Braindrain in the Nigerian Healthcare Sector – An Interim Prognosis

Being a medical professional in Nigeria is an uphill task, literally and practically. There is a strange air of external conflict between what hopes the professional has for himself versus what is expected of him. Even though the profession seems built to insulate him in a cult of personality and significance, it also attempts to reduce him to an object of servility at all times.

In different climes, the motivations that drive one to seek to become a medical doctor are very much dependent on the socioeconomic factors of the particular geographic area. This near-dichotomy yields basically two extremes on the doctor scale.

1. Doctors who see the profession as a vital and essential role to play, hence value patient care more than personal development and actualization.
2. Doctors who see the profession as a well-paying job and the perfect environment to practice is one which everyone should aspire to and never settle for less.

Like all spectra, there are many shades of grey in between, but the divide is pretty much definite.

A quick glance at both sides of the divide will show that doctors in the first class are usually in good socioeconomic environments, hence the decision to become a doctor wasn’t necessarily a financial one. Whereas a doctor who his entire household made sacrifices to foot his education sees the job as a route to comfort, stability and being uplifted from his humble beginnings.

It has long been an ethical debate as to whether a doctor’s responsibilities to the healthcare of the society supersedes his probable need for a luxurious lifestyle. The dilemma bares itself in the question that goes, “If they are mutually exclusive, should medical doctors choose their fulfilment or the delivery of healthcare to a society that increasingly desperately needs it?”

A part of the Hippocratic Oath, which all medical doctors swear by, says “I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body, as well as the infirm.” Also, the WHO Global Code of Practice on the International Recruitment of Health Personnel has its principles laid on the bedrock of increasing fairness in international recruitment and mitigating the effects of workforce loss in source countries. Though still completely voluntary at this stage, it does stop slightly short of begging the question if doctors should be allowed to seek greener pastures considering the vitality of their presence in these low-income countries that are mainly the source countries.

It is without doubt that there are merits in the arguments of those who believe the profession is a calling and those who are truly ‘called’ will be more people-driven, more compassionate to the needs of the helpless who stand to suffer more as they are the true harsh recipients of this exodus. On the other hand, though very essential, doctors are human beings too and deservedly have a right to the best life they can attain to.

This essay seeks to briefly explore the scope of the Nigerian problem and prognosticate as to its effects in the foreseeable future.

The term, brain drain, was introduced in the 1960s to capture the largely increasing number of trained professionals, medical and otherwise, seeking greater economic and social opportunities in developed nations. The brain drain of healthcare workers is defined as “the movement of health personnel in search of a better standard of living and life quality, higher salaries, access to advanced technology and more stable political conditions in different places worldwide”. Although brain drain is usually used in the context of cross-border and international migration from developing country to developed country, it can also occur internally from rural areas to urban areas.

It’s important to note that brain drain of healthcare workers was not always in the direction of emigration from developing to developed countries. Earlier on, it was a problem of developed countries who lost a good number of doctors who went on missions/outreaches to third world countries – who hitherto had very few doctors or none – on a near-permanent basis. However, with increases in the healthcare workforce of those countries, the need for these immigrant doctors grew more insignificant.

To hone in on the Nigerian problem with brain drain in the healthcare sector, there are largely two groups of factors: the push factors and the pull factors.

The Push Factors

These are internal factors that contribute to ‘pushing’ medical personnel away from Nigeria. In a nutshell, a medical doctor who has just begun his practice in Nigeria is faced with few employment opportunities in a country where patient:doctor ratio is exponentially higher than the recommended (shortage of doctors and heavy workload). When he does get a job, the hospital is hardly up to standard (poor medical facilities and lack of equipment) and his wages aren’t comparable to what his peers earn outside the country (poor remuneration). Despite that, the other members of society think he is selfish and too demanding; politicians are prioritized in the distribution of N-95 masks in an outbreak while doctors make the available surgical masks desirable (treatment of medical doctors). When it is possible, the elite in society seek medical help outside the country in such a public fashion, that it erodes the public confidence in the ability of the available doctors (medical tourism). All these culminate in increased doctor burnout and work-related stress, worsens job dissatisfaction and ultimately leads to the mass emigration of doctors we see today.

