IGBOBI SMELLS LIKE A POT OF BEANS

Writers block: let the music be right

Needless to say, Igbobi hospital accused me of faking the pain that caused me to lay next to the chick who wouldn't stop shitting and the guy with the gunshot wound and no shirt...we all shared and exchanged flies...yet these ignorant barely graduate educated yahoo boys disguised as medical practitioners accused me of faking the pain in my leg because I demanded for morphine...now I have no left hip! 

I stayed in the hospital ward at Igbobi for four days, during which I took a shit NOT once. It happened when I asked aunty Ayo the nurse for a bedside commode or a bed pan and she said to me "Shebi ofe ya igbe Ni? Ehn duro fun girl ti o wa Ni Egbe e Lati lo po tan" (if youre trying to take a shit, wait for the lady next to u to finish, then use the bedpan) there was an everlasting wait for the "psyche!!!" That never came. So I did like prison and kept my barely waxed asshole tight.

Three more days of excruciating pain and a stiff bowel, they decided I was having a sickle cell crisis and needed blood transfusion. Clap for them. We are making progress. My now anxious-crazy looking-tired dad who hadn't change his clothes in 3 days and was at risk of people pulling coins out of their bags to "Shanu fun" hurriedly submitted himself for the humiliation of not being "qualified" to be a donor. Then the phone calls started rolling out and in 2hours, naija music industry was highly represented at the hospital. I had loosekaynon from c.b.n/loopy;  Vina from big brother; Moyo from m.et.al and even those chyko boys that sang "oya"...Shebi one person will pass this blood drive jamb? 

A blood transfusion later, I was starting to feel better. The goal was to be able to get the fuck out of there! I had enough. They kept my medicine in a cabinet and I swear, every hour, someone went in there to initiate me in the "sharing is caring" movement and gave my supplies out. I didn't mind but damn! 

My flip flops decided to take a walk, my pillow vamoused and my body was manna for the gangsta-steroid abusing mosquitoes on the hospital premises. I started to fear that I might leave there with aids, cholera and constipation...all join, it was a genuine concern. 

Every night I went to sleep in my co-Ed hospital ward, I would catch a glimpse of the guy who came in with a gunshot wound from attempted robbery. My insomnia came in handy as the only way he passed time was to stare at me for hours as if to say "I dare you to fall asleep, you gon learn today." 

In excruciating pain, my friends seemed too afraid to come inside the ward. they would peek from the door, wave and shake their heads. I started to think I had something contagious...come to find out, our superhero-no speedo nurses had told them not to come near me because I would remember to fake the grunt. Lobatan, lai se Rick Ross. 

Discharge day, I summoned all the strength in me and took some frm the chatty armed robber across me, I wanted out! I couldn't wait! I was called all sorts of "ole, Americana, ajebutter" none of which bugged me until our smart aunty Ayo the nurse suggested that I was faking all the pain, all the tears, all the wishes to kill myself....she decided that I made all that up. She was certain that NO sickle cell crisis presented itself in such a painful manner. The one time she decided to administer pain medicine to me, she walks up to me holding this horse tranquilizer and asked me to "turn my yansh" so she could "shook me merecine" ...I looked at her and in the calmest way possible, said "if u move closer, I will pullout your right eye with that needle"

I managed to leave that hospital in almost one piece....to think, this was the beginning of the end of the pain....

As a great man once said, 'This Life is just a pot of beans and one should rather die than be admitted into a Nigerian Hospital"