“Gboom! Gboom!!” Bullets flying in the air; two hit her, and that was it! Bridget's family experienced an unexpected change! Patrick screamed heavily “Babe! No! God!” holding her stomach and leg,trying to block the blood flow, “Bridget, stay alive!" he screamed into her ears, but the bullets already pierced through.
The men carted away with their desires, the empty bullion van was perforated with holes from the gunshots, the men in uniform were wreathing in pain, and one lifeless, and there was Patrick in doubt of his faith, and maybe about to experience the death of his wife.
Sweat and tears trickled down his face, sympathizers had already gathered, some recording the incident with their smartphones, some shouting and not rendering any help; nobody wanted to be victimized.
Patrick struggled to pick out his phone from his wife's purse, he quickly dialed a number asking for help. Patrick knew to not depend on the emergency rescue of his country, even the uniformed guys were waiting for their rescue team. Struggling with using the T-shirt he had removed to stop the blood flow, with his left hand, he maneuvered the phone still calling, asking for help. Luckily enough, he heard a familiar voice, “Boss?!” Following the familiar voice behind was a woman strapping a baby to her back, and fear and anxiety plastered on her face, As she approached the scene, she kept on saying “Astagafulilahi, Allahuakbar!
Meaning, “Lord Have Mercy” and "God is the greatest” in Arabic. As she beheld her neighbor with whom she usually share little laughter with after work lying on the floor in a pool of blood, her fear became intense, she knew she wasn’t going to the NASFAT(Nasrul-Lahi-il Fathi) prayer that Sunday. Her husband, the one with the familiar voice, and Patrick carried Bridget; one of the victims of the incident as would be reported on the news swiftly into the car.
Patrick exuded courage amidst his fear and reddish eyes and placed her in the car. His hope was shredding; it was a nervous ride to one of the coolest private hospitals in town.
The stretcher was immediately reeled out for Bridget and she was taken into the emergency ward. Patrick raised his shaky yet thick voice to the nurses and doctors “Please do something quickly, she must live” A plum-looking male nurse gently directed him to stay at the reception while they did their work, he made to follow again; blocking his space to pass, the nurse told him with a grim smile, “Errrhh, Mr. Patrick, please have your seat at the reception, we will try our utmost best” As Patrick was making to return to the reception, he was met with another woman on the stretcher, with a bandaged blood-soaked leg; it must be a bloody day for Patrick.
As he got to the reception of the hospital, his mom entered hastily and questioned him, "Wetin happen? How Bridget?" still sweating profusely and shaking his leg, “I no know, dem gun her for belle and her keg” Atabuchi!” meaning God in Bekwarra; her native language; she yelled, and immediately took to praying for Bridget both in English and her native language to make it out alive. As she was praying,
he couldn’t hold it any longer, he had heard this kind of prayer early in the morning when she requested for her grandchildren, and he burst out in anguish “God abeg! Maybe I for no just go church, maybe we for no stop buy orange, I no just sabi” and started with another round of tears trying so hard to not make noise, his mother responded saying
“You go calm down, na man you be, no dey cry” his younger sister standing quiet not knowing what to do, patted his back and whispered into his ears “God is in control" and turned to her mom, code-switching English, and Bekwarra language like her mom had done while praying said; “Mommy chang e, iyi ri irichi, after all, he has a functioning tear gland” which translates to “Mommy leave him alone, he has eyes…” Her mother eyed her and turned her head saying no word.
On sighting the approaching doctor coming from the long passageway, Patrick's mum scurried to meet the doctor for an update on Bridget's condition. The calm-looking young man with dark eye bags sitting comfortably on his face to show the level of his stress, scratched his dark afro hair with a finger while talking, “Well, things are in control; we got the bullets out, just that…” “Just that what?!” Patrick’s mom cut in sharply and peered into the doctor's eyes, nearly making to hold his neck. Adjusting his glasses and still scratching his hair the way he did the other time, he spoke, calmly still, “Calm down madam” She replied “Okay” in a questioning manner and clasped her hands under her peplum top, reminding her of the day she was in a space and talk like this; the day she was widowed. “She has lost a lot of blood” the doctor continued. Patrick cut in nervously, “So what do we do about it?” With a slight smile creasing his eye bags, “We got it from our blood bank, she is being transfused at the moment." “Thank God” his sister replied from behind, “Although she has lost consciousness due to the delicacy of the issue and loss of blood, she is in a coma” The doctor completed his sentence. “So what do we do?” Patrick asked “We will do what we can do, while we wait and pray” Touching Patrick's shoulder to show support, he smiled and said “You should get some rest sir” and left to attend to other patients.
