He looked at me in return to a glance that I had thrown at him. He even appeared to smile at me. As I was about to reciprocate to the welcoming gesture, my thoughts went back to his eyes. It was an empty gaze, one that deserved the name a stare. What I had thought to be a smile was indeed a mouth agape.
Perhaps a position that one adopts as they are gasping for a last breath.
I bent down to where he was and felt for his heartbeat. Though not a medic and having no stethoscope, it was clear that it was either too faint or was not there at all. I thought it wise to sit him up. At least at a sitting position, and with some help, we would get him drink something. Some porridge or even some warm milk might revive the drooping spirit. Attempts to sit him up were almost reduced to to non-start-ups. His body was quite stiff. He was neither big-bodied nor plump, still I could not succeed in what I endeavored to do. To this moment, reality was yet to dawn on me. With the help of another two, finally he was sited. Dirty clothes plus a wooden stool that had earlier welcomed us into this deserted room helped support his current position.
I held a spoon on my right hand, sitting next to him on a floored mattress. From the bowl of warm porridge that was in the hands of my son and daughter, I was able to scoop some amount. His gums were clenched, though the lips did not close. The smile was still alive and the eye gaze still unmoved. I threw another glance at him as if to remind him that he needed to swallow something. His response was as still as death. I placed the spoon full of porridge into his lips and against the clenched gum. He had no single tooth as he had lost all in his drinking errands. I realized that things were getting a little beyond the joke. I recalled a method that my late mum had taught me.
Whenever we were to feed a goat or her kid with some liquid, we would go through her clenched teeth by pressing fingers hard onto its side cheeks. This I did and with some force, the gums gave in. I poured the liquid into his mouth.
My joy lasted only a while, as I heard all the liquid go down the throat with little control. I recalled a similar sound. As a young man, I had witnessed that at a time when I was feeding my dad. At his old age, this last attempt to feed, was a short while before his death. The same was happening now. The one I was holding and trying to feed was lifeless. With that, even the swallowing coordination was dead. Indeed he was cold and stiff. His life was no more.
No wonder even the heartbeat was not there.
Whenever emergencies arise, my system reacts in a very calm way. I am not sure it is as a result of the training on first aid. We had been taught to remain calm. That is the way we would be able to do some rescue. I remained calm. I was senseless and emotionless. Thoughts went over my head. My mum had constantly reminded me; in such circumstances, one could call in a priest. Catholic belief has the mission of the sacrament of the anointing of the sick. I thought about this and certainly it was the best. I went out and removed my small phone from the pocket. It had some credit in it but not sufficient. I scrolled down the keys to the e-money icon. I clicked on it and went into the buy credit icon. With that, I was able to secure some additional credit. I was now set to call. If lucky, the priest would arrive before his death. Or rather he would come and help confirm his death.
I did not want to call the priest directly. I was not in any mood for long questions. I did not have the energy to explain to anyone.
No not at this moment!
One of the church leaders was a good friend of mine. His number immediately popped up. I dialed as I thought what to tell him. After the usual icebreaking, I went straight to the point, “Could you please go to the parish and come with the priest.” The rest I explained rather hurriedly, though tersely.
“Do this, as I go call the priest, you can also rush him to the dispensary that is just at the church. In that way, it shall be easier for the priest, and just in case some medical attendance is needed, he may receive it.” This advice, though unwelcome, came from my friend.
To please this friend of mine, I decided to abide by his advice. In my head though, I was sure that all was futile. He was already gone.
I went back into the room. I felt the strong smell that announced some hard stool. I asked those that we were with to remove whatever he had on.
Gradually, though forcefully we turned him. With the stiffness, it was not easy at all to remove and dress him up. I noted that one of the young men was looking away. At first I thought that he disliked the smell.
Who would enjoy the smell of dirt, coupled with urine and stool all over one’s body? Again with the help of my sister-in-law, all was done.
Later, I learnt that the young man, a nephew of mine, was desisting from seeing the nakedness of the uncle. Culture had taught him that this would bring a curse. On learning that, I straightened the understanding. In times of such a happening, one has to help. He would rather be the one to see the nakedness of his uncle, than for others from outside. I grinned at some of our taboos.
I brought the car close. The body of this brother that I followed was at least clean, though lifeless. I drove quite calmly to the church dispensary. Being a familiar place, we soon got the medics to attend to him. They brought in a wheel chair. With it we wheeled him in. Within a few minutes, four were around him. I noticed that each was doing something. I am not sure what they were trying to do. To this moment I was still senseless and emotionless.
