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The door clicked open and Bayo entered, clutching two takeaway packs, a triumphant smile hovering over his face. I looked from his beaming face to the takeaway packs, praying that one was not for his girlfriend (unless he wasn't hungry). He stopped a few yards from the mattress and spread his arms dramatically.


"No hello to daddy?" he mused.
I closed the novel I was reading . "Where have you been? Chioma has terrorised my phone since morning. "
"Well," he pulled out a plastic reading chair and sat, keeping the waterproof bags on the table. "I've been meeting with Alhaji..."
"You can't be serious!" I exploded. "What's wrong with your head? We should be rounding up NYSC next month and all you could think of is some silly political meetings?"
"I know. After NYSC, what next?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I'm planning for life after service, OK? I won't finish service and still rely on my parents for upkeep. No."
"And you believe the best way of preparing for life after service is by getting involved in electoral malpractice?" I asked, reaching for a plastic hand fan to ease the heat on my body.
"Emeka, nothing will happen to me. The agreement is just to look the other way when the party thugs come for the ballot boxes...no exchange of words, no blow. No greetings sef! "

"This is Nigerian politics, bro. It's not always what it seem."

"I know," he said, in that way that way that makes you picture a cul-de-sac. I even think I saw the beginning of a frown before he got up to hang his shirt in the wardrobe. I turned to my book.

"What did you tell Chioma when she called?" His tone was commanding rather than interrogatory. He has sensed the stiff air our little argument has brought into the room, the thinly veiled moral distance between us, and he wasn't ready to wave the olive branch yet.

"I told her you went for CDS," I answered absent-mindedly.

"My battery died." He sounded half-explanatory, half-apologetic. He was was buttoning a fresh, crisply-ironed shirt.

"Have you charged it?"

"Just 20 percent. I'll take the gallon on my way out and look for a boy to bring back fuel with it. You'll help me and charge the phone. I should go and see that small girl."

"Alright," I said. "Your apology would have been sweeter if you took a bath."

"Get out," he laughed. "My perfume should take care of that."

He walked to the door. "In case you're hungry," he pointed to the takeaway packs, "one's for you." He gave me a wink and left the room. I waited until his footsteps faded, then I closed the novel and went to the takeaway packs, deciding to check out both for the larger piece of meat.

#following

Truth24 thanks for following.

*****
I was scrapping off the last bits of meat from the helpless chicken bone when a knock came on the door, followed by a familiar voice saying he's brought the fuel.

"OK, Ali. Thanks. I'll see you later." He scurried away.

After disposing the takeaway pack, I fueled the small generator and put on an R and B selection. I plugged in Bayo's phone, plugged in mine, switched on the data connection and opened the tabs on the opera mini in the usual order: nairaland, goal.com, facebook.

Nairaland's front page was as eclectic as usual: a bomb had exploded somewhere in the north, some obscure group had given the president an ultimatum to resign, a woman from Florida had married her dog while one of the numerous prophets in Nigeria has released yet another unsolicited --often attention-seeking -- prophecy.


I scrolled further down: a bored teenager with cheap internet data at her disposal was asking whether the sex she had in her dream could deflower her... I hurried over to check the uninteresting activities of the winter transfer window. Wenger was saying nothing about a new striker yet, banking on Giroud to bring in the goals. His headache!


On facebook, Temi was online but hadn't replied my offline message since yesterday. She probably won't, until I explain why my ex tagged me in her facebook update, "Old wines are tastier". I prayed she understands that I didn't solicit the tag and have no clue as to why she tagged me. But since faith without work is dead, I dropped a lifeless "Hello, bae" and switched over to nairaland.

DO NOT MAKE ME COME HERE BEGGING FOR UPDATES!!!

I think I like your work, will come back to "hoe the weed" if there's any .

^^
I'll try not to. And come with the hoe, I'm alright with it.

Cool, I'll be back

^^
I'll be expectant.

My interest was immediately captured by the latest topic on the just-refreshed page. It read, 'Gone before noon: a list of young lives lost in electoral violence'.


I was on the third page of the thread before I realized I had to stop. Someone had painfully documented a list of promising youths whose lives had ended abruptly as they got caught up with one form of electoral violence or the other. The victims had met with varying degrees of horrible deaths: beheading, roasting, slitting of throats , gouging of eyes and outright dismemberment.


A particular case kept replaying itself in my mind, more for its sheer proximity than its heinousness. A young, ballot box-snatching man was hacked down by opposition party agents. His pay-masters had promised him absolute security (as promised Bayo) only to abandon him at the mercies of the merciless. His father said he was only recently admitted to the state university and urged no one to cry for him because he had chosen to die...


Bayo... God!


I don't want to lose him. I met him at the orientation camp and we had gotten along really fine since then. We've always believed the goal of establishing the NYSC has been fulfilled in us, if nothing else. We, that is, I, Bayo, his Igbo girlfriend Chioma and my Yoruba girlfriend Temi.