These push factors may therefore be summarized as

1. Job related factors – heavy workload, substandard facilities
2. Economic factors – poor remuneration, unemployment
3. Psychological factors – doctor burnout, public perception and treatment of doctors

The Pull Factors

These are the external factors in developed countries that synergistically add to their deletion of the numerous push factors of developing countries.

1. Financial Security
2. Better Work Environment
3. Job Satisfaction/Fulfilment

It is without a doubt that the haemorrhage of doctors from Nigeria to better climes will not resolve without a gargantuan shift in the politics involved and the attention it receives. It is known that a critical part of any health system is its workforce. Healthcare personnel are the wheels that run the healthcare system and provide necessary healthcare services to the populace, which is an important prerequisite for sustainable socio-economic development. Currently, in Nigeria, that workforce is worryingly dwindling and the younger doctors and doctors-to-be, who have the wherewithal, do not consider long-term practice in Nigeria an option.

There are also a few factors why the brain drain may last a while longer at least. Firstly, the gap between the developing and developed countries seem to keep increasing each year and with the situation as it is, it worsens the severity of the push factors on those that are left behind. Hence, those who may have chosen to remain behind feel their regrets more acutely and may renege on former commitments to stay behind, and the chain continues. Also, it hardly seems like there is enough political will, if at all there is any, to change to a more favourable course or a national response of some sort.

While it is true that in the hierarchy of doctors, the likeliness to leave increases as one goes down the cadre. However, the workforce is built as a triangular prism, with much more people in the lower ranks. This exodus, hence does not simply limit healthcare delivery in the present, but also has far reaching effects into the future as the erasure of the ‘middlemen’ in medical practice remains a continual process.

In summary, an eventual collapse of the healthcare sector in Nigeria approaches inevitability with each day, each bad policy, and as push factors pile up. This is a scenario that deserves critical attention, swift decision to steer the country in the right direction and an abundance of hope that we haven’t passed critical point yet. However, it is indeed unlikely that anyone is willing to wait behind to find out.

 

 

The Best is Over.

It’s good to be in something from the ground floor. And I came too late for that, I know. But lately, I’m getting the feeling that I came in at the end. The best is over. I think about my father. He never reached the heights like me. In a lot of ways, he had it better. He had his people, they had standards, they had pride. What do we got today?

A couple or so months ago, I was employed as one of the lowest rung of doctors in a teaching hospital. “Teaching hospital” is hospital-speak for where one should access the highest level of healthcare. But this isn’t a blog post about how farcical that term has become in most states today.

My experience here has been so-so. There’s a lot to complain about, but there’s this constant worry – quite comparable to a lump in the back of one’s throat – that I’m gliding through a premeditated path and I can’t stop or steer off its course. The odd thing is that an onlooker may regard it as being a cruise but not having as much as an illusion of control is a problematic realization.

In a bid to clarify, I’ll admit that in the bigger pool I belong, there are some perks I can access and that I have complete confidence that the people who have my best intentions at heart can put in a good shift in keeping a high tide for me. In spite of this, I can’t shake off the feeling that I missed the crucial building process and have just been a part of the gentle decline into a state of decay.

Regarding the sector I’m employed in, it doesn’t help that its history is quite short, devoid of any high-points yet very deep into an irreversible putrefaction process. I always wonder what it would feel like to be a part of when there was hope, potential and a meaningful vision for all of this. This addled hellhole has nothing but depressed workers and fanfaronade from a few who have turned a buck or two.

It’s true there’s more to work with and that some archaic practices are extinct today, but it hardly seems like the surface has been scratched. What runs deep in the place of progress is scepticism – just a lot of noncommittal individuals trying to get to the next checkpoint. This scepticism trickles down through all possible levels and anyone who makes a decent attempt to be different needs to make this lame turkey of a sector fly.

