ABSENT

For some people, life is as hard as one makes it. For them, life does not just happen. It is planned and arranged to be either hard or easy. They would argue that if one were conscious enough, and worked hard, one would achieve all one sets out to achieve. They would also argue that troubles came when one made wrong decisions, and success came from making the right choices. Omenka was one of those people, and it would not be far from the fact to assume that he holds that philosophy a bit more strongly than most people of the same way of thinking. It would also seem that his attitude to life and his approach to solving problems is hinged a lot to his childhood. A phase in his life that was neither shaped by his decisions nor his choices. But Omenka attributes that to divine providence, with the unwavering belief that, in the long run, it does not matter where one started but where he ends. So when life got twisted for him as a second year university student, he was on the brink of suicide.

A 4.5 GPA student of Agricultural Science, Omenka was never in doubt of the grade he intended to finish his university education with. He was a man always sure of himself, but on this fateful Sunday morning, in the middle of June, with the sky heavy with rain in the beautiful town of Calabar, he sat, rigid, on a chair in the middle of his one room apartment, drained of all energy and any form of thought. He was oblivious of the weather, the breeze blowing droplets of rain through the open window onto his mattress. All consciousness had left him. It would not be too wrong to say that Omenka had left his body leaning on a chair. The absence of every form of life was the only reason he was not dead. Omenka was, to a great extent, a very strong-willed young man and could have killed himself once he was convinced he should. For once in his life, he could neither take a good nor a bad decision, and that saved his life. Unconsciousness saved him.

Bang! Bang!! Bang!!! The loud bang on the door could not jolt the rigid body back to consciousness. The visitor at the door stood for a while and decided to walk around the building to the window side. He peeped through the window…

Abang and Omenka had been friends for the greater part of their time as students in the university. They met in one of the oddest ways friends meet. They had lived to understand one another’s life style, strong and weak sides. They were so close that colleagues did not only think it was odd, but actually peddled the rumor that they were gay, a sexual preference or inclination that was not culturally or legally acceptable in Nigeria at the time. The law, at the, time was silent on the matter of sexual preference, therefore, it was not uncommon for people who tilted towards same sex relationships to be stigmatized. Abang and Omenka seemed immune to any of the palaver about sexual preferences and legislation. In fact, they were so focused on their study that they were eventually left alone. Rumor dissipated over time and eventually gave way to acceptance at first, the admiration later.

So, when a neighbor of Omenka’s saw Abang peeping through the window on this drizzling Sunday morning, she showed no sign of surprise or irritation. Instaed she smiled and called out,

“Omenka, the second, how you dey?”, using the very common Pidgin English as spoken everywhere in Nigeria.

“I dey fine. Where this boy waka go?”

“I no know o! I never see am since morning. I no even see am for night sef”

That was unlike Omenka. He couldn’t be around the house without any neighbor being aware of his presence. Not that he was a noisy person. In fact, he hated noise. But there will never pass a day that he didn’t do his morning aerobics in the middle of the compound. He did it so religiously that Abang felt he would become a vegetable any day he didn’t.

The thought of his friend as a vegetable did not really have any real image in his mind, which was the reason he screamed when he saw the position and posture of his friend in the room. Abang was not one to be easily excited, but at that very moment, he lost every power of control. He was dashing back around the building before he even realized he was moving. In one desperate flurry, he pushed and kicked at the door, screaming all the time. Some neighbors bolted from their rooms towards the direction of the noise, and many more away from it. The ones dashing for safety did, not because they were just jolted or shocked, but because in those days, it was uncommon for cult clashes to occur in Calabar. Clashes that started from within the campus and eventually spills into the surrounding neighborhood densely populated by off-campus students.

When the door knob popped away from other parts of the contraption that constituted the lock and Abang fell into the room head first, he was almost drained completely. He lay on the floor for about thirty seconds, which was three times the time it took him to break in. He gathered his thought but could not trust his legs, so he just sat down staring at Omenka’s body. The crash seemed to have knocked the real, usually composed, Abang back to reality. The first thing he noticed was that Omenka was breathing. That realization gave strength to his legs and he sprang up without thinking about or feeling any pain.

Everything, after he sprang to his feet, went hazy again. Where should he start from? Where could he start from? The rope around his neck? The sheet of paper on his lap? Omenka’s eyes were glazed, almost like his soul was shedding tears that his eyes were determined not to let out. Like the film of water on a piece of ice. You knew it would eventually melt down, but if you were in a hurry to have it melted you would have to apply some heat. Heat, yes heat, Abang thought, but he did quite the opposite of his thought. Omenka was no block of ice. He was drenched in sweat and was hotter than any living being Abang ever touched. So he picked up a bowl of popcorn on top of the table beside the chair, dashed into the adjoining bathroom, spilling the content as he moved, and fetched some cool water. No caution whatsoever. He didn’t care. He poured the water on Omenka’s head. He repeated the process three times, hoping to provoke some sort of movement. Nothing!

He was coming out from the bathroom the fourth time when the movement started. A slow tilt to one side of the chair. An imminent collapse to the floor that should not be allowed to happen. Flinging the bowl away and dropping to his knees, he braked the movement half way and eased the body to the floor. It lay still.

“Go call nurse!” someone screamed. Abang turned his head towards the door. For the first time he realized that he was not the only one in the room. Exhaustion flooded him again. The kind that hits you after you have accomplished a task only to realize it was not really worth all the drama and stress. He just looked on for several minutes as a nurse from a nearby patent medicine store arrived. She bent over the still body, felt it for pulse even when everyone saw the heaving of the chest.

“We can’t say what’s wrong with him right now. All of you should please step out. Allow him some air. Young man, please, get a taxi. We need to get him to a hospital. You need to receive some treatment too. Your elbow is bleeding

Abang didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He just stared at the nurse like a helpless little rabbit. It surprised him that he could stand up and walk out of the room. He felt lighter than his weight except for the heaviness in his chest. His heart was pumping faster than usual, but he really didn’t care. Omenka had to get to the hospital. He plunged into the now heavy rain and headed for the taxi park. He broke into a run after a while. Time was precious. In those days, ambulance service in Nigeria was poor and cabs were not called via the telephone. One had to get to the nearest taxi park. It was 1997