The Nurse

May had the feels - of a sojourn, some fickle light, some laughter, and coffee, and deprivation. It was a perfect balance of good and better, and moments almost clandestine. Some situations you could reel about, be mad about, and get excited about, but in your inner self. There was always that moment that had you thinking about your life, the wrong choices you probably made, the bills you had to settle, and the horrendous battle with adulting. With adulting, only your parents care if you live or die, if you eat or starve, if you go to church or not, if you have a job, and if you have a roof over your head.  They are the perfect weapon against egregious spirits. As if their supplications do not repel all troubles furnished against you, those humans ensure that your cup is filled with overflowing grace, and your basket is full of bread, greens, cabbages, beans, tomatoes, and maize. They make sure that you are set for a couple of days. If you are happy, and you have eaten to your fill, they are. 

But troubles cosset a man. Either way, something must kill a man. It is written somewhere in the skies, in the blue and white, boldly, that a man shall labor and die. And when he dies, his legacy lives then and in the posterity. Some men die a slow death, others pretty much quicker. Some are maimed, others are decimated by disease and pestilence. Others are mauled by predators, others are found lying prostrate in a pool or a stream with their hands tied against their torso. Rarely will you find a suicidal note, that they are tired of living, and that they crave for peace that comes with eternity. Others have their organs perforated, their limbs missing, and their frame rotting away. Goddamit, what has become of this planet? 

Something cossets yours truly. It must be mistakes he intends to atone, or the upcoming football fixture, or the dreams that have not come true to light, or that one incident some years back that he did not come through for a friend. Nope. Enter the nurse.

She has a six-foot frame and ebony-black hair tumbling down her shoulders. Has thin and sensuous lips running across the width of an indulgent mouth. She is light and effeminate, grinning from ear to ear at first glance. She smiles placidly, spreading her beam like the sun would across a cloud. She is confident, expressive and puts her front foot forward. Where she is seated, somewhere at the Lazarus, everything about her points to a calm, composed, unassuming and infectious portrait. When I approach, she pulls a chair to the side and places her bag a top of it. Well, at the Lazarus, she has a fettered view of the monochrome western horizon leaning against the ends of the world. Across the street, some highrise buildings tower, some taxpayers labor, the traffic is hectic, and beyond the alley, some conmen are cutting deals. Some picturesque there. 

She smiles, rises, and hugs stupendously. I can feel her palm against the length of my spine and this is getting therapeutic. We sit, bat an eye, and smile at each other without any apparent logic. 'That is mechanical', Edu would say. For a moment, I have a measured assessment of her - her hallow eyes move spontaneously, her bosom, almost traitorous, sits on the expanse of the table, and her nails master some lustre. She is definitely prepared for this occasion. Meanwhile, yours truly is gagged, horrible and oppressed by life. His soul is troubled and unforgiving, but he could nibble some snacks. Maybe he can have the lady as well.

Pleasantries are exchanged. In the evening, she calls. And calls again, incessantly, in the nights that follow. Turns out she is a nurse, and nursing a tired soul is her job.  She nurses those diagnosed with frightening prognosis, those in acute need of treatment, and even those with erectile dysfunction. She loves her job from the looks of it and goes an extra mile to have her patients convalescent again. Her passion is imposing and deep, and drives her beyond the ordinary. She is into critical care, inpatient and outpatient, and anywhere she will operate from in the morning. She has seen people die in a flash, with hopes firmly gripped in their hands. She has seen patients slip into their last stages of enervation. She has seen it all.

When she called two nights later, she was full of tête-à-tête. She talked about everything that breathed or walked, and almost entirely about her work. She talked about the nights she had to put in a shift and those which she prepared chapos. Hers, she said, were round and soft and if I needed some she could prepare and bring them over the weekend. She raved about her childhood friends and the great memories - those that reminded her of her first love. How he was almost infallible, and charming. How he used to travel the lengths of the world, battling adversaries along the way just to conquer her tender heart. She spoke of her parents and siblings with some adulation. And her friends next door, and how they once organized a surprise birthday party for her. All I could say [amidst the superfluous soliloquy] was awwwh. She talked of her humble beginnings- you know the drill. Sleeping on the floor- cold and burnished- of a room drab and oppressed. Eating sardines for dinner throughout the week. Running short of essentials, and airtime. It was no walk in the park for me, she says. 

A pause.

It had been about one and a half hours since she called. I was feeling drained and drowsy, but she was not done yet. 

'Do you partake alcohol?’ she asks.

'Casually.'

'Not really. Just that,'

Pause.

'..I love my men sober, and entrenched in the word of the Lord. I have had many manifestations over the years, but Lord, give me a teetotaler for a hubby.'

Her tone was measured, no waste of emotion this time. Silence. A whining of a mosquito. Action

"I want a man who means business while he is at it. A pint may do no harm. A couple might, and you may end up with a perpetual battle with addiction. Or with ascites...remember the kijana fupi round thing?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, ascites is when your tummy draws in fluid and creates some sort of a pond inside of you. It becomes large and plump. It is not aesthetically pleasing to see or touch. It kills esteem and self-concept...unabaki kama mayai tu. And when you have had enough of it, you bring your rotund belly for cannulation. Then you might have a second chance to be confident of your own skin and frame. '

I was trying to have my concentration on fleek but I caved in. I could hear my voice fade away with affirmation.

In the morning, I wake up to the snoozing of an alarm.  My head is heavy with sleep and thought. Outside, the city is alive. The sun's rays pierce through the clouds. It is going to be a sunny day. Just when I am about to step out, the nurse calls. I cut short the ringing of the phone and make haste. Later, I will reach out. I have to labor first and deal with the Kanairo nurse thereafter.