So when Tony Soprano asks “what do we have today”, I see that we have a similar problem. Like Tony, my father and I share a profession and he has done his best to show me the ropes of the business. And in as much as I have everything I need to surpass him, it’s overbearingly bothersome to think that he had it better than me. And to repeat the rest of Tony’s quote, they worked with pride, with hope, with a certain level of reverence for what they did. They may not have known it, but it was the best of times. And it’s over.

Sigh.

My 2018 review.

A few days ago, on a hike, I saw this cactus near the foot of Ugwu Amakofia, Uwelle, Ukehe and I spent a while observing it. The cactus teaches us to “emphasize our strong points through its spines and remain patient through tough dry spells”. All year long, I lived by this lesson, many a time, subconsciously.

2018 was probably the first year that had a beginning that set the tone for the year, a middle that actually embodied that tone and an end that can’t exactly balance out but tries to appease me for what I went through. I had two clear goals that I assumed on its first day would define my year as a successful one, but that was before everything else went bizarre. The goals, however, were to leave school (May or August – didn’t matter which at the point) and to secure a housejob spot.

The Beginning (January – March)

I was never a hardworking student all my days in school. It’s a painful admission but it’s true. I always had pangs of guilt when, on my account, a teacher labelled my colleagues and I as lazy because I believed they didn’t deserve to be seen as such. But me, I definitely did. It’s why it was a very serious commitment when I made a firm resolution to be that hardworking student a lot of people, especially my family, believed I was. It was rather poetic that I had a chance to show how much I was willing to abide by this commitment as I had a school assessment within the first 5 days of the year, but I fumbled the bag very badly. However that was just the beginning.

The next few weeks were defined by stuttered attempts to actualise this resolution but I failed and failed again. It seemed easier to play the numbers game and determine what was absolutely necessary to pass than actually prepare for the exam in a well mapped out manner. I gave up. The option of getting it done in August, even though very distasteful, wasn’t implausible.

I slowly receded into a stagnancy where I wholeheartedly believed I wasn’t as bad as I usually was school-wise, and at the same time, thoroughly convinced that I was bound to fail my final exams. At that time, apathy was my biggest obstacle. A year that started with so much vibe had toned down to a gentle and increasingly boring tale where I felt smothered by a clash between what I wanted to do versus what I had to do.

The Middle (April – October)

This particular period had a lengthy spell of really terrible and low emotions, internal struggles, a breakdown of relationships, character and a general purpose. It taught me the untold sacrifice of commitment, loyalty and respect. It seemed like the penultimate act of a play that teases the final act to be a shattering catastrophe. The pains of losing a loved one last year seemed to have just started emanating. Trapped like a sailor at sea, in a ship with a hole in it, the waters were rising so fast and I was sinking deep. It was quite terrible where I was, but it was even more frightening where I was going. And I was determined to stop this particular story arc.

My determination to change the course of my life at that point was unhealthy (resuming a really hedonistic lifestyle), ridiculous (deleting my entire music library to jumpstart my default mood from unhappy to uncertain), humiliating (I had to spend the night in a bathroom) all at once. It was a lot of other things too which weren’t always bad, but it took a whole lot to adjust to this new form of living. I had to deal with an apathetic feeling towards my academics and a soon to be destructive pattern that was emerging to become my lifestyle.

It was also during this period that we resisted oppression from our college authorities and it was indeed a blessing to me that my final exams were postponed. The timeout was really needed and also our resistance was probably one of the proudest moments of my life. Those few days brought genuine happiness to me at a point I needed it most, even though they were very temporary.

My exam preparations were piss-poor and a lot of things went south a few days before the exams started. I carried a heavy burden and bore a grudge all through the exams. It’s why no one should be surprised I traveled to Benin for a wedding during the exam period. It was a big thing to do for a friend who needed it. But it was in my best interest too.

Of course, when I passed the exams against all odds, there was this outpouring of happiness. My parents were very proud of me, my siblings too. I received calls from people I had forgotten. Everyone was congratulating me. At times, I feel like I defrauded my alma mater, but I guess I played the hand I was dealt. But this euphoria was short-lived too and general tone of the year continued.

