The fire call-a close shave

Darkness was ensuing, the stillness of the night was stealing in on us, all things visible in daylight were putting on a darkened veil, becoming an ambiguity to sight, save those illumined by the man's machination, while things inconspicuous became candid. That which was to our way clear would at varied times dim our perception-the dazzling lights that keep watch of the city. The very luminance that proffered a sense of safety in the dark alleys somehow instilled in us a sense of defenselessness -an easy sighting by night quacks- nightly marauders.

We took each stride with brevity, each step longer and brisker than the former. We fell short of levitating as we maneuvered the ever winding paths. Our lips ware paced, heart racing, yet we gathered courage from our number-a trio of night walkers. We dared not walk in silence too long,for then our untamed imagination would run wild, a perfect recipe for self bred consternation. A continued round of discourse kept all unwarranted thoughts at bay. 

In stroke of luck, or perhaps unnatural intervention, we spotted a minivan/minibus. We waved in concordance. The door of the little 'courier' was slid open way before the 'nightly express' could come to a an auspicious halt for our climb-nothing out of the ordinary, perhaps an old trick of the trade. In sighs of relief, we went aboard. There was not much room in the 'inn' but there was plenty of warmth and safety. We slithered our way to the back cottage as it were (back seat), the least desired in this kind of a 'cell'. 

We started off in the far distance. At ease, we spoke of the day's errands. We were oblivious, perhaps insensate to all the proceedings around us, save to make payment for our ride-hitch. 

As per custom, the the mighty fortress was brought down-the door was slid open as the bus took another steady halt, per adventure to rescue others from nightly fetters of the pedestrian's lot. This time however, the door stayed open far much longer. But we dared not question the competence of the man behind the operation. We waited for the engine's morn. In a moments breathe, or a epiphany as it were, a strange consternation filled all aboard, we were an exception.  All secured themselves towards the door, as if running for dear life's sake. Others feigned for an exit via the windows, but that escape route could not grant passage to anyone within. Men and women disembarked in pairs or trios, a case of  diapedesis indeed, where ordinarily one would be permitted passage. 

We concluded it must be a fire-"The vehicle is on fire!". We soon followed suit, out of the cabin, we dared not brave the flames' incinerating prowess. To our amazement, there was no fire at all, no fumes or flame. We wondered then what had transpired.

We took a second look into the little carrier. The man behind the wheel was still in his seat, as if bolted to it. His head, swung over the neck rest, eyes rolled up, froth emanating from his oral cavity (mouth), with jerky movements, as if suffering a electrocution in a slow paced fashion- a terrifying site to many, yet not unfamiliar to us. We quickly rushed to open the door to the driver's seat, turned off the mini and pulled the man out, lest he stepped on the gas peddle, an outcome we cowered to fathom. He was more than the average man in height and weight-the attempt to free him from his seat took a little more than a few minutes wind before we finally dislodged him. We put him in a left lateral position (recovery position) behind the driver's seat- I took charge of his stability while my two buddies took over the mini. As the engine was started, the little crowd was poised in a dilemma.  Should they remain on the side walk in the dark or get back in the bus that had just been high-jacked on medical grounds? But of course they had little reason to stay out, as they rushed back in. We raved off speedily towards the hospital.
On our way, in a rude escapade, another mini decided to overtake us when no opportunity was provided -making us veer off  the road, but in a Divine interposition, I may add, my colleague regained control off the little machine. The crowd within, now fearing for their lives once again, perhaps in a close call of fate, they hurled curses at the driver of the offending party. Whether that brought relief to their fear-struck hearts was anyone's guess, perhaps a little confessing would follow soon after the dust, or drama settled, as the conscious was granted its rightful seat once more.

We reached the hospital, but just as we were about to rush the convulsing driver to the emergency department, he fully regained consciousness, was no longer frothing  and was able to stand on his two feet. A little cool nightly breeze soon saw him well oriented to time, place and person. Another mini came over. It was the rudely interposing mini. Yet we dared not engage in any squabbling, we simply left the scene. Our part was played, not in perfect picturesque scenes but in perfect timing.  We had a false fire-call, but a close shave it was. We had come to our abode- 'in three pieces'. 

The road between

Life has it that we meet people in our path. Some headed our way-in or out of pace, some the  contrary direction, and some just cross our path, like a wind that raises a bout of dust, whirling it high soon vanishes to be as though it had not been. But whatever the case, we are woven into bonds fickle or not, lasting or momentary. We leave an impress on others as much as they leave their prints in our track. And when life does not grant us the chance we desire to meet with folk of a particular type, we wade our way through it's maze to get into their tracks. Per chance we may find one who makes our jagged life a little more mollified . We may have little luck on determining who walks our lane, yet we are not decrepit of the right to choose who sticks around.

