"You are too selfless, James; you should consider leaving the country like your other colleagues. Doctors are hot cakes out there!" Hamdalat said over the phone after we excitedly shared life's experiences upon reconnecting again. We had just reconnected after losing contact for five years. She relocated to Kaduna from Kwara State, where we resided. Not long after, her line was switched off, and I kept dialing her line, which was repeatedly not connecting. Later on, the number I had was assigned to another person. I was deeply hurt; my pain knew no measure. My prayer was that she should be safe wherever she was, even though I was certain she had arrived and settled at her new location. Our one-year friendship had only just begun, and we could talk for hours almost every day.
She had walked into my consultation room in 2017 and presented with symptoms I considered not significant enough to cause concern, despite her look of anxiety.
"This is not necessitating any drugs, ma; I'll recommend some food and lifestyle modification, and you'll be just fine." I said it reassuringly, leaning on my consulting chair and smiling.
"You don't understand, doctor; I've read about this on the internet, and I'm scared." She continued, not giving up.
I shook my head and faked a smile. This time around, hearing the word internet seemed to cause an annoyance within me. "Why did she come to see a doctor if she was already seeing one on the internet?" I thought to myself.
"Would you prefer to be treated by the internet or enjoy the luxury of a physical doctor?" I asked sarcastically, trying hard to bury my dislike for the path she towed.
"Not at all, Doc; I'll stick to your advice, but if I don't see significant improvement soon, you'll see me hunting you in your DM!" She said this with a reluctant smile and an amusing expression, handing me her phone so I could punch my digits.
She was in her early twenties, dark and beautiful, and of moderate height. She wore a hijab to cover part of her face, yet was exposed enough to reveal her enchanting beauty and lofty cheeks whenever she smiled, which she did often. Giving her my phone number seemed harmless, and I was certain the lifestyle modifications I recommended to her would alleviate her symptoms.
Little did I know that that one-time encounter would be the beginning of a long-term friendship. Her symptoms were relieved without the use of drugs, and her agitation was placated. We found ourselves quite interesting to relate to, and we talked as though we had known each other for several years before then. As young and unmarried adults, we would have opted for a relationship, but we knew that religious diversity would do more harm than good, as I had already experienced one in my family.
When we lost communication, I desperately sought to connect with her and prayed that she would reach out someday. Sometimes in April, I got a call from a strange number.
"Hello, doctor, this is Opeyemi," the voice over the phone said.
"Hello, I'm James; how can I help you?" I replied. There was a momentary pause before she continued.
"I don't know if you remember any Opeyemi; I was your patient in 2017 when you were at Specialist Hospital, Alagbado." She said.
Hearing this, I felt this must be someone who was close to me, but I found it difficult to relate the name to any face. As much as I tried to dig up the person from my memory over the phone, it just wasn't connecting. She told me she got my number from an archive of contacts she saved on a memory card and thought to reach out. Since I could not place her name with any individual I knew, I appreciated her in a modest and non-offending tone. Immediately after I dropped the call, I went straight to my True Caller app on my phone, and the full name popped up: "Opeyemi Hamdalat Abiola". My heart raced hastily, and I immediately dialed the number back.
"Hamdalat?" I asked rhetorically.
"Yes?" She replied in a very low tone.
"You didn't know I was the one that called earlier?" She asked, and I felt a hint of sadness in her voice.
"I'm sorry; you knew I called you mostly Hamdalat. I am so glad to hear your voice; it's been five years." I apologized and continued.
We talked for almost an hour, even though it was during work hours, as we could barely contain our excitement while catching up on old memories.