The End (November – December)

Staying at home for an extended period seemed to do the trick, a few celebrations here and there too. I finally had my convocation and induction ceremonies and officially became a medical doctor. It would have been the perfect end to this entire charade except for a near blackout experience I had while driving. I suddenly realised that I couldn’t account for what I had done for about 5 seconds. I was on the wrong side of the wrong road and I couldn’t explain how I got there. Reuniting with my relatives, my brothers, childhood friends during the festive season has been good to me as well.

It wasn’t all bad all the way though. There were sporadic moments of happiness that i hold so dearly. However, they were just interruptions usually. Indeed, it feels like the end now. I’m glad it’s ending this way – in good company, in good spirits, with a genuine hope that the worst is over.

***********************************

This was a year I hope not to have a repeat of but it was a necessary year for me. It offered context to a lot of things I had only imagined previously and it had many lessons and many injuries. It taught me of my reliance on a support cast and the pains of the support cast being the problem. I’m thankful for a lot of things and a lot of people. I finished from school and became a medical doctor this year, however I am yet to secure that housejob spot. On paper, it looks like a very good year for me. It may have been, but the course I charted to get to this end was rocky most of the way.

Moving forward into 2019, the cactus also teaches us to “hoard a rich internal reserve to protect it from the need of constant external nourishment or validation”. I hope I can bear this in mind when I reach out to a lot of people I fell out with during my tough times. I’ve realized my self-esteem and self-reliance are very important for my happiness. I hope 2019 is better quite honestly. It really has to be. Cheers.

Do Nothing.

The last few months, as simultaneously blurry and vivid as they seemed, could be described as a headache in most books, or as a revelation for the perennially pessimistic people, like myself. However the deterrent an outright pessimist faces is their subjection to a guilt-plagued life that springs from failing to act on prior knowledge of a problem.

So obviously, my innate weakness, which I call “convenience”, dictates that ultimately, my approach would require a Band-Aid and painkillers which will relieve the headaches intermittently and generate some sympathy (read attention) for me. It will also require a healthy number of BC meetings. Where this method fails me is the lack of mitigation of the thousand failures (potential and actual) and pressures (potential and actual) eating into the substance of my brain. Admittedly, knowledge doesn’t always mean power and the age-old truism “ignorance is bliss” hardly ever fails.

Occasionally, I believe I’d be better off if I was more worrisome, constantly seeking improvements and not caring what these changes cost me. At face value, the gains of seeking such changes are plenty. It casually comes with the assurance of intrinsic happiness, a nirvana on earth. However, a missing warning label would be that its failure carries a calamitous suppository effect – of disappointment (yet again) and opportunity cost, to mention the most important contributors. This can be quite tasking to come out of without some trauma (maybe I’m a repressed victim of this, maybe).

Albeit being so compelling and often lacking any surface blemish, seeking change is a dicey decision in which knowledge of one’s gains, and also knowledge of the meaning of failure are equally important. Every sort of change has a level of uncertainty and the off-chance that one fails to succeed means that limitation of exposure and prevention of a blow-up (in Wall Street lingo) may be more rewarding than the so-called gains of change (obvious example – APC’s Change).

Another by-product of failing in one’s pursuit of change – and ultimately intrinsic happiness – is the increased vulnerability to developing Happiness Destination Syndrome or Destination Addiction (that non-DSM and non-ICD condition that its sufferer possesses an inherent belief that happiness would be found at an illusive destination and is never present where they currently are).

The sculptors of intrinsic happiness (ie religious leaders, motivational speakers etc.) failed us when they asked us to look within ourselves. This description neglects the contribution of survivorship bias, variations in threshold for happiness & adjusted expectations, and the influence of the social environment. Their ultimate failure was their inability to demystify its supposed existence to the serial unbeliever, whom experience has shown that there are flaws in most systems and achieving success in each is probabilistic.

So, it’s somewhat logical that a fairly pessimistic individual paradoxically opts to relieve a symptom – the headache – over treating the disease – the revelation (paradoxical because the symptom is usually less gruesome than the disease and it’s fairly optimistic to believe it’s just a headache). “Do nothing” may just be a pessimistic approach after all which involves a lot more than perceived inactivity, and not the lazy narrative being peddled around in the marketplace of ideas.

