New Tastes In The World Of Tests

I did my HIV screening test today. Let me not sound like it was the first time I had been screened for the then-dreaded disease because it’s not. It was actually my third screening. That does not mean that I am faithful to the once-in-three month’s recommended screening dose. I am not so as I waited patiently for the result I felt all kinds of emotions running up and down.

The first of those emotions was disdain. I wondered why I had stopped at the volunteers’ desk. After all that was not the first in recent times I had seen them. I recall being accosted by them the Thursday before.

“It’s free, Please come and test for HIV”, the volunteer had said.

I shook my head vigorously and said I had already been tested. That was not a lie; I had been tested twice so I hated my actions more even now. If only I had not been concerned of how these ladies would react if I walked away as if I was already a confirmed carrier. Maybe it was because I knew both of them personally. I tried to calm myself down but it was pointless. Anyone who looked at me could tell how nervous I was from my shifty eyes.

I also felt fear creeping all over me. I think that was the deepest emotion of them all. I was scared and I was angry at my fear.

“What if I was confirmed a carrier?” I asked myself over and over again.

I thought about the countless things that would fill my to-do lists. I even thought the possibility of ignoring the result and the need for after-care. For someone who had worked as a volunteer with the Anti-Retro-Viral Therapy (ART) Centre in my hometown, I was obviously dealing with this very badly. I guess nothing prepares for anyone for dealing with HIV. And this has nothing to do with being a ‘good’ girl. When you know that you have been exposed, even to barest minimum, to blood, you can ask for the kind of mercy I was now seeking.

I watched as the Volunteer tore out a test script, I let my eyes rest on her hands. Even when she picked up that small needle, this did not change. The prick was slight. The last two times I have had to do the test, I had blood sucked out of me with a syringe. In those two instances, I did not even know that I was being tested for the virus. The first was when I was fresh out of secondary school. I had begun to lose my baby-fat at a very alarming rate. What was most surprising was that the fat I had maintained in the boarding house was beginning to varnish on my return home. My mother panicked and sent me off to the doctor as fast as she could with the mandate to get to the root of the problem. And so the tests began. For every visit I came back home with a bag of medicine and a syringe full of blood lesser. My pleas that I was in good health were ignored by both my mother and the doctor so I resigned myself to the treatments for who–knows-what sickness. The doctor stared at me one fateful day and said, “There is one last test that I’d need you to do”.

That moment I knew I was going to get screened. I waited for him to give me a name as I understood it to be my right. He did not tell me what the test was for until the results came out but I did not care. I was happy there was no cause for alarm.

The second was when I started this job in this company in the food sector whose policy was to run blood test for employees. Just tests - no information as to the nature. It was not until there was a health issue that the employee concerned was brought in. In other words, just give us your blood and go. Thankfully, my position gave me the opportunity to view my results.

Was I also scared on those occasions? Very!

The fear of the unknown is something alarming especially if it is for deadly diseases. I have long outgrown the age of looking at HIV as the deadliest of diseases so this has nothing to do with the name.

“Is my result not ready?” I asked impatiently.

I tried to read her facial expression as she peered into strip that was marked with my blood but read nothing. It was not until her counselling was halfway through that calmness found its way to me.

As I walked down to the building that housed my interim office, I thought of the countless tests that was recommended for me that I was yet to do. Ma always said that ignorant is bliss but I know that this is not sweeping in real life. As much as I would like to get through with some of them, I know they will always be medical tests that will remain outstanding for even the longest time. I hope my fear conquers most of them.

Keep faith...

TALES FROM A NEIGHBOUR'S DINING TABLE

It was nemesis treating him the same way again; messing him up like he always does to anyone he picks on. Why won’t he ever learn that nemesis was sure to come and pick up his pieces like an enemy would, flinging it all over and making sure it left him marks and injuries in places that hurt.

Mr. Okoakpa was my neighbour back then so I was more or less an observer. We moved in the week his third wife moved out so we met a sore tale. He would lament on how there no good woman was left in the world and how he escaped being killed by her. He would continue with tales of his second wife’s witchcraft and how his first wife was all things less than a sweetheart whose main aim was to steal the whole of his fortune. It did not take long for my nineteen year old ears to become bored with his stories. Actually bored was an understatement. Irritated was what I had become with them, but my choices were limited. The house in question was what my father’s savings could afford as he always noted that his priorities then was to focus on the education of me and my four younger brothers. The fact that my parents lived in seeming harmony did nothing to lend credence to Mr. Okoakpa’s stories. If anything I did not want him influencing my father with his unwise ideas. I hated the fact that my father would spend Saturday evenings with him and did not hesitate to let my father in on how I felt. Of course, dear daddy did not listen to me. I also hated the fact that my 248 JAMB score was unable to get me to study pharmacy in the universities that I had applied to.

