ML VOICES: True-Life Story, How it all went wrong!

The road home is clear. These twenty
kilometres are so familiar it is easy to go
into auto-pilot and drift into thoughts
only my head can manage. I have had a
long day- work, a reading, and dinner
with a dear friend.

There is a lot on my mind. On the road I
drive through the bends and turns that
lead me to the wide Umar Musa Yar'Adua
express way. In my head I take the
bends and turns that lead me through
the maze that is my mind. To painful
decisions I must take, long overdue. To
thoughts of all the things I planned to do
before I turned thirty. To the fact that I
turn thirty tomorrow and have done none
of them. I try to find my way back to the
beginning of things; to discover how I got
here, this lonely cold place I cannot
recognise.

I am tired. I shake myself awake. My
body fights back- it demands rest and it
demands it now. Five more minutes, I tell
myself, five more minutes until I get
home. I reach the express. Some parts
are lit, some parts are not. I drift again
and in one second it all happens. I run
into a curb at one of the points where the
road bends suddenly. Instinctively I step
on the brakes. It is too late. I lose control
of Sylvanus, my old tired car and we are
screeching at a 45 degree angle.

I hit something else and my head slams into the steering wheel. My head spins and suddenly everything is upside down- my body, Sylvanus and my thoughts.
Sylvanus comes to a halt by the side of
the road. Upside down, I feel the blood
filling up my mouth.

It is fear that actuates my body, makes
me ignore the pain and crawl out through
the shattered glass. Fear that a fire might
break out and I might get trapped in a
burning vehicle. I drag myself to the side
of the road, my white caftan soaked in
blood. I feel open flesh hanging in my
mouth. It is 2am. I am cold. Alone. In
pain. Writers who try to describe blood must not have bled like this. Real blood pouring from ones body does not smell metallic. It smells like fear. Like death.

The first car that stops is a green taxi. I
am lying on the gravel with my right
hand up in the air, calling for help. The
taxi reverses, stops and suddenly drives
off. I think of crawling back to the car to
see if I can find my phone. I am too
scared of a fire and too weak. Slowly as I
slip in and out of consciousness cars
begin to stop and voices begin to
multiply.

"Do you know anybody's number?'
someone asks, from a distance almost as if he is afraid to come close. I shake my head. He is shouting. Everyone seems to be shouting.
"My phone," I manage to say, "in the car.
My phone."

I am afraid the phone might have flown
out of the car during the crash. Someone
finds it.
"Your wife, what is her number?" A man
assumes I am married. I shake my head.

Suggestions fly over my head. My father's
voice, on discovering I was not quite
acting like a virgin, plays in my head: "I
was not up to your age when I got
married."
"His brother."
"His family"

A police van stops. They do not come
close. They make radio calls that have
nothing to do with an ambulance or first
aid. I know at this point I must do
something or bleed out in front of
passers-by arguing about what to do.
"Call Achile," I say to the man holding my
phone, spitting out a glob of blood. I try
to get up. They all scream at me to lie
back down. They try Achile. He is asleep.
They try Al-kasim. He is asleep.

Suddenly I feel like this is it: I am going
to die out here alone. My parents are
nearly 200kilometers away and the only
other relatives who are in this town, are
strangers to me.

"Garki hospital!" I call out as the police
and others argue. "I have a card in Garki
hospital"

Nobody is listening to me and I am
fighting to retain consciousness.

After a few minutes, a man who I later
will learn is Group Captain Onyike, orders
the policemen to stop what they are
doing and take me to the Air force Base
where he lives and where there is a
hospital. I am put at the back of the van
like a ram that has been knocked down
by a car. I am handed my phone and
they drive off. I am afraid that I will lose
consciousness completely and nobody will
know where I am. I manage to send messages to a few people and tweet with the only information I know.

That I am at the back of a police truck
headed for the Air force hospital near the
airport. I pass out.Group Captain Onyike makes sure I get treatment. I come to and the doctor is able to get a friend, Salisu on the phone.

In the morning, the worst has passed. I
am stable. Kasim, Musa and Achile are
around and are taking care of things. I open my eyes and I see the dear friend with whom I had dinner last night. I am not sure how she knew or who called her.

As much as I did not want her to see me
like this, I am grateful that she is here.
And I cannot stop my tears from rolling. But for the quick thinking of an air force officer, she might have been the one to tell stories of my last words, my last thoughts, my last feelings.

This is how to survive a road accident in
Nigeria: Pray. Pray that someone with
quick thinking and hospital contacts runs into you.

Do not expect the police to know what to
do. Do not expect emergency services.
Just pray...

LEAVE A COMMENT

Posted By: Ben Iyoha