It will also require a healthy number of BC meetings.

Happy Easter.

Goldfish Memory

I read somewhere that a goldfish has a memory that lasts for just 3 seconds. This means that when a goldfish is experiencing any particular emotion, it feels as though that emotion is the very definition of all of its existence. Hence that hungry goldfish thinks it has been starving since the day it came to life and dying goldfish thinks it has been dying all its life. Of course, it’s all internet hogwash but it seems to have an application in human interpersonal relationships.

Many relationships are described by the circumstances that ended them or the most recent condition of the relationship. This and outcome bias go a long way in tainting the plausibility that these ending circumstances could be one-offs or misunderstandings and not necessarily a defining aspect of the other’s caliber. I’ll explain with an example.

KFK was a sworn member of the Barger cult in the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. He was the personal bodyguard to the cult chief and as such, was a well known member of the cult. KFK died on enemy turf trying to broker a peace during a cult beef in 2011 while keeping the cult chief in the dark. The Barger cult didn’t attend his burial because it was believed KFK wasn’t a loyal member of the cult. KFK had been a member for 3 years.

In the end, this introspection into a person’s ethos only comes up when it seems rational to do so because a rapist is a rapist and a sex offender is a sex offender (the game is the game). I guess the moral of the story is that it’s human nature that relationships have some friction or even make the leap to end, but we shouldn’t let isness become the full story of our lives. Either that or that I can still put sentences together and call it a blog article.

R. I. P KFK.

THIS UNRULY MESS I’VE MADE

You may be familiar with the frog metaphor. If you put a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will jump out of it. If you put this same frog in a pot of cold water and applied heat to it, the frog will remain in the pot, get boiled and die. The point here is – people hardly notice little change, then it’s too late.

A little detour from the subject matter of this article would help explain the meshwork that holds the topic together with this metaphor. I have never given any serious thoughts to white privilege for two reasons. One, I really don’t care. Secondly, the few things I’m interested in that involves most races in the world have no such thing as white privilege. These few things are sports and rap music. As far as I know, rap has always been a black thing and the GRAMMY Best Rap Album of the Year award seemed like a category to celebrate black excellence in the world scene. Hence, when Macklemoore and Eminem won this award in a back-to-back fashion in 2014 and 2015, it seemed like blacks were slowly losing their heritage in music, and if not checked early enough, it could be the end of black dominance or supremacy in rap music. Some months back, Macklemoore released an album titles “This Unruly Mess I’ve Made” and well, I don’t personally think white privilege will be a problem rap fans will protest against any time soon. But I hope you get my point.

A very recent experience of mine has left me well-acquainted with the complex relationships of paranoia and nonchalance. Worry too much, you blow nonissues out of proportion, then your dreams blow up in front of you. At the other end, when you have absolutely no worries without any sort of plan in place, your dreams don’t even see the light of day. A simple solution emerges in the form of a fine balance between the two ends; but that’s too much middling, and gives you boredom – an odd by-product of the supposed gold standard. Hence you have a lot of people living mostly in this balance, yet shift positions from time to time to avoid boredom. These oscillations are so far-reaching that most people are in a period of transition for most of their lives; making most described philosophies of life – including those four temperaments that attempts to describe why reactions are premeditated – not just of a spurious nature, but also quite dead on arrival. This has been my life for a very long while. A story that has been a hitherto unruly mess with very limited clarity as to its origin or extent. A trainwreck in the form of a con artist, who has a lot of expectations from those who believe they know him, without any true skills or any clear directions as to what he wants to do next – forever replaying different scenarios in his head and picking that with the highest trade value as the major plot in the next episode in his life series. Maybe today is the day it all changes – after all, the purported first step in solving a problem is identifying the problem. Or maybe this is just another chronicle in the life of a very confused person. Ciao.

School Spirit

Hello there! I wrote an article for Nigeria Campus Connect. You can check out their blog too for more good articles from writers in other universities. Anyway, I decided to put this up here too because I love you all too much or that it’s probably better than everything else I’ve posted here. Enjoy.

