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A STRANGER'S HEART

A STRANGER'S HEART




The empty store, scattered kitchen, clean pots, and unused chipped plates; all indications of the lack of food in the house.

The broken Louvres, unwashed curtain, torn mosquito net and broken wall; were a constant reminder of the dilapidated state of our home.

Father's incessant coughs and spit, Mother's torn wrapper, Happiness' unhappy face, her ribs you could count beneath her ripped blouse, breaks my heart every single time.

The setting was the same every day, every single day since father was retrenched from his work place, with no gratuity or pension.

And since his early and unpaid displacement from work, it felt like a switch was turned off in father's life. Father, who was very agile and hardworking, became one of those men who sat in one place for hours doing nothing.

On days he is not sitting on his cane chair outside the house, coughing and spitting, he is under the tree playing 'Ayo' with some other jobless men in the street.

Men whose lives were like his. Men who were tired of life, and are passing time by being useless.

Mother was different, very different.
Ever since Father lost his job at the ministry, she picked up petty trading and sold some fruits in front of the house, while Happiness hawks some around the neighborhood.

Her little trading was like a drop of rain in the Sahara desert, no visible impact. The money she made wasn’t even enough to buy food, not to talk of footing other bills.

Before Mother started trading, she used to borrow money from neighbors to sort food and other things in the house, but the scenario with Mrs. Benson made her stop.

As usual, mother had approached Mrs. Benson for a loan. And when the time came for us to repay the loan, mother didn't have it yet.

And on the alloted day, Mrs. Benson stormed the house, and made a public show of mockery of my family. She insulted Father, called him a useless vegetable, and took Happiness with her to her home,  telling Mother to come for her daughter when she had her money.

Happiness stayed with Mrs. Benson for two weeks where she was treated worse than a slave, before I could find the #750 to repay the loan.

I got the money by selling my shoes, the only pair I had. And that was the last time mother borrowed from anyone.

You'd be wondering where I fit into all of these. I am the unemployed graduate son, the type you find in almost all Nigerian families.

I am a graduate of Physics, from the University of Port Harcourt. I graduated 5 years ago, but I have not had a decent job in my life.

I sell newspapers in the rich folk's neighborhood. That was my own support to the family, and that was where I saved to feed the family, and buy small things including my China phone.

There were days I made sales enough to feed the home for two days, but that was  the highest I have ever gone.

Others days, I don't make any sale due to circumstances beyond my control.

Some rich folks are dubious too, you know? I used to think only poor people cheat, but I was proven wrong by some rich people I met in my life of newspaper selling business.

There are some houses I get to and they ask for newspaper, and I supply; only for them to unleash their dogs on me when it's time to pay.

Other days, it's rain that ruins my sales, rendering my newspapers and I drenched and useless.

Regardless of these, I was persistent in my hustle but I was tired of the life I lived. On so many nights, I get back home to meet an empty pot. I cry myself to sleep every night, knowing one day things were going to change for the better.

On a fateful day, With Victor AD's "Wetin We Gain" playing in my head, I packed my newspapers under my arms, and started knocking from one gate to another.

"Newspaper here!  Newspaper here!!" I'd shout when I got to a gate.

I just finished selling at a mansion, when I heard a car screeched behind me, double crossing another car in the process, as four hefty men rushed out of the car in front, with high tech guns flaying in the air.

I tried to hide but there was no where I could hide. So, i knelt, faced down, and raised my hands in the air; hot piss forcing itself from my privates.

What I heard next was a shot, and feminine screams piercing the air. I slowly dipped my hands in my pocket, and slowly brought my phone up to my face level, covering it with my arms.

I dialed 112, and before I could report the situation, I heard another shot, this time very close to me, and I felt a sting on my back.

I heard the men rush into their cars and drove off. Everything was quiet after that and I figured that the coast was clear.

I tried to rise to my feet but I couldn't, I felt hazy and tired. I tried again, and this time I felt warm blood trickling down my back.

I stood up feebly, and saw the situation in front of me. There was a dead man on the ground beside a car worth millions of naira and a woman cradling an almost lifeless child in her arms.

A sharp pain in my back made me touch my back, and I realized the second shot was aimed at me. I had been shot in my back.

"Help me!!!  Help me!!!  Please help me!! " The woman screamed, calling out to me for help.
I rushed to where they were, and saw the little girl gasping for air.

"We need to get her... and him to the hospital, can you drive?" I asked her, ignoring the pain in my back and the dizziness I felt, as I  placed my ear on the man's chest, to ascertain if he was still breathing.

He wasn't, but I didn't think it was right to tell her that  yet.

"I'd try. " she answered, trying to wipe her eyes, as she assisted me in lifting the man in the back seat.

She slid in the driver's seat, and turned on the ignition. I sat beside her, carrying the child in my arms, my focus on the child, not caring about my wound.

The little girl was so ethereal even in her painful state. My heart was drawn to her,  and I vowed to do anything to make her better.
She drove to the nearest hospital like a mad woman.

We got to the hospital, and were attended to immediately. I was rushed into the ward and treated. Thankfully the bullet was in a non-fatal place in my body, so it could be removed without too many hassles.

 The man (I found out was her husband) was pronounced dead after so many trials at resuscitation.

The doctors said the daughter needed a heart transplant immediately. That was when I found out the little girl had been suffering from a heart disease for so long. And I guessed this incident triggered her heart condition.

But the problem was that there was no way they could get a donor immediately, and they needed to get her to the surgery immediately if we wanted her to live.

I didn't know what pushed me to volunteer. I told them to remove my heart for her.

I was tired of living. There was nothing to live for. My life was filled with pain, anguish, and sorrow, so why not end it, and give the poor little girl a shot at life.

The doctors and cardiologists asked if I was sure of my decision, I nodded in affirmative. They took some samples from me, and went to run checks on them.

They came back to say my heart would do perfectly for her, I was so happy to be of help. The mother couldn't thank me enough.

I gave her my parents' contact address, but warned her not to say anything to anyone until the transplant was successful.

And that was how I was wheeled into the theatre, sedated and operated upon. Even in death, I was happy to be of help.

**********************************
The young girl got her transplant and it was a success. Her mother contacted Steve's parents and told them everything.

She bought them a house in Banana Island, set up a business for them, and registered Happiness in a private boarding school.

All as a token of her appreciation for what Steve did for her daughter.

©Aderonke Adeyeye 2019

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