The events of April have left me in an emotional quagmire, right now I am so soft I feel like crying on your individual and collective shoulders.

Times like this remind me of the need to appreciate people who have affected me in one way or the other, it tells me that I should love them while I have the opportunity; like those of you who have, without seeing me, expressed genuine interest and even concern for me.

Aringaranso spent time last week, concentrating all his wits at making me a villager. I don’t know you but let me seize this opportunity to tell you that I love you for that singular impulsive act.

 Big-K coped with my initial mistakes and kept nudging me on while Eezeebee continued posting the materials in spite of the mistakes. Time would fail me to mention Okenikpoto and those Down syndrome children he keeps trying to make other people accept; Mulan my friend; Shandy baby, please ask your questions again. Uche Nworah and Dr. Reuben Abati are here and they are both fiercely sweet. All the villagers make me forget these times and I thank God for the day I stumbled unto this website.

The month of April brought death to the house of three of my close friends and colleagues. Two of the departed ones were men, one under the age of thirty, the other was a grandfather, the third one was a woman, the mother of my colleague. Three days before her demise, he had said he would do all in his power to prevent her sickness from getting to a terminal stage.

The younger of the two dead men was a brother to Laura, my colleague, my friend and my sister. I remember when she came to me about this time last year, then the young man was serving in the North. After the service, the man had fallen ill and she told me that he was diagnosed with one disease, “somethinjg to do with the liver” she had explained, the doctors according spoke  about dialysis, one expensive treatment like that to be taken on a very regular basis.

We did not understand the sickness or the nature of the treatment so we made a few calls asking relatives to send money for the treatment and we left it at that. The young man was checked into a hospital in Abuja , tested and certified okay. He came back to Lagos , hale and hearty.

Months later, she told me that he was sick again. I remember how much money she spent trying to make sure he was okay; she emptied her bank account, she tried to get him into a church, she accused some people of witchcraft. She was desperate; she was determined to make him well. It meant so much to her.

In her desperation, she put him on a plane to a place that had the reputation of harbouring an expert in that particular sickness. She gave me a regular situation report of the guy’s progress until I started feeling as if this guy were my own brother. “He is responding to treatment” she would tell me one day; he is talking now, she would inform me the next.

Three days later, we worked late at the office, she was in high spirits, her brother had spoken the previous day and the morning of that day as well. I left the office around 10 pm , she was still working when I left.

The phone woke me up the following morning; it was Laura, her brother died by 2. Am. “It’s a lie” was the first foolish statement that came out of my mouth.

The guy was twenty seven years old; he had only worked for three months after his youth service. “It should not have been him, Laura kept moaning, he was too good” I could not hold back the tears that came streaming down my face.

I remembered my own dad, a man who was near-perfect; generous to a fault, so shy, so sentimental and super intelligent. His I.Q was so high that people suspected it must have been induced. He hated to see anybody in pain; he would try as much as possible to ease the pain.

At the point of struggling so hard to make ends meet and take care of his large family, he had fallen sick. He called me aside one day and showed me where the problem was; at the lower part, in the crevices between his legs, close to the scrotum, a small bulge had started developing. It was hernia.  It gave him nights of excruciating pain. This was the most vulnerable point in his life and I was determined to do all in my power to make his own pain go away.

I had saved up for my university education. When it was agreed that surgery can remove the bulge and the pain, I went to the bank and emptied my account.

Years later, when he died, I was not in his immediate vicinity, I missed out on his last minutes on earth. My name was on his lips, he needed me around. When I rushed in at the news, it was too late. They showed me where they laid him. I went in, stood and looked down on this great man, the laughter and the humour were missing from his still form and I remember thinking, “He should not have been the one; he was too good.” My heart gave. It’s been seven years since and I have not stopped crying.

Robot  Villager

# 1 ...Read the full article. Posted by Robot| 03.05.2008 20:34

mulan  Villager

# 2 Anne, It is well, my shoulder is here my friend...feel free. May the Lord himself wipe the tears from your eyes. Both for the memories of your dad and for those who passed recently. May their souls rest in peace and may those that are left be comforted. For this month of May, may all good things come your way. Take care dearie... Posted by mulan| 04.05.2008 19:14

aringaranso  Villager

# 3 Anne, I feel for you and your friends. I know exactly what it feels like to battle with such loss. May the souls of the departed continue to rest in the bosom of the Almighty. To you and your bereaved friends--please take heart, soldier on and continue trusting in the Almighty. Posted by aringaranso| 05.05.2008 00:05