Each step he took seemed like he was dragging along a ten-pound weight with his foot. Emeka felt like he was on fire one minute, and the next, he felt like he was dipped in ice-cold water. He knew he was really sick, but he was not ready to get back to being jobless. He would keep working.
This was two weeks since he started working with the builders and though it sometimes felt like suicide, it was better than nothing. Far better.
His mother now smiled with affection as she called him to eat, his siblings now demanded for things from him without being afraid of being disappointed, his father now see him as an adult, and looked at him with pride in his eyes.
He knew his job was one that could be quickly taken over, as there were many jobless youths ready for readily available cash. Getting two thousand naira every other day was not the best, but it was something manageable. He will battle the sickness until the end of the week when he will have enough money to do a laboratory test.
“Emeka, you well so? You be like pesin wey wan faint,” Azuka, his fellow labourer, commented as they poured the cement mixture into the constructed box-like shape which was to serve as a pillar. “You suppose go rest o. This work nor dey easy, and you begin do am before you tell your body sey you wan begin task am. Go rest before the body tell you sey e don tire and na better sickness be that.”
“I am fine,” Emeka replied gruffly, replying in English, knowing that Azuka hated it when he replied him in English. Looking around to be sure the manager was not around, he continued, “I don’t need a break. I am very fine thank you,” he walked away wondering whether he was the only one seeing things around him in blurred shapes.
He refilled his pan with cement and walked slowly towards where they poured the mixture, each step getting heavier.
“I am going to faint,” Emeka said to himself as his legs gave up trying to uphold him and gave way as he fell into unconsciousness.
The last thing he heard was Azuka saying “I talk am.”
Emeka heard the voices before he saw them. He slowly opened his eyes and saw a white ceiling.
Where was he, and why wasn’t he at work?”
“He fainted from Hypoglycemia...”
“Hypo...”
“The strenuous job spent up all the sugar in his blood faster than it was being replenished, though I think he also has a case of malaria,”
“I will prescribe some drugs for him and write the dosage. He needs adequate rest.”
Emeka turned his head to see a doctor explaining things to the manager who was obviously confused, and he recognised he was in the village’s clinic.
He made to stand up and was held back down by the observant doctor.
“Lay back down, you have to allow the drip finish before we can let you go. That was when Emeka noticed the intravenous drug dripping into his system.
“You don’t seem to like yourself. Your body must have given you signs of being unwell before you fainted and yet you ignored it,” the doctor continued, making Emeka look at the manager who no longer looked confused but seemed angry.
“Emeka don’t bother about work. Just rest. I have paid for your treatment,” the manager said to Emeka before turning to the doctor, “Thank you very much for reviving him. I have to get back to work.” he walked out without another word to Emeka.
Emeka knew he had lost his first job.
“Emeka, you are not strong enough to start work again,” his mother pleaded. “Please rest for two more days to make it up to a week so you can get yourself. Please.”
“Mama, I am now okay. I can’t keep lying down with the excuse that I am not feeling fine,” Emeka replied. “I have to look for something to do. I have lost the building job.” He hated his weak body for breaking down at such a time when he needed it.
“But you are still weak. I can see it. Come and rest, the God who provided before will do it again.”
“Mama don’t worry, I will not do anything strenuous,” he replied hurrying away before his father came out to join his mother in asking him to stay back. Hearing that he fainted had been a shock to them.
Minutes later, he was walking towards the mechanic shop where he used to hangout. Passing by the uncompleted building, he went in to thank the manager, and to ask wordlessly if he could get his job back. He found him at the back, taking measurements.
“Good morning Sir, I came to thank you for taking care of me.” Emeka said, walking carefully among the broken woods, stray nails and equipment. He didn’t want to return to the hospital.
“No problem Emeka, are you strong enough to be out of bed?” the manager asked, giving him a glance and getting back to his measurements.
“Sir, a man cannot afford to keep lying around when he has nothing in his pocket,” Emeka was hoping there was still an opportunity.
The manager decided to answer the unspoken question “I am sorry Emeka, you are not cut out for this kind of job. You are a hard worker and that will be to your advantage no matter what job you do. You can do something else, just be observant and look for opportunities, don’t just focus on one point. Open your mind.”
Seeing Emeka to the front, he noticed some workers not working. “What is happening? You don’t get paid to sit around doing nothing.” he directed the question to the closest idle worker.
“No cement,” the worker replied, sounding almost happy.
“Not again,” The manager muttered to himself, then looking at Emeka, he said “I hope you understand, allow your body heal properly, then look around. Here, have this” he squeezed some money into his hand. I have to get back to work. Take care.” he walked away, already dialling a number on his phone.
Emeka took his last look at the uncompleted building, not checking to see how much he was given until he was out of the sight of the workers. He counted five thousand naira, and almost danced. At least he was paid for his sick leave.
He got to the mechanic shop and got a bit depressed to find himself back there.
“Oga mechanic, how far,” he greeted the workshop owner who was cleaning a mini-truck as he walked to his usual spot to watch passing cars, not waiting for an answer.
Not wanting to be lost in himself, he turned to the mechanic to strike up a conversation. “Who get that one?” he asked, referring to the truck he cleaned. He knew most of his customers, as they were mostly return customers. The truck was a newcomer.
“Na me get am o. I buy am but I never pay finish,” pride showed on the mechanic’s face as he spoke.
“Kadiri, wetin you wan use am do? You just see motor buy abi?”
“I never know, but I don get motor, na him I know. E no concern you,” Kadiri replied, his Yoruba accent becoming pronounced as he spoke firmly to avoid Emeka dampening his joy.
“No vex. Na better thing.” Emeka didn’t want to lose his hanging out spot.
He was still watching Kadiri cleaning his car as he whistled happily when he got an idea. Not wasting any time, he spoke up.
“Kadiri, you go fit dey borrow me your motor?”