‘Ndudi!’ Mr. Okoakpa’s voice broke into my reverie one Tuesday morning. I let my gaze follow his voice through the fence until they rested on the woman who came out to meet him.

I could barely wait for my father to settle down before I asked him who Ndudi was to Mr. Okoakpa.

‘Oh, that’s his new wife’, he answered, dismissing me but I was not about to be gone so quickly.

‘Again’ I screamed, ‘He will mess her up just like he did the rest’.

‘What is your own in Oga Okoakpa’s business?’  my mother asked and I went into a tirade on how I hated the fact that the man would mess up any woman that came his way just because he was rich and that my own father subconsciously supported him by being his confidant and never telling him truth.

My father was shocked by my outburst. He apologised for his perceived role in Mr. Okoakpa’s affairs and said that he hoped Ndudi would be a soothing balm to the neighbour’s wounded heart. I knew that would never be. Ndudi was as sweet as any woman would be. She was probably too docile in my opinion. She would take care of Mr. Okoakpa’s two children from his previous marriages in spite of the fact that their behaviour was stinking to say the least. I even thought she must have come into the household as a slave because she said yes to everything thing that came out from her husband’s mouth. Even my father commended her humility to the disapproving looks of my mother. It was therefore a big surprise to everyone in the neighbourhood when Mr. Okoakpa married himself a fifth wife. Even my father, his best friend, was disappointed. That was the first time my father voiced his opposition to any of Mr. Okoakpa’s actions. That was also the time my father got to see Mr. Okoakpa for who he truly was. He insulted my father for daring to suggest that he did not need another wife. He even insinuated that my father was captivated by the chunks of meat that Ndudi Okoakpa always offered him when he visited. That was too low for my father to take. That evening after, he told us the news of the neighbour’s latest acquisition and the encounter that followed, I heard my mother say to him that it was time he faced his family. That was the last time my father went over to Mr. Okoakpa’s house.

Not totally the last, but the last for a very long time. New wife, Golden became the new swag. She was always with Mr. Okoakpa, even Ndudi attended to her needs and none of Mr. Okoakpa’s children dared to say anything unkind to her. She even represented Mr. Okoakpa in most events that he could not attend. This was something none of his other wives ever did. Perhaps it was because she worked with him in the same office.

With my father’s absence from the Okoakpa’s residence, one would have expected that I heard less from him but that was not to be as his blaring voice disregarded the blocks that demarcated both apartments. Most cases the voice sang the praises of Golden who changed his world. I was elated when my admission came through the next year and I moved into campus.

Then came the events that let nemesis in. I was late for my lectures that morning so I ignored the calls of my name that followed me as I ran into the lecture hall. She was there when I came out only I did not notice.

‘Dana’, she called again. This time behind me so all I needed to do was turn.

Golden!!!

Was I surprised to see her there? Sure. I did not even know she knew me by name. I did not have to ask what she was doing on campus, she volunteered that and more. She spoke of how much of a beast Mr. Okoakpa was and how he told lies about everyone around him. She complained of how he had turned Ndudi to a punching bag rationalising very punch by saying she deserved it. She left after he beat her one night simply because she offered Ndudi’s nephew that visited a meal earlier that day. She said she was ready to start over and needed my assistance to obtain a masters degree application form. I gave her directions to the Post Graduate Institute and decided it was time to visit my folks.

It was not until the weekend that followed that I made the home trip. By then Ndudi had moved out and the tales were back. This time he added how Ndudi was forever making him out to be bad before strangers and how Golden wanted to turn him against his children. I hissed as I listened to him reel out his story to Mr. Oguche’s fourteen year old son. It is always about him. Never about how he beat up his women for the slightest things and how no one dared to correct him. Thankfully the neighbours remember what the sounds of beatings were like. My mother said he had been to our house twice to lament to my father what he went through in the hands of Ndudi and Golden but did not get his desired sympathy from my father.

I returned back to school two days later. I still remain glad that nemesis was still couched around him, making sure that he remains lonely. I will not be surprised if he marries more wives, tells more tales about them. There will always be that inner ache that neither the lies nor the beatings can soothe.

Keep faith...

* The story has been embellished to protect the identity of the persons involved.