True to it, he was and remains my brother. Alcohol had taken the better of him. Alcohol and he, were in a marriage that knew no divorce and no separation. Daily, the two had to meet. Three times he had escaped death by a whisker. At one time, he had gone drinking. Having lost direction, he went out the wrong way. This new opening was at a balcony that had no rails. The outlet exposed a pit that was about 20 feet down. In his drunken stupor, he went down this pit, and landed on a big charcoal stove.
He broke his thigh bone twice. As I was called at around 2 a.m., to take him to hospital, I found a man who was in deed pain. It was explained to me later that his drinking friends had attempted some first aid on noticing the pains that their friend had. They had concluded that it was a minor sprain. They had twisted the leg right and left offering some physiotherapy. In pain and amidst screams, he had to wet and soil his pants, the pain was too much.
He remained in hospital for six months. Later, amidst swears that he would never drink again, he was discharged. Later that afternoon, on arrival home, I went to have a nap. I was a little tired and sleepy after spending over six hours in hospital effecting the discharge. Soon the sound of a car awoke me. I peeped through the bedroom window. I saw some friends of mine getting him out of the van.
He was heavily drunk.
As soon as we had landed home, he had requested to take a few rounds with his crutches. The welcome to the neighborhood was a drink. With the alcohol in his head, he could not balance his crutches. He had to be carried back home.
On a second episode, he was coming from his drinking sprees. It must have been around 2 a.m. On his way, he passed some two men who appeared suspicious. I guess, due to his state, they desired not interrupt him. As soon as he had passed. He thought to himself, “Perhaps they are thieves.” In his courage he turned to follow them, to demand why they were coming there to rob in the night. One of them struck him using a sharp object. The thrust went straight into his left eye. He was never to use that eye again. It had been pricked using a sharp object. From then on, he had to remain mono-eyed. Just a recall that this was not the first time he had done a similar action and got struck by robbers on the run.
The third episode was on an afternoon when he was resting calmly at home. A passer-by came around and greeted him. He explained that he had a cow that he needed to take to the slaughter house. He was looking for someone to assist him. Since it was up and about the same place where this brother of mine went to get his drink, he found it convenient to offer himself. After all he would also be paid some money. With that he certainly would be able to get a drink for the day.
Soon the pair was on its way. They did some runs and were nearing the cow market place.
Soon shouts of an angry mob were heard, “Thieves! Thieves!”
Before much could be done, blows and thrusts were raining upon the pair.
Stones, rocks, and whatever batons that were around were used to silence the two. In places where law enforcers are reluctant to realize justice, people tend to take law into their hands. The desire was to eliminate these thieves who were enriching themselves through theft, was real.
As a jerrycan of fuel appeared, with the intention of lynching the two, a sound was heard, “Leave this one alone, he comes from our area,”
I guess some Samaritan had identified my brother as a drinking buddy. That voice granted them sufficient time, and just before the mob re-grouped, the police had arrived. The two were taken in. After weeks and months of hospital, the two were taken to court. Following some agreement out of court, they were released. Of course that was not before some monies were paid. The one that had invited my brother later died. We learnt that the cause was the internal injuries following the mob justice attack.
I looked at him again and went out. I felt angry. I am not sure what the cause of the anger was. I am not certain that I know where the anger was leading me to. I went out in search of some fresh air. I do not know what I was thinking. Perhaps in my mind, burial arrangements were going on. I had even set the day of the burial. I had communicated to my siblings about the entire ordeal. Though not declaring him dead, I had hinted in that direction.
As some tried to comfort me, I was still so emotionless, “How on earth can a person decide to have such a life and such an ending?”
On arrival at the dispensary, as the nurses were attempting to work on the lifeless body, I had called in a priest. He was my parish priest. He initially had come with some prayers. On seeing the intensity of the frailty and the lifeless body, however, he had gone back for something more. I was there as he was motionlessly being attended to. I had done what was humanly possible, to bring in the priest and get for him some medical attention.
My mind went astray yet another time.
I recalled how talented he was. On finishing primary school he had identified his talent. He was such a good artist. All through secondary school he was so innocent and cute in looks. He had such a sweet voice and led the school choir. So pious he was that his request to pursue priesthood was easily welcome. He would hardly hurt a fly. What exactly had led him into such drinking?
One of the nurses came towards us in jubilation, “He has woken up! He has woken up!” We all looked at him in disbelief. They had managed to get at least a live vein. Through this they had effected an intravenous treatment. After immense efforts, they had managed to get him back to life. He groaned as he gasped for breath. He attempted to open an eye.
He appeared to breathe. Indeed he had come back to life.
Thanks to my spouse that had heard some groans coming from his small room.
Thanks too to my friend who advised about going to hospital.
Thanks to the nurses who refused to give up!
Soon an ambulance was called, and together we proceeded to a bigger hospital. Again he had resurrected.
May God bless the benevolent work of our friends.