17-09-2015 17:35 GMT+1
I’ve just resumed a new posting. By the time you get to read this, I’ll probably be unto another one. This is my life now, measured in seven or eight-week intervals. I even think of events relative to how many postings they are away from me. If you told me your birthday was in December, I’d be more inclined to say “That’s during Surgery 2.” than saying “Oh wow, that’s around Christmas”. Heck, Surgery 2 means no Christmas for me this year, again.

I must say that I don’t like medical school a lot. Even though that’s not the point, it’s somewhat beside it, giving it life, fortifying it, maybe it’s the soul of the point. Ironically, the only reason I chose medicine was that it was deemed too tough for the simple-minded, or at least, it was tough to gain admission into. Hence, it presented itself as an early opportunity for some of us to distinguish ourselves, or so we thought. There was also the side reason of a supernatural calling or a more than superficial yearn to come to the needs of the helpless; but that only adds to our braggadocio, more vanity, more to our portfolio of being fundamentally different.

Yesterday’s weirdness is tomorrow’s reason why – Hunter S Thompson. This is a sidebar feature to every medical student as he finds his way through one exam and moves on to his next, hoping that at the end of it all, that he finds the right environment to harness his profuse talent, to demonstrate what’s so special about him.

Watching the average medical student over time and with an intentional eye for detail, what becomes abundantly clear is a strange air of inner conflict between a student who wants to be adored yet should rebel against the temptation of pride. A person who wants the spotlight, yet resists the scrutiny. A figure who is groomed to be the leading man yet must embrace the tenets of teamwork. Most of all, a person who wants to enjoy his youth but must dampen all forms of social proclivity. More than anything else, however, there is an obvious relationship between the student and the course that appears more at times built to insulate him from impartial examination; puts him in a bubble that camouflages him with a cult of oomph, personality and nostalgia. His apparent shortfall – or shortchange – of social skills is the kink of his grand design.

Last year had seemed to be more of a last chance saloon for me – pass this exam and all wrongdoings of the past will be forgotten. But here I am, again bothered over the next exam, albeit being one year away (well, it’s just 6 postings away too). It’s pretty easy to foresee a strange tale that is sure to have more turns than a corkscrew and is going to become very complicated over the next few months that everybody involved would have to deal with a breakdown, physical and nervous, soon; whilst raising the levels of diligence as color-coded alert status tilts to red.

To say that other people have passed means that there isn’t much to worry about is the laziest narrative in the marketplace of ideas at the moment. The typical medical student is the rarest, productive villain carried to near-perfect precision while done in by his own excesses whereas my kind can be largely defined as frustratingly untapped potential with limited clarity into what truly motivates me. We – me and the typical medical student – are both complex, but we are not the same.

There is absolutely no question at all – even now in these weeks of relative calm, watching the shoreline recede into the sea as the tsunami mounts from murky depths – that this exam will be ground shaking. This kind of savage reality may be too much for some of us stuck on figuring out why we really are here. But for most of our lives, the key and driving point has been a deep belief that we are addicted to overcoming, at any cost, because we were born to survive it all.

Middle ground, school-boy malfeasance, youthful exuberance, wild nightlife didn’t interest us and is better left for misfits in search of a trade. We were in search of discipline, work ethic, responsibility and larger-than-life. This has led us to discover that the typical medical student is “some high powered mutant never even considered for mass production, too weird to mix with society but too important to be left out”.

Cheers.

Okay, I admit “School Spirit” shouldn’t be the title but “Furor Medical School” didn’t sound really appealing. Also Kanye West has a song named “School Spirit” so… Thanks for reading. Don’t forget to follow the blog.

@HoodYeezus

Matriculation

Numbers hardly lie, but do they exaggerate? Riddle me that. Forty thousand, that was the number: the number of students at my school yesterday playing their own version of a combined “March Madness” and “the game of their lives” in a single stroke. Forty thousand students, three thousand vacancies, or maybe less. Oh, I think I’ve heard this story before, only with much crueler scenarios.