Like a planetary body knocked out of its circuit, I wandered off my busy rut. I paved my way to a coccus of lads by the apartment balcony. I was soon lost in the canvas as I unconsciously weaved my way to take lead of the conversations that prevailed. The sun was setting, and in its departure, it seemed to have set in motion a cascade of beauty augmentation. I paused as I watched and directed everyone's attention to the 'mirage of beauty' that trailed the streaming rays of light with their golden shy. In a distance, a lady was seen walking along the side walk,on the other side of the road. In a moment, I seemed to have contracted a fixed gaze deformity as my eyes glared in awe. Was her form augmented in beauty by the setting sun too, was it a mirage? I did not dare keep in mind that which would becloud my mind, so I cast a blind eye ,looked away. Like it is said , 'out of sight ,out of mind'.
I had always held the thought that men ought to be emotionless, ice cold, rock hard-immovable perhaps . Like machines, men were to have a purpose fixed, with nothing to destruct. I had repented of my flow that had left me spelled bound at the sight of a supposed beauty laced damsel. I had committed a felony against my hard wired morals. That was not to have a repeat in action or thought. Of course this did not imply any lack of the human feelings of empathy, sympathy, the ethos of living.  Perhaps, something of a shell with a hard casing with a soft center. I was still human.

With heavy perspiration on my brow, I had completed my days work in my unconventional office. One that required not less than several hours standing on end trying to probe into many a man's malady and somehow determine the course of a curative. I worked as one whose life was of little worth in comparison to those whose lives were at the brink, ready to turn ashen gray-to ebb away into peaceful, yet loathed silence. I had to be composed in the face of death and all the mourns and groans that would oddly be absent, and the 'over the roof' ululations that beckoned at every new arrival to life. The day's work was done, I had put many a piece together, sometimes torn to pieces myself, but I had learnt the art of a flat face when I could barely hold myself together. I checked out. I walked back to my apartment, not with a bright hue or ruddy face of the morn, but a worn out visage.
As I reached the staircase of the apartment, I beheld a lady in bright apparel walk gracefully unaccompanied, she walked past me with a courtesy 'Hi'. I retorted with 'Hey'. Perhaps I was not previewed to the meaning of such a plane, seamless greeting. Yet out of disinterested care, I asked, "Where are you headed to?" She smiled and replied,"I'm going to get a little something to chew on at the grocery store"As we parted ways, I exclaimed "and by the way, my name is Nkule, Nkule Kwesu!" She once again smiled, "I know you Nkule". I was getting a little uneasy, I wondered how she knew me and I did not. Sue was her name, and it happened that she was the lady I had seen while on the balcony, a number of days earlier.
In a betrayal of my good old code, my mouth spoke out of sync with my will, but before I could correct my erring attitude, Sue gladly accepted my request to escort her, ''Awww, that's so nice of you, I'd be glad if you did".  I walked her to the store as though forced to swallow a bitter pill. Yet Sue was unmindful of my begrudged demeanor,  in fact, by the time reached the store, she had me chuckling to jokes that did not even sense. The bitter pill had a sweet savoury center, it turned out.
That day my repose was different.  I no longer rolled or tossed in bed screeming,' Vitals, pulses, check the RBS...or We are loosing him, or perhaps, secure the IV line!'  I felt a different hue in the milieu.
One may be right to say I was entranced. In thought I begun to to concoct what may be termed the un-penned chapter of the classical book of song of songs, as it were, in my unwonted imagination: Poem to the beloved.
What are words my love, if they amount to naught. Would you have me move mountains to prove them, or perhaps cross the deep, sail the coasts , amass the greatest amount of wealth? Would you have me sing in sweetest note, sweeter than angels? If I had wings to fly, I would fly to you always. I would take you on a voyage of the unknown, wonders from the creator's hand. We would together seek the ends of the earth, to find where the sun lodges as it sets, or its bed as it awakens. We would seek out the storehouse of the wind, the clouds and the rain. And perhaps the rainbow too.
Where are you my love. My heart pants for you no less than a doe pants while in escape from a wolf. I own no mansion to pamper you. I own no army to protect you. I own nothing save a delicate garden with almonds, roses fare and rare. The vine and the pomegranate too. Come and share in the beauty of simplicity.  Should you feel the need to cry, I have more than a shoulder to cry on, should you feel lonely, I have more than a heart to keep you company, should you feel cold, my arms a long enough to extend round you for warmth. Should you desire to laugh, It's good medicine, I practice it. If eternity be our lot , I would wish to spend it with you.
Oh that I would not be entranced by anything else. Oh that you would bless me with your love.
For the first time in ages I blushed. I had contracted a new friendship. I would now have reason to knock off in good time to check up on a new friend. But I dared not put myself on the spotlight, for I had fallen from the strength of a man as it were. I had associated myself with the caste of a different kind.
We laughed, we grieved and sometimes cut communication. We sometimes rubbed against each other so much that we felt it better that we each went our own way. Unlike machines that have a reduction in friction the more they rubbed against each other, humans, it seems have a direct increase in friction the more they rub against each other. Sometimes an index of incompatibility.  However, more often than not, we swallowed the bitter pill offered us by pride ,and reconciled.
With time however, it was becoming apparent that Sue and I had walked off kilter in the same lane. She was well poised for success in life with pretty much all the amenities to get her to her goal in life. I on the other hand was a downtown lad, that had escaped or at least was trying to evade the 'plague' as it were. I was indebted to many to reach this far. Like many a lad that had to bare with the scruples of life, I was bent on making others happy and possibly proud, more than myself. Perhaps this too kept me aloof from creating any extra bonds with anyone, for how should I face them that patiently await my success at the end of the road? Sue had little to prove, all she needed was to graduate and get herself a job. Though we got along quite well, one could not help but notice the uneasiness that came with the reality that I was in the doldrums of life.
Soon the heaving earth was becoming apparent as the road between was widening. Perhaps a telling of a gruesome reality. Nature had wired our opposite caste to associate with a lad with propensity or ability to provide. And rightly so. However , I was never taught to belittle my capabilities. 'Aim high son' was not just a byword, it was the match word. Soon Sue left, headed to a land far out of reach. I sobbed. Not for distance in topography, but for distance in hearts.
I recounted the moments we spent together. My mind brought to memory the first meeting, a perfect rendezvous . And now like an arithmetical tangential line that comes to meet at a point, we met and now part. Perhaps we sometimes meet to part .
Happiness is momentary, enjoy it while it lasts. Joy is a principle, grow it, when all around is stale, it shall be the sunlight through the window.
Now i stand once more on the balcony of my apartment, not to gaze upon any form or being, but to breathe deep, to appreciate the barriers that separate us, and the road between that brings us close, knitting us into a fabric.

