A Country where “We Die Anyhow”

Sometimes, until something happens very close to us, we hardly get the import of the complaints about certain shortcomings and social malaises.
 
I had a need to move a new vehicle back to my home in Delta State. The fellow that usually runs such errands for me was not within reach, forcing me to accept a suggestion from an elder brother to source one from Delta State itself. The driver, in company of a relation soon arrived Lagos. The plan was that they will take the vehicle home next morning.  
Given the enormous space in the vehicle, we decided to move a few things, including some equipment back home. A man who helped to procure those equipment offered to join the duo so he could both install the equipment and undertake some corrective services on previous works done, The man is Mr Sharafa Toriola, a buddy who had worked with me for over 15 years. In the said period, he had more than proved his deep loyalty, honesty and undiluted commitment to my good and progress. He had long become an extended and respected member of my family. An Abeokuta-born man whom I had come to trust even more than some of my blood siblings.
On Wednesday, November 23, Sharafa arrived very early at my home, in his car, preparatory to join the duo who came to pick the vehicle. All three rushed through breakfast and hurried into the vehicle, a van. Sharafa dropped his car key with me, having parked it. “I will pick it on Friday when I return”, he said, with his usual smile as he busied himself with packing his small travel bag which had his work tool as well. He was an electrician.
 
Not quite an hour after they left, he called me on phone to say the battery of the new vehicle had ceased to work , causing the engine to go off. I was curious why a battery which had never shown sign of weakness would suddenly fail. But Sharafa was determined, as usual, to quickly find a solution. “ Shall I quickly buy a new battery?’, he asked. I enquired if he had as much money on him, to which he said yes. “Ok, then”, I  told him, still wondering, under my breath, why the battery failed. Pronto, he bought another battery and the journey continued.
 
About two hours later, my phone rang again. It was the number of one of the two who came from Delta State. I thought it was to give an update of how far they had gone. I was wrong. Some strange voice was on the other end. In a rough and rushed voice production, he announced that there was an accident. His voice was as clumsy as his message. He managed to indicate the location of the accident: some two minutes drive from the Redemption Camp, along Lagos-Ibadan express way. Pronto, in the company of a friend, I dashed off, driving as fast as the Lagos traffic could allow, with a good deal of tension and apprehension; trying intermittently to call all the lines of the three persons, with little or no success.
 
We soon got to the accident scene and saw all the goods carried spilled on the road side. One of the trio had some injury, but was stable. Sharafa had been rushed to the Olabisi Onabanjo Teaching Hospital, Shagamu, about 15-minutes drive away, from the scene of accident, having had a deep cut on his right arm.
Eyewitnesses explained that another car, a Black Highlander SUV, driven by a 40-year old man, had lost control and in attempt to regain control of the car, rammed into our vehicle, causing the latter to tip off the road and summersaulted three times, ending up in a ditch. There was plenty of blood both in the vehicle’s cabin and on the ground.
 
The driver of my vehicle rushed Sharafa to the hospital in the vehicle of the man who caused the accident. They stopped over at the Federal Road Safety Corps’s Accident and Emergency Office at the Shagamu Interchange, for possible First Aid treatment, since Sharafa was bleeding profusely. Sadly, there was not even a drop of iodine or cotton wool at the “Accident and Emergency” outpost of the FRSC! But they had an ambulance (without any first aid whatsoever) with which Sharafa was rushed to the hospital.  What kind of Highway safety outfit would not have anything whatsoever to attend to an accident victim? Were these not some of the changes we expected with the Buhari government?  The bleeding continued. At the “Teaching” hospital, they insisted on registration before treatment. Eager to save his life, it was quickly paid (N7,000).
The nurses soon realised that he had lost so much blood, and would need blood transfusion. But the blood bank was empty, prompting the hospital officials to ask those who rushed Sharafa to the hospital to go and donate blood. Again, they willingly did. But they said, understandably, that the blood has to be screened. While that was going on, the hemorrhage continued. The fellow was now gasping. They suddenly rolled in the Oxygen machine, only to realize, also that it had no gas. They tasked those around the victim to bring money (N4,000) to go and buy gas. In all these, two critical hours had passed. There were no signs of being in a hurry, even though it was in an “Emergency Unit” in a TEACHING HOSPITAL. How can a teaching hospital not have gas in its Oxygen machine? Is it only one oxygen machine they have?  What are they possibly teaching the medical students there? Human lives mean very little to them. The attitude was lousy, slow, morbid and wickedly indifferent.
And while they rolled their bums and fluttered about with criminal negligence, Sharafa drew his last breath. And Sharafa died! It is a deep cut. I wept like never before. With prime and prompt attention Sharafa could have been saved.
 
Painful as that was, two other incidents made it    even more annoyingly painful. We came for the body the next day and applied for the Death Certificate. There was some reluctance in issuing it. One of the nurses who had shown some faint flashes of humanity in her had tried to assist by persuading the female doctor, Dr Yomi-Adebanjo, who certified Sharafa dead, to issue it. The doctor was to retort, with noticeable ghoulish callousness, “what does an electrician need dead certificate for?” OMG! I made to challenge that silly and thoughtless comment and ask if Death Certificate was issuable only to the Big men and Big women or the nobles of the society, but the nurse gave an eye contact that pleaded for quiet.
 
The other incident was getting the body released from the terribly smelly mortuary. The attendant who registered the corpse the day before, insisted that we brought, among other documents, a court affidavit showing that indeed, the person died. I could not entertain such stupidity anymore. A corpse is in your custody and you demand that we prove, with a court affidavit, that the person is dead Such slavish indiscretion! He saw my eyes. I did not make two sentences before he released the body.
 
I bemoaned my fate to a doctor-friend who condemned the I-don’t-care attitude of many health personnel in public hospitals, and noted that it is such criminal acts of professional negligence that “make people die anyhow in this country”.
Gosh, Sharafa died. A trusted and honest man left, just like that. Who can question God? Even though we are perplexed, the Holy Book, enjoins us to yet give thanks “in all things”. Yes, It could be worse. What if, for instance, all three died? Sharafa, my man, ally and friend, sleep peaceably!
 
 
 POLSCOPE
with Eddy Odivwri
eddy.odivwri@thisdaylive.com   08053069356