Bayo grew up in a poor home and was determined to change his family's fortunes. I've often advised him to take things easy. I'm not from a wealthy family, but I'm desperate to be rich. I believe in doing what I
have to do. At a point Bayo questioned my roots because, according to him, he has never met an Igbo man who isn't desperate for wealth.


As thoughts of that young man crept into my mind again, I decided to attempt talking Bayo out of his potentially fatal decision. He may not listen, but what have I got to lose by telling him?


Just then, a Facebook notification popped up on my screen. It was a message from Temi: "Boo...sorry for being the drama queen. Will you be home tomorrow?"

My pulse quickened. I grinned stupidly and rebuked myself for it. I should be in school tomorrow. Actually, I have a test to give my students. But I could always call in sick and stay back... I'm going to be sick, I think.

The popping sound of the notification came again. "Sugar...you there?"

''Yes. Sure, I'll be home tomorrow. "

"OK...be ready," she replied.

"Hmm...for what?"

"Shut up...zzz..."

"Haha. OK. Good night."

My hormones started celebrating the good news. I thought of Temi, of the last time, and imagined the next time. I sent her an offline message to come early and surrendered to the numbing powers of sleep.

Hmm oga slap1 i dae gbadun d tory o...hmm folowing...am here wit my guguru o...abeg na front row i dae so o abi no b so?

Cybershow
Na so ooo!
Manage this small update; I'm having a little health challenge.

Bayo stopped replying my messages on WhatsApp. He said I was being unreasonably paranoid. The local government elections was going on and he's already at the polling station. I had a bad dream about him but couldn't tell him before he left this morning. He'd see it as another cowardly attempt to stop him.


3:pm.


I pestered him one more time, spicing up my worry with a request for a nairaland-bound update.

"Hey, Bayo. What's the situation of things there? Someone's asking on nairaland..."

"All iz well, Obyno. Go take a nap; nothing dey happen." He laughed and ended the call.


I stared at my phone for a while and decided that maybe I was being unnecessarily paranoid. Then I remembered the bad dream...well, someone had said you're likely to dream about your last thoughts before going to bed. And God couldn't have been talking to me through my dreams, not with the things I do with Temi... He can't behold iniquity...


Steady frantic knocks on the door tore me away from sleep. I quickly sat up on the mattress, rubbing away the last traces of sleep from my eyes.

"Obyno! Obinna! Obyno! Baby!"


For real? I flew to the door and yanked it open. Chioma and Temi ran into the room, practically running me over. I turned around to face them. One was on the mattress; the other was slouching on the reading chair. Both of them were sobbing uncontrollably. I feared the worst.

Slap1 am grateful wit d smal update..may my God heal u..ijn..av a quick recovery..ijn

I tapped Temi's back, she looked up. "What happened?" I mouthed inaudibly. She was quiet for a while. Then she sniffed, wiped her tears a bit and answered, "Bayo is in the hospital. There was some kind of trouble after the voting and someone stabbed him. "

"Jesus!" I quickly rushed to the wardrobe and threw on a shirt on the jean trousers I wore. "Do you know the hospital?" I asked, buttoning the shirt. "Let's go," I snapped, taking my wallet from the reading table.

Chioma rose from the mattress, still sobbing. "Nne stop crying, OK? Nothing will happen to him." She nodded faintly. I held the door open and we got out.


The streets were deserted. It was typical of a post-riot scene in Nigeria. People crawled into their houses to avoid illegal arrests. Understandably, there were no taxis or okadas . I walked briskly, ignoring the ladies behind as they tried to catch up.

I saw a police car coming from the opposite direction. I quietly prayed there won't be problems. My NYSC ID card was in my wallet, I thought, just incase...

Expectedly, the police car flashed its headlights twice and the officer in the front seat waved us to stop.

"Yes? Where una dey go?"
"Good evening officers, " I greeted. Chioma and Temi had now caught up with me but maintained a wary distant. The Nigerian police are unpredictable.

"Where una dey go?" he repeated, ignoring my greetings.

"Erm...a colleague of ours was injured in the riot and we're on our way to the hospital to see him."

"Who are you? Which colleague?"

"We're corp members, sir."
"OK. Be careful," he said and the car moved on.

**

The hospital was rowdy. Shocked, fearful faces stood and sobbed and conversed in hushed tones, surly nurses went about with trays of drugs, clearly annoyed that we all should connive to disturb their peace.

After ten minutes of guarded questions, we were directed to Bayo's ward. It was a large room with about ten beds or so, all occupied. Three nurses were moving around the patients, administering treatments and whispering things.


We saw Bayo. His head was heavily bandaged, quite like his leg and hand. He suddenly looked pale, his eyes sank deeper. Chioma and Temi moved closer to me and held my hands out of fear. Here was our lively Bayo, now a sickly heap of bandages. They resumed sobbing. I pressed their hands firmly to stop them from sobbing.


I sat beside Bayo. He looked entirely different. A nurse came around. We exchanged greetings.