Day three came and went by, and Bridget was still lying still. The bubbling sound of the water still indicated that Kilograms of oxygen was flowing, the lines on the ventilator fluctuating showing that life still exists. Patrick went home that evening after silently asking God to heal her totally. He switched off the light in the sitting room and moodily went to his room. Laying on the bed, the hopeless romantic in him as some would say came out, he sniffed the gentle perfume on her dress and remembered the struggles they had gone through trying to make babies after 4 years of marriage, he wished and missed the argument of cuddling to bed or not from his touchy wife, he missed the gist exchange after the day was spent; it was a struggle to believe Bridget was coming back into his space based on how he saw her earlier on. He bit into his pillow to avoid screaming, threw a fist into the mattress, and voiced out “God, please, not like this, You remembered you told me you would walk through the storm with me, God did you leave me sinking?” It felt like if he had seen God’s face directly, he might have groped him on the neck for an answer.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into a month, and the incident felt like it happened a minute ago, the whole day was fresh in his mind. He recalled the angelic operatic voices of choristers that filled the church auditorium singing the “It is well” hymn. Just as the priest said the final blessings and was bowing, making to have his recession with other altar servers, Patrick and his wife quietly left because they didn’t feel like greeting anybody or remember the gossip and pity part party some women had formed for his wife who came back home crying and amazed that those women said ‘those things’ about her. He remembered the oranges they stopped to get, the sudden noise, the trembling from his wife, the shots, and the blood flow!
Honestly, it felt like God timed everything. He angrily continued his distraught after a series of sobbing and reminiscing, He spoke out as if conversing with a physical, “God not like this, God we were coming back from church, did you allow this by chance? The Devil definitely put a hand on my matter, definitely! cos why is this happening at the beginning of my leave? Maybe I shouldn’t have kept the Sabbath” he sobbed again, turning as if to prostrate on his bed, he bowed his head and simply said, “God, please, restore my Bridget.” He turned his head sideways and was met with the sight of a Formica-coated side stool. On it was placed a cooler of groundnut soup with beef and smoked catfish from Ajebuta Foods and Fufu, just the way he likes it. That night, he preferred instead to struggle with the chest pain and his rummaging thoughts rather than nourishing his stomach.
Day 37 came, quite a bright day, Patrick beamed with a smile as he met the nurse on duty making to leave the hospital room, “How is she today?” Her beautiful smile accentuating her orange lips and caramel-colored skin, she responded, “Progress! She moved today, you should see her” Patrick’s heart lifted with joy and hope. He became excited like a toddler given his favorite candy, he rubbed his palm and adjusted his shirt, he caught sight of Bridget properly, she was glowing in a way, Her fair skin looked pristinely beautiful, she actually looked better, even though unconscious. With the joy in his heart, he dropped a light kiss on her forehead, he then placed his hands there to pray for her. The doctor who had told him to pray and wait the other day entered the hospital ward, he still had the eye bags and knew how to smile with them, he simply said amidst the smile “She is four months gone” Patrick felt like it was a trick, “How?!” He screamed, “How is that even possible?!” Handing over the envelope, “It’s a rare case, that’s her result, we needed confirmation.” The doctor said beaming with a smile. Patrick didn’t say a word, he hugged the doctor so hard and said “Thank you so much”. As they separated, the doctor had more to say, “Well, the case is a little slippery, we hope they make it” The ‘Is this playing’ face came on Patrick, he wrinkled his face and made questioning gestures, trying to speak, he saw the movement from Bridget, she must have heard their conversation, the question he wanted to ask flew off, he moved to meet her, mesmerized and happy, he clasped his hand with hers gently, and watched her struggle to keep her eyes open.
A few minutes in, the doctors and nurses made to check her pulse and level of consciousness; in a flash, the vibrations and pulsating came, the gaggle of spit, the struggle with the oxygen tube, the tension, and the rush to resuscitate Bridget. Patrick felt like his head was going to burst as he held on tightly, “Bridget, you are staying with me, you are hale and hearty, and you are saved and protected by the Lord.” As Patrick trailed on with words of affirmation, the doctors and nurses were in the process of injecting her with medications and allowing her to calm down.
Immediately the seizure ceased, Bridget drifted into another sleep, this time with a more steady breath. “She is still shocked, allow her rest, she will be fine” the doctor uttered as if talking to nobody and everyone in the ward. He wrote his comment in Bridget’s file and left. Amidst Patrick’s spin of emotions from hope to happiness, to sadness, to fear, nervousness, and uncertainty, his sister’s gentle voice came to him, “God is in control”
25th August, 2023, it is a sunny day, it looked like it was going to be a good one. Bridget was still looking plum and pale from the baby she bored. Her pristine look boldened by her neat cornrows styled all back still showed little signs of things she had experienced. She whispered to her husband, “I am tired” “Come here” he replied while turning her into his embrace, he pecked her in a manner that restated that she belongs to him, hugging her deeply so that his shirt would clean her tears, he whispered like his sister to her ears “God is in control" Hands still interlaced, they both watched the tiny creature who was one breath away from death looking pale and fragile in the glass incubator.
She held her painful engorged breast making to cry again, he knew what was coming, he held her hand and made to leave, “Babe, it’s going to be fine, we have to leave now, you need some rest, before you know it, it will be seven weeks and Emmanuella will be ours to nurture. Thank God you are both alive” The words did no soothing to Bridget. She thought about the past struggles and the tiny babies before this tiny creature before them. She allowed the tears drop freely and silently, trying to avoid more discomfort from the vaginal tear and heavy breasts. Patrick knew when to be firm, he guided her out of the incubator space without looking at her face; the grim-looking nurse standing by already spoke with her body language that they leave.
Patrick turned to the nurse and smiled pleadingly “Please, take good care of my baby” She managed with a smile, Her rough hair roots showing through her bonnet did not help her forced smile, she replied, “We will, God will”
