mukoyo
The Invalid Citizen and Other Stories
For my grandma, Esther Willie Awerije
One
I scrawled my signature on the first page of the document and paused. The pen slipped off my sweaty fingers. It was not easy for me to put an end to one’s life.
Mira stared at me. Her eyes were remote, “If you truly love me, just sign it. You are the only family I have to permit this hospital to end these sufferings,” she said.
“How can I? I do not want to lose my only family. You are the only one I have in this world.”
“I cannot stay this way. I am troubling you.”
“Stay with me. I do not mind. Stay as long as you can. I do not want to be your murderer. I will not be a party to this.”
“It is not murder. It is suicide. I am killing myself. Do it, Tejiri.”
“I will not let you do this. Mira stay with me,” I held her pale fingers.
“Tejiri, you do not have a choice. Everybody will die one day. I am just going to die today.”
“No Mira, I do have a choice.”
“You should choose a sensible choice. Do it, and get back to your life. I am killing you with my illness. Tejiri, look at you. You are losing weight. I look chubbier than you are.”
I laughed. “You wish, you wish Mira,” I held her thin wrist, “yes, you look healthier than I am. That is why you should come home and take care of me. I miss all your soups and snacks. I wish a miracle could happen.”
“I would have been rid of this illness a long time ago if it exists. All the fruitless dry fasts, vigils and prayers on the mountain showed I am unlucky to get healing. Miracle does not exist. If it does, then its healing hands have forsaken me. Oh, the wonders of heaven and earth, I need a healthy second chance to breathe without fear it might be my last. The thought of leaving you is the only thing that scares me.” Mira turned her face away to hide the tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Mira, I am so scared of being without you. I will be so alone.” I cried.
Mira wiped her tears and turned to face me. She sniffed, “stop crying like a little boy. You are now a full-grown man. Those manhood balls and beards are not for fancy. Tejiri, do not be careless. You resigned from your job to care for me. I have asked your boss to withhold your resignation letter. He did a dying woman a favour, and gave you leave for a week. You have five days left. Tejiri, sign those papers and get back to living your life.”
Mira coughed blood for ten minutes. The sight was unbearable. I saw sorrows in her eyes and something mixed with an urgent plea. I picked up the pen and scribbled my final signature. A haughty nurse took the document away. Her smile and gait was triumphant. The near outcome of my action distorted my mind.
The doctor and two nurses returned with a lethal injection, “this would be fast. It is painless,” the doctor said.
I could not witness Mira’s death. I walked out of the room, thinking if my final decision was right. It had been unbearable to watch her suffer day and night. Mira’s belly pain, unswerving nausea, and vomiting had left a painful twist in my heart. The cancer punctured holes in her intestines. Mira fed through pipes, she excreted on the bed. Sometimes, when the waste welled up in her bowel, the feces passed through her mouth, nose, and anus at the same time.
Mira’s illness irritated some of the nurses. They were reluctant to attend her room. Once, I had heard a nurse gossip that I had lost my sense. ‘He is swelling with her sickness. How can one person comfortably breathe in this foul corpse?’
Mira had been my guardian angel. She was the shield that protected me after I lost my parents. I was fifteen year old. They died while protesting unpaid salaries and arrears. According to police report, stray bullets killed them. They were the backbone of the solidarity protest in Lagos. I had overhead Mira telling a colleague my parents were victims of a conspiracy.
My parents died as poor medical practitioners. Their professional and personal oath was to save life. They paid the hospital bills of strangers. After my parents’ burial, none of their relatives was willing to be my guardian. They learned my parents’ private hospital was bankrupt. Mira adopted me. She was a matron in their hospital.
I was weary. I shut my eyes. My head ached. It pounded to hear the confirmation on Mira’s death. I did not hear any footstep towards me until a hand touched me.
“Tejiri, we won. The Judge has granted you permission to take Mira home until she passes,” Kome said.
This news from Kome, my barrister gave me joy. I shed tears and hugged him tight. I ran towards Mira’s ward. I called out to the doctor to stop the procedure.
I waspanting by the time I reached the room, “stop doctor, your hospital has lost. You and your entire management have lost. I have won the case to take my Mira home. She is coming home with me.”
My lawyer came forward with the injunction letter, “please, release the patient to my client. Henceforth, he is her caregiver.”
My smile was radiant on hearing that statement, “yes, give my Mira to me. I know you all must have told her despicable things to make her hate herself and sought death as succour,” I touched Mira’s cheek.
She smiled weakly, “you are a fool. Oh, Tejiri, this is a foolish move. The stench will be so offensive in your home. After I am gone, the apartment will ooze for a long time.”
“Yes, Mira, that is what I want. I want your fragrance to linger forever,” the nurses’ faces hardened as they cleaned up Mira, “hey nurses, I know none of you want to do this. Shed these long faces, do it with some smile. This is Mira’s final departure from your hospital. I will take my Mira to an island. It would be Mira and me in paradise.”
“I cannot wait to see this paradise,” Mira said.
“It is just a small beautiful house on an island in Epe. Oh, Mira, you will love it.”
We were at the balcony. The morning sun cascaded upon us. The sun was like a healing balm. I was very cold last night; the mild heat soothed my skin. Mira felt at home. She was on a stretcher bed. I propped some pillows to support her back and arms.
“Tejiri, you are the greatest caregiver. I promise, I will not trouble you.”
She looked fragile. Most of her hair was gone. Her eyes were the colours of a green river, dull and sad. I could not see the happiness her face used to exude. I opened a bar of chocolate and took a bite.
“Tejiri please let me have some.”
“Mira, you are diabetic. This is sugary.”
She scoffed, “Tejiri, Tejiri, can a dead body die?”
“No way, I am sorry. You can have this Mira and the rest in the fridge.”
I opened the chocolate wrap some more and gave to Mira. She ate the soft chocolate with relish. She smiled. She savoured the taste and took another bite.
“Mira, it is time for you to have your bath.”
“Tejiri let me be. I love it here,” Mira snuggled deeper into the soft bed.
“I knew you would love it here.