Trust me, it’s true. Anyway, this forty thousand aren’t applying for jobs, at least, not yet. They are actually seeking admission into my school (the greatest) and yesterday was their aptitude examination day (because calling it Post UTME doesn’t sound very cool). For some, it was a mere formality. For others, it was a Mourinho-at-the-last-minute moment; in simpler terms, just get this one right and all past wrongs will be forgotten. Even though it seemed like a voyage into uncharted waters for most, everyone definitely had their eyes on the bigger prize – matriculation. I don’t know about you. I know I did. This reminded me of one secret (till now) peri-matriculation day event of mine. (For non-anatomists, ‘peri-‘ basically means ‘around’).

It was at 27 Amina Way, Unibadan around 9:30pm. Two friends of mine were in the room. One was Yoruba, the other was from Bayelsa. Their names are Tayo and Santino in that order (fake names obviously but close to the real thing). They were playing PES 2011 while waiting for me to come back with food. We had gone for long hours without food and you can only understand how hungry we were if you had been in such a position. Add the scorching afternoon sun, frustrating lecturers during registration, distances trekked between departments and the hustles-and-bustles of those registration queues, then maybe you’d get a glimpse of the murmurs coming from our intestines at the time.

Well, I reached the room to inform them that I wasn’t able to buy the food because the food seller didn’t have “change”. This is one of our biggest problems in this school (and maybe town, at large). Tayo volunteered to cook noodles for us. Do you remember the excitement written on Mesut Özil’s face when they won the World Cup?

Our excitement was tenfold of that. Tayo pulled out his electric cooker while Santino got the pot. The electric cooker had a short wire and since the electric switch was very close to the bed, the only option (if you’re too lazy to move the bed) was to cook with the electric cooker on the bed. By the way, it’s the kind of electric cooker we call hot plate here, just so you don’t think it’s the foreign one. The water in the pot was still heating up and there was an explosion, a brief silence and then fire in that order. The cooker was on the mattress, and as expected, the mattress started burning. I was coming into the room with 3 freshly washed plates and forks for the noodles when I saw the mattress burning. Tayo, being so thoughtful, rushed out to fetch water from the tap while Santino and I got sachets of water from the fridge and doused the fire. About two minutes later, ‘hero’ Tayo jumped into the room with a full bucket of water and poured every drop on the mattress. I told you he was thoughtful, didn’t I?

We didn’t get to eat any noodles or any other thing that night but we still have our room and our lives for that matter.

For those of you who know me and can guess, you already know Tayo. Well, if you don’t, sorry. Share and drop your comment(s) below. Do not forget to follow the blog before leaving.
Cheers. Ciao.

VALENTINE SEXCAPADE

It was a terrible, terrible weekend in all. The disappointment I had felt was culminated upon realisations that it was just one weekend which wasn’t worth all the preparation. And added to wasted efforts, it was one weekend out of a limited fifty-two weekends in my calendar year which bore no fruits.

I had secured my Valentine’s Day date long before the transfer deadline day, February 13^th. The week had been brightened with all sorts of hook-ups in love garden, botanical garden and even the zoo. Indeed, a ‘love’-ly season. Even very random ravishing girls smiled at me then. I would return the smile and congratulate myself. I had gotten a girlfriend just because girls would rather run after guys with girlfriends than be with me who was single. Now, I had a girlfriend, and even though girls just smiled at me, I know they are running after me :p

Finally, Val’s day came. I had a school test on a lot of things. Technically, half a semester’s work of a medical student was assessed that day. Terrible, like I mentioned earlier, very terrible. Well, that’s out of the way, right? Val’s day continues. Like my day wasn’t headed the wrong way already, I fell on the wrong side of the bro code thing. I had to sacrifice the room for my roommate. Really, girls do not know how much their boyfriends’ roommates sacrifice for them. I had to call my girlfriend to discuss fallback plans and we resolved to club that night. A very good friend of mine lent me his Mercedes Benz 190 SL ’70 model aka the regular flat boot.