"Do you know him?"
"Yes. He's our friend."
"Alright. His case is really bad. He's lost a lot of blood and should need a transfusion as soon as possible."
"How much should that cost?"
"We'll need thirty thousand naira for now."
"Can't we deposit like half of that?"
She smiled. "No. Thirty thousand naira and we begin treatment." She walked away, adding, "The earlier, the better."

Cybershow:
Slap1 am grateful wit d smal update..may my God heal u..ijn..av a quick recovery..ijn

Amen. Getting better, but I'll be on drip shortly. Thanks.

slap1:
Amen. Getting better, but I'll be on drip shortly. Thanks.

Alrit...tank b to GOD u wnt folow d sicknes away dix month o

Am already praying that he will survive.................... Second chance?

Nice1 bro. tailored for the season. #shun.election.violence

Get well soon bro.

Evangelio:
Am already praying that he will survive.................... Second chance?

Nice1 bro. tailored for the season. #shun.election.violence

Thanks, bro. I hope he survives too. I'll update in the evening; I'm getting better.

Hey Mr slap1 what's up?

Update? Sorry I wasn't paying attention when yyou mentioned you are sick, please get well soon.

HumbledbYGrace:
Hey Mr slap1 what's up?

Update? Sorry I wasn't paying attention when yyou mentioned you are sick, please get well soon.

Thanks. I'm on it.

slap1:
Thanks. I'm on it.

alright, will be waiting.

Bro where's the rest of the story

Na so una go dey hang person

uhmmm definitely in tym for d season....nyc one op
praying for bayo

mashnino:
Na so una go dey hang person

Thavik:
Bro where's the rest of the story

Sorry guys, been battling with something...

Ollyfad:
uhmmm definitely in tym for d season....nyc one op
praying for bayo

Thanks!

I turned around to face the distraught ladies. My eyes darted to Bayo and back to them. There was decidedly no time. I whisked out my wallet and handed my bank ATM card to Temi. "Withdraw 30k for me, abeg." I gave Chioma a thousand naira to cook something for us. They left. I moved closer to the bed and sat beside Bayo. I looked deeply into his face, searching for a glimmer of hope, for a whiff of anything that suggests he would be well again.

His eyes flickered open. He forced a painful, knowing smile. I quickly returned the smile so he'd stop his and reserve the strength the smile requires.

"You'll be fine, I said."
"Thank you." His voice was surprisingly fairly audible, though I had to be attentive to hear everything. "Thank you for what you did...the money." He smiled weakly. He'd clearly overheard our conversations. Knowing Bayo, he must have feigned unconsciousness so the ladies won't be all over him with questions and subtle rebuke.

I smiled knowingly. He held and pressed my hand, pressing a thousand unspoken words of gratitude into them. I nodded my acknowledgement.

***

The next four days was difficult . Bayo needed more blood and more money to survive. We all did what we could for him; Chioma even donated blood. I cooked a delicious lie to my parents and got some money from them. It sent me on a guilt trip; we weren't exactly wealthy. Just managing, as we say.

Bayo's family was regrettably worse off; they didn't even know of his condition. Bayo was their brightest star and their ticket to good life, so we decided to not tell them what happened. The chief who recruited Bayo was very angry that I had the courage to ask for his help.

Bayo and I had planned to invest the money we saved from service wisely -- he, a fishpond; I, a small one hundred-bird poultry. Right now, it seem our plans may not work out. The money for our dreams have been used for Bayo's hospital bills. I was briefly ambivalent about bringing out my money to save Bayo's life, but I soon assured myself that Bayo worth more than a million birds.

****

On the fourth day, the doctor said Bayo might be discharged in two day's time. I honestly prayed so. He had suffered a lot. He had lost so much weight and endured the pity of other corp members who came visiting. All those teary eyes and sullen faces made him greatly uncomfortable, like he was forcing others to partake in his misfortune.

Chioma and Temi cried when the bandages were removed to reveal the gash on his head, leg and hand, and for the umpteenth time, he calmly told them to save their strength, that he caused his misfortune. He should have listened to me, he said. It made me feel awkward, like my worries actually led to his condition.

On day seven, true to his words, the doctor confirmed Bayo was free to go home and report for checkup. The hospital could do with his bed space, I think.

The girls were all smiles. Chioma joked he should be ready for work, since his thing wasn't bandaged. We laughed, packed his few belongings and walked slowly behind as he limped ahead to the reception area. I left to get a taxi.

Five minutes later I returned with a taxi. They saw us from the reception and started coming out. Bayo limped on, blessed among women. I was happy he survived. Everyone needs a second chance, but some actually get lucky on that front; others don't.

We taxied away from the smell of antiseptics. I forgot about my poultry. I stole a glance at Bayo, he equally seem to have forgotten about his fishpond. I could bet my poultry on that.

***** THE END *****

Evangelio:
Am already praying that he will survive.................... Second chance?

Nice1 bro. tailored for the season. #shun.election.violence

See, I initially didn't want Bayo to survive until your comment. Again, I've been really very sick, but God gave me a second chance (even though I'm still recovering), so I decided to extend it to Bayo. Thanks.

Slap1 weldone...hope u health nw z accurately perfect nw