his hands as he stare at Ben in silent awe. “Ben, is this you..?” he managed to say, standing about half a metre away. “This is unbelievable.”

        “Jerry, a hawker..?” Ben thought aloud, astonished. “What is going on here?”

        “My brother,” said Jerry. “It’s a long story.”

        “Please, save the story.” Ben urged. “Just come in, let’s get out of here.” He asked, gesticulating.

         Consequently, they both hopped into the vehicle and Ben drove off to a nearby relaxation joint.

         Thereafter, Jerry successfully secured a good job at Century bank where his friend, Ben was serving as a Regional Manager. The employment after several years of fruitless search brought an endless moment of jubilation in the life of the beneficiary and of course that of his overall family. It was needless to assert that he owed the benefactor (Ben) unquantifiable thanks cum salutations for bringing to an end the seeming cursed era.     

         Years on as God would have it, Mr. Jerry Odom emerged as the Human Resources Manager (HRM) of the establishment at the Lagos headquarters.

        “Good morning, sir.” One of Mr. Jerry’s junior colleagues, Mr. Andrew greeted as he walked into the former’s office.

        “Morning, Mr. Andrew.” responded the HRM. “How are you today?”

        “I am fine, sir.” quoth Mr. Andrew. “Thank you.” He added, standing.

        “So..?” said the 42-year-old Mr. Jerry.

        “Sir, I have come to inform you that the team is ready.”

        “You mean, the interview crew?”

        “Yes sir.”

          The bank had scheduled to conduct an oral interview on some job applicants on that fateful day. And Mr. Jerry being the HRM was according to the firm’s custom the head of the screening team, which Mr. Andrew was the secretary.

        “Alright.” replied Mr. Jerry. “I will be with you in a moment.” He said, looked at his wall clock; it was 10:25am.

         The interview was meant to commence at 11:00am, but Mr. Jerry needed to intimate the members of the 7-man screening committee on the finishing touches of the nitty-gritty of the awaited task, thus he was supposed to meet with them before the scheduled time.

        “Okay sir.” quoth Mr. Andrew. “Let me rush back to them while they await your presence.”

        “Is alright.”

         On hearing the response, Mr. Andrew smartly turned his back on the boss and walked away enthusiastically.

         Eleven O’ clock at the dot, the oral interview began as planned. Wonders indeed shall never end as the first applicant to walk into the screening hall happened to be Mr. Jude Akpan.

         It would be recalled that Mr. Akpan was the man who humiliated Mr. Jerry right in his office years back in Calabar, Cross-River State while he (Jerry) was job-hunting with his first degree. He was then the HRM of Catalog Production Limited, one of the firms where the latter sought for employment when he was still resident in the said city.

         Catalog Limited went into liquidation just a few years after the incident, thereby rendering Mr. Akpan jobless. The experience made the then happily married man left Calabar for Lagos in search of greener pasture, leaving his wife and four children behind.

        The moment Mr. Jerry Odom caught the sight of him, he stood up unwittingly, staring at him in silent awe. On his part, Mr. Akpan who couldn’t believe his eyes stopped immediately as he tried to fathom if truly the image he was seeing was Jerry’s.

        The other members of the screening crew became marvelled over the abrupt change of mood displayed by the boss alongside the applicant.

        Having fully absorbed and comprehended the picture, Mr. Jude Akpan quickly turned his back and ran out of the hall.

        The rest is history, please!

FDN Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri

_____________________________________

Twitter: @mediambassador

http://facebook.com/theMediaAmbassador