How I Died And Got Another Shot At Life 15 Years Ago

BY LEAH KATUNG-BABATUNDE

I was a youth corps member, making the call up after three years of hustle with my university. Everyone was happy as insinuations of my being a non-academic student faded.

That fateful Monday, all the signs were there for me not to travel back to Abuja. In fact, I saw it in my dream: the exact fractures, the maroon car, the bike man and his passenger who crossed the line, the parked trailer, the only thing that was different was my co-traveler.

My In-law, Baban Bobai, and I had left Zaria on the morning. Somehow, a series of events made us leave Kaduna at 1:30 pm. We talked along the way and occasionally threw jibes at each other, obviously oblivious of what lied ahead.

Shortly before Suleja, we stopped to top fuel. Entering the car, I did not put back my seat belt as I was busy typing away on my phone. Baban Bobai had turned and asked why I wasn’t putting on my seat belt, but I told him to be patient and allow me finish typing.

Suddenly I felt the car swerved and quickly I checked the time and saw it was 3pm on the dot. I looked up and saw my life flash before my eyes and the same dream I had the previous night came alive.

I shouted, “Baban Bobai na mutu” (Baban Bobai, I am dead).

Then, we crashed into the truck. I heard a heavy turmoil rocking my head. I moved my left hand and felt it, after all I was still alive. I laughed as my in-law came out of the car. Some Good Samaritans soon arrived to offer assistance.

The car was out, but I was trapped from my chest down. As my in-law turned round to take a look at me, I saw the horror on his face and I tried to speak. I felt too much liquid in my mouth, and I wondered what I was swallowing. I soon felt my blood spewing and gushing out of my pretty face that was now in disarray, tearing right into my mouth and exposing my dentition. Through the breeze, I got a wind of what had happened. I passed out.

I would later open my eyes to tugs and drags, with a crowd around the car. Our full tank had given way as fuel spewed out under the hot sun. There was panic, but my in-law would not stop axing the car to pull me out of the wreckage that held me bound.

After a while, I was pulled out. I felt so much pain like I was in hell (like that’s the extremely hot place we know even though we haven’t been there right?). From my face to my right hand, chest, ribs and leg, I felt etched in agony. I asked him if my body was broken, he answered in the affirmative. I was laid on the ground. In and out of consciousness, people kept stopping to have a good view of the wreck. Some passersby, with camera phones that were not so affordable, would snap and continue on their journeys. No one bothered to take me to a hospital.

I turned around and saw an Abuja danfo bus driver. After having a good view, he called out to his conductor who was among the spectators of the wreck: ‘Oya jalo!’

I barely mustered enough strength to plead with him, “Oga, can’t you see how bad I’m bleeding?  I’m a corper, my ID card is in my purse. If I were your daughter and no one is helping her, like you want to leave me now, how would you feel?”

I looked straight into his eyes and the fatherly instinct came alive. He walked to his bus, discharged his passengers and requested the men around to help lift me into the bus. The pains didn’t even allow me worry about my wrap skirt giving way to expose my nakedness; that was the least of my worries.

Just as they were tucking me inside the bus, I heard the blaring of sirens, men of the Federal Road Safety Commission (FRSC). I saw about four heads. Perhaps, a caring passerby or an eyewitness had summoned them, so I thought. May be out of fear, those helping me into the bus had brought me back out and dumped me like a sack of potatoes, and I passed out. Again, I felt myself being laid in the back of a pickup owned by the FRSC; it was bare and I laid flat.

Then the tortuous journey began to the Suleja General Hospital. Despite the terrible conditions of the road, the driver kept speeding into bumps as others kept telling me, ‘sorry’ as my screams fade away gradually.

We arrived at the emergency and the police came to take statement, I was still there on a stretcher on the floor. Then, the search for the doctor on call began and it was way past 6pm. I was still alive and in crushing pains. My pelvis, too, had given way. The labs proceeded to x-ray the extent of damage in a hospital that had no orthopedic doctor, and the one on call was unavailable.

Can my wounds be stitched? No thread, no canola, no needles. I noticed the restless agitation of my in-law. When I asked what the problem was, he told me he had only N2, 000.

“Ah, oya check my purse”

‘I can’t find it.’

“What do you mean you can’t find it? I asked.

‘I went back to the scene and those who helped said they gave the police all they recovered. The police said they don’t have anything outside what they gave me: your lingerie bag, devotional book and Bible’, he responded.

 “Unbelievable. No phones, no purse, no personal belongings and we are expected to pay for towing the scrap of the car,” I bemoaned my fate as I passed into unconsciousness.

Faintly, I heard the doctor’s voice as I was coming out from the reverie of pains. I could see his face from my sleep. He was fair, good looking and so young. He stood at the doorway scolding the nurse for disturbing his peace.

‘Forget it, this one don die!’ he said.

“What! How could you declare me dead when I’m still here? Baban Bobai, are you hearing this idiot?” I shot back with pains in my voice.

Baban Bobai did not look at me; he actually didn’t hear me.

I began to pray to the God of second chance.

“God, I know I’m not worthy, but if you leave me to die, my mom will die, too. That will mark a tragic end to my family,” I prayed from the depth of my heart. I prayed so hard until I rolled into the stream of consciousness (this explains why they didn’t hear my protest), I passed out again.

When I woke up, the doctor had left. My relation, with the support of good spirited individuals, had purchased the needed items. In the dark, that nurse, an Igala man from Kogi state, began to stitch my face in layers. He spoke calmly and I saw a helpless face, but his lips held steady to his Nokia torch that provided light as the hospital was out of power supply.  

After completing the painful exercise, I was wheeled to the ward and injected some doses of Pentazocine to douse the pains.

 It was the longest night of my life!

A patient gave me her phone to call for help. I dialed my then boyfriend who was in Bida for a family visit. He told me he couldn’t come and couldn’t send help. I called four other friends within the axis and Abuja, there was nothing forthcoming.

“Am I going to die this way without help”?

Then I called someone that was my last resort,   a retired Captain and now deceased, Mohammed Bello (May the Lord continue to rest his soul). He had just landed in Lagos for a business meeting. On hearing of my dilemma, he boarded the next available flight to Abuja. He got his car at the airport and drove that night to Suleja. I got medical supplies, toiletries, change of clothes, a brace to move me to the Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital (ABUTH) Zaria, including an advanced fee for treatment. Besides getting me a phone, he escorted us to Zaria where my mom was already waiting at the hospital after being informed of the news.

Then commenced my one-year journey between doctors and hospitals.  I passed out of NYSC on crutches and got restored.

Mr Dave Ifabiyi, who knew me from nowhere, ensured surgeries were carried out on me and all hospital bills fully paid by the company.

 God’s grace and favour found me.

This same God has brought me thus far these 15 years. My leg was almost amputated, but now I walk. I was told I couldn’t conceive or give birth, but that’s now ‘okoto’ (gist). I was told I can’t broadcast due to my facial scars, but right now who cares? I was told I would battle bone-related issues, but for where? In fact, I’m still a regular blood donor.

God has been so good to me. I am highly favoured and protected by the Most High.

Indeed, Yalien! (My Atyap name for ‘Who knows? Except God”.)