The OT.

Walking down the corridor, I stopped to check the time on my analogue wrist watch,it was not quite clear, so I gave it a little mouth steaming and hand rub. Still I could not make much of anything, the hands of time all seemed to be at equal length. I decided to turn aside for a face wash, and then took another look, it was 4 in the morning. I did not realize I had spent the whole night awake. Perhaps I was unconsciously awake. It had been a long night,for the length of the corridor seemed longer than usual, my feet heavy and the chills of the early morn were starting to be noticed on my goose bumped skin. The silence in the corridor was searingly cold- i could almost hear every breath i took and every squeak on the ground was augmented.

I had just come out of the operating room. All scrubbed up, I had been the assistant during a cesarean section delivery. My first I must add. I was ecstatic. Like a shuttle ready to launch into outer space, we set out with a mission called 'Cesar'. From scalpel to needle driver, screens to lighting-all was set. At T-zero, all was hushed, I could hear no other sound save the voice of my attending obstetrician and the monitors that tentacled from the operating table. I had read thus,"in medicine,failure is fatal" ,I could not afford  to fail, the price was too high-life. I felt a little entitled to a successful operation, my wits told me it was not an unwonted thought, not a bigoted entitlement.  After all, the glory,if any, I would receive would not amount to the joy the new bundle would bring to the family, I presumed. However, medical pedagogy has it that the best doctors or surgeons, as we operated in that case, were not bereft or free from the clutters of failure, perhaps had encountered it more than the quack or the good old MD.

Seconds passed, and in the same train, minutes. We delved in, first the blade then the re-tractor. Incisions were meticulously made across the lower part of the belly, for our presence at site was not to be apparent once all was done. Unlike an artist desirous of a perfect finish we desired no trace of our being.  Every disturbance in the natural frame was to be made with great caution. The first cut was not to be the deepest. It was to be the finest! For a moment, the road was as smooth as it could get, till we encountered the menacing vasculature. The path was no longer as clear as before. Blood oozed from every corner. It was as if we had hit a landmine, or were hit by a blizzard . "Suction,suction!" the call rang out, and I was quick to the task,'' Suctioning, suctioning!''. The way was once again maneuverable. A few spurts of blood remained but nothing a good wash would not do. Soon we had reached the womb. A semblance of great workmanship-a bulwark to keep all marauders out, and inhabitants hemmed in. Yet our arsenals were built for the task, the walls came down as the dissecting tool was laid on, and as if in applause or a stand innovation, a gush of clear fluid pored forth. The little lad was brought out and with a loud cry. A paradoxical cry of freedom. Freedom from a home that was starting to feel a little estranged.  Yet the new world was too different, unknown. It was covered in liquor and clung to its mother with a cord of life till it was severed, withstanding that, the cry had rendered its connection void, needless for further sustenance of life. From that time on, the breath of life was in ts nostrils. The new earthling had made a successful transition. For some, the plot was a different one. The womb was to be  their home and grave too. Nature had tried to relegate it to the same fate as others who failed to make it out in good time, but in a perfect bid, against the odds, it survived. Nature's natural train had been evaded, mother and baby could live to smile another day.

We soon sutured up the evacuation site. And in no time, all was over. A sigh of relief and appreciation of life. All done, we left the OT as was termed. Performed the scribe's ritual of record keeping, for once again in medicine, 'If it was not written, it was not done!'.
We walked out as men of valour. No applause or wreaths awaited us, we had more than enough to make up for it with the joy of seeing the mother and baby off the operating table full of vigor, and perhaps the half a mark or two for the successful procedure in my student's logbook.