It was on a scorching, sunny Friday afternoon. I was walking pass the Casualty section of the General Hospital [odan] Marina, Lagos. Though everything about me seemed to be tired; my legs; eyes and other part of my body, more because I had been walking around like someone without aim or destination. My black skin with the aid of the sun glittered in the white chase-deer t-shirt I wore; a black pencil trousers hung on my waist and my locally made; #500 bend-down select palm fit into my dust filled foot. Although the day seemed to have started well but I never knew what it had in stored for me.
The smell of medications; odour of sore treated and bandaged wounds rouse the atmosphere. The cool breeze that blew from the Marina waters-combined with the offensive smell of locally made izal and air freshener emanated from the toilets and rooms of the casualty building. Houseflies were flying here and there happily, looking for where to perch; on wounds, dustbins, galas, doughnut or meat pies-being eaten by those who stood at a red canteen with Coca-Cola signage nailed to the top of the kiosk; immediately below the almost rust ‘aluminum sheet roof’ ready to lick rain waters whenever it rained.
The buildings of the hospital all appeared to look the same, with little modifications that made it easy to differentiate the Pharmacy apart the Emergency/Casualty building; the Ward apart the Radiological building. The blue roofs with fully grown weeds on them were slant sideways for erosion purposes. I imagined the rain drenching those who sat beneath the drainage when it rains cats and dogs.
I heard a car horn and looked back. There stood an 8ft gate with topped sharp ridges protruding atop it. A gateman who wore a green bib like those Julius Berger contractors or those football teams one saw at various under-bridges in Lagos; with the words `Ask from me’ written with red ink on it, below the back muscle-, opened the gate and a car drove in.
I stood on a spot for a moment when I saw the car being driven recklessly towards my path.
I made way since I didn’t have a clue of the driver’s intentions. Perhaps, he might be a ‘Yaba-left` patient.