We had partied like the rapture was upon us and were fatigued to the core. We went outside to chill; and it was on. We did some small stuff, the usual, and then opted for something less conventional. We went into the car to continue our mushiness. This turned out to be a ‘how I almost got disvirgined’ story.

The backseat of a car thing is clichéd, I know. But here’s where this story gets not exactly interesting, but a bit retarded. I kept my shirt on. It just seemed weird to take my shirt off in a car. I mean, it’s definitely weirder to have your trousers off in a car, but given the scenario, it was a utilitarian must. At the time though, shirt removal seemed somehow hubristic. When I think of it now, I can’t imagine how awful it must have been for my girlfriend to have a boney, teenage me advancing her shirt-no-trousers like a condom clad Winnie the Pooh

There was also a combination of factors that ruined the night. Did I mention the sweltering heat such a car could dissipate? The cushion rugged seats looking all retro-1980 and all… which makes me think my girlfriend must really love me to have even considered the whole arrangement at all. I was also going through a soul-music phase at the time, so we had started with Kanye’s Bittersweet Poetry ahead of John Legend’s All of Me. This was worsened by the playlist that also shuffled Diamonds from Sierra Leone and Eminem’s Not Afraid which all played before All of Me. Well, I still have my virginity :p

Valentine ended and I had to pay my sleep debt (test TDBs and sexcapade night). I had a dream which I could make a wish. I wished to see my test results and it was granted. I was still on my way to the notice board when I saw…

Thanks for checking in once more. I don’t have any subscribers though. Would be a pleasure if I got any. Cheers. Ciao 🙂

 

Heavy: Lift With Caution

The meeting took place in his own personal library, the library in which all his vast knowledge was inscribed upon. He wouldn’t let me see the contents of his magic chest of honours, not until he had told me his story. He emphasised that his story is the mantle that proves his greatness. That’s as close as a lock you can get … unless, of course, you subscribe to his theory, “Before God, we are all equally wise and equally foolish”. Albert Einstein is a very wise man on two fronts. If you combined one Sherlock Holmes with a heaping dose of Michael Scofield from Prison Break, you will get one Albert Einstein. Seriously, brain power meets sweeping imagination, my kind of people.

He started his story with his childhood. Born to Jewish parents in a German town, grew up like any normal kid would, excelling through primary and secondary education. His father had delighted him by showing him a pocket compass. This would be the moment of clarity for young Albert as it kept him pondering on what caused the needle to move. At age 15, his father’s business failed, his family had to relocate to Italy, stopping first at my beloved Milan. He completed his education in his series of trips to other countries gaining citizenships on the road. At a point, he was in Belgium (this might explain the exaggerated reincarnation of his hair in Belgian football).

Then, he opened his chest and took out all his awards, plaques, certificates etc. He wouldn’t let go of the Nobel. He clinched it to himself like they were a pair of Siamese twins. Slowly, he talks about each award and how it inspired the next. He went on to say that “education is what remains after one has forgotten what one learned in school”. Like I said earlier, brain power meets sweeping imagination.

He brings me back to his story to conclude it. He talks about Israel extensively. He was preparing for a television appearance commemorating Israel’s 7^th anniversary. He was then diagnosed with abdominal aortic aneurysm. He refused surgery, saying, “I want to go when I want. It is tasteless to prolong life artificially. I have done my share, it is time to go. I will do it elegantly”.

He took me to his autopsy. His brain had been preserved with hope that future neuroscience would discover what made him very intelligent. He passed the jar that had the brain in it to me. “That’s your gift. Quid pro quo”. I opened the jar, from which copious doses of formalin erupted from. I looked in; the jar was too big for the brain. My shadow was cast upon it. In disappointment, I slowly moved away, and so did my shadow. Then I saw some words heavily inscribed on the brain. The doctor in charge of the autopsy had written that. It read: Heavy, Lift with Caution.

“Ekene! Ekene!” my brother barked, “your shift is over, go in!”. I had slowly realised where I was. I wouldn’t be the first person to break into sweeping imagination while on sentry duty, Timon from The Lion King had. Now, I have that, all I need now is brain power 🙂 Cheers. Ciao.

Your comments are well appreciated. My very first.