(This short story is inspired by a hospital
visitation I made during my National Youths Service in Oyo, Oyo State).
IT
WAS A HOT SATURDAY. As part of our selfless national service for our country as
Youth Corp members, we had decided to visit a local community health centre to
donate gift items to patients on admission, and also to relate with the medical
personnel.
The
state of facilities at the Community Health Centre resonated the discordant symphony
of rottenness, neglect and stench in social infrastructures in the country.
While interacting with the matron of the centre, we were made to understand
that electricity supply to the health centre had been cut off as they were
unable to clear the “PHCN bill of about N 87,000”, and that the government
never installed any generating plant. They made do with lanterns and candles in
the night. We also discovered that the health centre had no residential doctor.
All delicate cases were referred to the State Specialist Hospital. The nets on
the windows were all in shreds; the toilet facilities were in distasteful
shapes as there was no bore-hole or tap to maintain its cleanliness, the
near-by bush became the only option.
We
felt sorry for the rotten system and the discomforted patients. We wished we
could really do something, but how? The patients were even pleading with us to
speak to the government on their behalf – at least to renovate the only health
facility in the community. But how would we convince them we had come on the
visit with all our gift items coming from our meager allowance? The local
government council had only provided us a bus to convey us to the health
centre.
I had always been involved in this kind of
charity and/or community development work, even right back from my
undergraduate stage while I was a member of a youth organization. Then, we
would organize seminars and trainings for local youths in the university town,
and also embark on charity visits to the Motherless Babies’ Homes, the School
for the Physically Challenged, and also adopt a specific number of young boys
or girls to mentor. As such, societal realities such as: rape, sexual abuse,
unwanted pregnancy, and teenage pregnancy were not alien to me. In fact, the
scandalous rate at which the menace was growing in our local area of primary
assignment, prompted us to dedicate a whole month to raise awareness and
campaign directed at the young girls and boys in the local government area, and
of course their parents.
Out
of all our experiences in the course of our enlightenment campaigns against
rape, sexual abuse and teenage pregnancy, our last visitation to the community
health centre remained the most unpleasant and unforgettable. Other vulnerable
girls who have fell victims of rape have all had their own share of the blame;
some had sneaked out of class to meet their boys in the bush behind the school,
some had even walked straight into the boy’s room claiming they only wanted to
see a movie. But, Awero’s story stood apart.
Awero
was the last child in the family of five. Her body was perfectly formed, and
she was no doubt one of the prettiest girls in the community. Her parents were
farmers, but her mother had a small table in front of her house, the one the
locals called “Ate” where she sold
fruits, tomatoes and pepper. After school in the afternoon, Awero hawked
fruits, mostly banana. She would go to the next door to call Sadiat with whom
she hawked. Sadiat was not Awero’s kind of friend, for she was the weird type.
Her mother was divorced and all her sisters – three of them had become
unexpectant mothers. Awero did not like the idea of Sadiat being her ‘hawking
partner’, but her mother would not listen to her; for she believed Awero was
only being unreasonably stubborn, and besides, she was pretty and could be an
easy prey for those “rabid boys around”.
Everyday,
Awero would wait at the back of Oga Muri’s window for Sadiat who always stopped
over to “play” with her boyfriend. On a fateful day, Awero returned from school
earlier than usual to the surprise of her mother. She had been driven by her
class teacher, Mr. Akanle, for defaulting in paying her development levy.
Though the government claimed basic education was free from the primary to the
secondary school level, pupils and students were still being driven by the
school authority for N 800.00 Development Levy. Awero had ran home with the hope
of collecting the money she had been saving with her mother, she was
disappointed when her mother informed her that Iwalewa, her elder sister had
come to borrow the money, even with the little profit she had made over the
week to pay for her daughter’s treatment at the health centre. School was over
for her that day, and if she would make it up the next day, she had to get out
of her school uniform and launch her hawking tray to pay her way back to
school.
Her
mother suggested she waited for Sadiat, but, how could she? She had a target of
N 800 to meet that day; and it was a time sales had been extremely bad.
Better
for her to have dropped out of school, but still remained a virgin. Better for
her to stay home that afternoon, than to witness her dignity forcefully taken
from her. Awero was ganged raped by some block-molding boys at an uncompleted
building. She did not even know how many of them “did it”. When the pains
became unbearable, she pleaded to be killed. It was then she heard Oga Muri’s voice.
She
wanted to die…
It
was exactly nine months and three days. Awero had been in labour for two days.
Even in her pains, her beauty radiates through her ebony skin and her dimples.
Her mother was holding her; her elder sister was all over ward calling the
matron. Sadiat was fanning her. She was in pains.
Our
lady corpers were crying…
I
rushed to the matron’s office. The fat woman was devouring a hot steaming porrage.
She did not look from the food flask.
“Ajuwaya, you’re around still”. She
intoned. Another spoonful of porrage down her throat.
“Ma-ma…I
think your attention is needed – “. I stammered.
“I’ve
asked Nurse Eli to take you everwhere”. She querried. Still on her porrage.
When she knew it was all about Awero, she practically dismissed me out of her
office when she simply muttered “Nothing will do her”. As I made to approach a
nurse down the corridor, I heard a loud scream…
Awero’s
baby was out. A fine young warrior. Our lady corpers shouted “Halleluyah!”. The
matron handled the rest. We paid for the injections and drips. An overzealous
lady corper ran across the road to get her bornvita and milk.
Awero
was happy. She looked at her baby, looked around at everyone in the room and
cried. We consoled her with inspiring words. And she smiled again…
But,
I wondered how long her smiles would last! This was not what she set out to be!
She told us at one her visits to the Corpers’ Lodge that she had wanted to grow
up, study Medicine in the Univeristy of Ibadan, get married and give her
virginity to her husband, had children, and set up a private clinic in the
community. We encouraged her she could still be what she wanted to be. But she
smiled...
It
was the same smile she gave that day at the health centre.
This
story left me with a painful reality of the Awero in every girl-child in my
environment.
