MY LOVE FOR NURSE NAOMI

MY LOVE FOR NURSE NAOMI




(How an eleven year-old boy fell in love with a female nurse)

HOW IT ALL BEGAN

I met Nurse Naomi when I was admitted at the Acha Presbyterian
Hospital at Acha Tugi in Momo Division of Cameroon. This was during
the long holidays that for me marked the transition between Classes
Five and Six of the primary school.

A CHILD ON HIS DYING BED

I think it was pneumonia and all efforts to reverse the situation at
the Bambili Dispensary and the Cameroon College of Arts (CCAST)
infirmary had failed. This was despite the very best of efforts
deployed By Pa Ntaribo-Tataw, the infirmarian who was a friend of my
father's. In fact, so strong was this friendship that later, when I
was already at Sacred Heart College in Mankon-Bamenda and Pa Tataw had
to send his son, Raymond to the same school, he threw a house-warming
party during which he officially "handed over" Raymond to me, so that
as senior student, I could look after him.

As my illness was not showing any signs of surrender, I was taken to
the Bamenda General Hospital and admitted for a month after which
there was still no improvement in my situation. Someone recommended a
"good" traditional doctor to my father but he dismissed the idea.
Nonetheless, when the hospital doctor discharged me the following week
and prescribed drugs to be taken at home, my father felt relieved. But
even after we got home, the situation deteriorated still. My father
had no choice than to send for the traditional doctor. I found his
treatment to be user-unfriendly and humiliating. It consisted of me
being bathed in an old smoke-coated earthen traditional pot in which
tree leaves had been boiled with palm wine. That was the liquid with
which my mother was asked to bathe me every morning. Poor woman! After
the bath, she had to wipe me with my own towel and then rub my entire
body with a paste made of some strange smelling blackish powder mixed
with palm oil.

DAD`S DEEP WORRY

My family was very anxious. My father who was a night watchman at the
Bambui Agric. Farm (today known as IRAD Bambui) would steal some time
from work at night out of curiosity, just to see if I was still alive
or I had passed away after he left. Nevertheless, he kept his faith.
As he put it, he was surrendering his will to God.

I could not lie down. If I attempted to do so, I would cough until I
sat back up. So it was as if I was being commanded by the whooping
cough. It was as if it had now become my master, and I its slave. When
I went through this spasm of coughing, I would be out of breath and
start panting and sweating profusely. My eyes would go red and I would
look weak and desperate. This was because it took tremendous effort to
withstand the bout.

SLEEPLESS NIGHTS FOR MUM AND SISTER

Sometimes, my elder sister would ask in our language, Ngamambo, what
part of my body it was that pained to make me groan so much. I would
say it was my chest and sides. Faced with such a debilitating
situation, my sister and mother became restless and inconsolable. They
were like moving shadows.

THE CHOICE OF A HOSPITAL

Since all else had failed us, including the much vaunted traditional
doctor, a friend advised my father to . . .


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HAPPY NEW YEAR!

--
TIKUM MBAH AZONGA

University Lecturer and Journalist

PhD (Communication de Masse), Mastaire ès Lettres en Journalisme,
Postgraduate Diploma in French, Diplôme de Traducteur-Interprète,
Diplome de Professeur de Français Langue Etrangère, Certificado de
Profesor de la Lengua Española, Cambridge Certificate of Proficiency
in English


P.O. Box 625 Buea
South West Region
Cameroon

TEL (237) 7322 4352 or (237) 9996 8663 or (237) 6175 3390

(Please, text me if your calls do not get through)
EMAIL: tmazonga@gmail.com
WEBSITE: www.tmazonga.blogspot.com

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