Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars, drenched in my pain again, becoming who we are. As my memory rests, but never forgets what I lost, wake me up when September ends
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~ A H M A D ~
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Who even created that stupid app that let's you order rides online? If not for that nitwit, Asiya would have had agreed to my offer and I would have now been blessed with her company.
I sigh heavily as I hear the hurried clicking of her heels against the pavement and the loud slamming of the car door behind us, meaning she had entered the ride of some random uber driver and he would be the one blessed not me. I rest my head on the seat and Harrison starts moving us forward.
Today had been no doubt the best day I've had in almost three months and I see the sense in Mama's insistence that I join these classes. I met someone that I think I'll actually be comfortable being friends with. We had talked all through the lunch break and I figured that Bankoley Roland was somewhat of a cool guy. He told me how he had started getting along as a visually handicapped person two years ago when he turned blind, he told me the system he had created that somehow compensated his lack of sight and indeed, I had found everything he said incredibly helpful and inspiring.
But of course like all good things, something bad was bound to happen and obstruct the flow. And that bad thing had been talking with Maryam Jada. I wish I didn't even tell her that I knew her. I know it wasn't her intention but then, she wouldn't have rubbed it in myself how one of my mates is now a proffesor and another is a doctor while I am now just another blind guy she's tutoring as part of her parents charity program.
That stung a lot but then at least I have the highlight of my day to look back to. It was of course when Asiya had fallen on me. I didn't need to hear her voice to know that it was her. Her sweet scent was enough for me to know that I shouldn't be alarmed of feeling a weight suddenly over me from nowhere, but instead I should be thankful since it was her. I had felt her breath fanning my face and I could feel that she was petrified but I couldn't blame her since I was too.
I had felt like my heart was going to burst open and my breath had completely abandoned me. I had never felt so vulnerable and weak being close to someone like I had when I was close to her. This was nothing I'd ever want my mum to know, but I had had my fair share in hugging girls yet, none had ever affected me like Asiya just did. Even though I couldn't even see her.
And now as I sit here with a smile on my face, relishing in the scent I know is hers that still lingered on my jacket, I just know that she's special. That even though I don't deserve her, she's someone I feel in my heart that I want to try to be good enough for. And if I had to give a color and a name to this feeling, it'll be her, it will be yellow.
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I remember when weekends were my favorite days of the week. I remember when my weekdays used to be crowded with studying and completing my daily flight hours as well as meeting up with countless friends and attending multiple events. That was why weekends were so cherished because they were the two days I had to myself, they were the two days I had nothing to do and I could just laze around all day.
Today, a Saturday morning, I wake up with the complete opposite feeling. I hate weekends and the reason wasn't only because now, weekends were exactly the same as weekdays since I didn't have any studying talk less of any flying to do or even any friends to meet or any stupid events I was invited to. Since the accident, that was how drastically my life has changed but still, over this week, I don't dislike weekends just because of that, but because I hate the fact that I'll have to take a two day break before I could hear Asiya's voice again, before I could smell her scent again. I hate it that this morning, instead of getting ready to go to the university, I was getting ready to go to the hospital for that hopeless doctor's appointment.
I sigh as Harrison helps me into the passenger door of what I know to be not the C400 he's been driving me in all week, but my mum's Ford. She was driving me to the hospital today and Harrison was staying behind so, according to Mama, we could have a "mother and son's day out." Of course, I'd like it more if I didn't even have to go to the consultation in the first place talk less for it to be followed by endless hours doing whatever it is Mama has planned. The only upside to this is that today, I'll finally be free of this plaster and I'll be able to walk properly again.
"Are we there yet?" I ask boredly, almost for the third time since Mama started driving.
"Just about ten minutes more Ahmadi."
"Ugh, I just want to get this over with." I sigh as I run a hand over my face feeling how now, I'm at a risk of becoming a caveman.
My beard was now at the fullest I had ever allowed it to grow and even though I really didn't like the feeling of being so useless that I couldn't even shave myself, I know that I will have to let Harrison help me shave before Monday.
"And then, when I call you my baby boy, you come at me and claim that you're not one when you're now busy whining like a baby." Mama laughs and I know she's kind of right.
"We're here." she finally announces as the car starts gently pulling to a halt.
Mama helps me out and I have no trouble in pulling my leg behind me as I manoeuvred ahead with my seeing stick in one hand and the other hand on Mama's shoulder. She was about a head shorter than me so the position was quite convenient.
The Ophthalmology Department as usual wasn't crowded and we didn't have to wait out before we were let into the doctors office.
"Good morning Mrs Sambo." a loud bellow welcomes us in and I'm sure the owner of this voice must be a huge man with a big round potbelly bulging out under his white lab coat.
"Good morning Dr Majid." Mama returned to him warmly as she helped me sit on one of the chairs.
"Ah and goodmorning to you too young man." he addressed me.
"Morning Doctor." I smile.
"So I believe, you're now able to get on your feet! That's a remarkably fast recovery I must say."
You have Baba to thank for that.
"Yeah, actually he's always been like that." Mama hurriedly answers for me, as if she knew what I was thinking.
"Oh really? Quite remarkable!" the doctor bellows again and I conclude that he just has way too much energy.
"What I'll do now," he continues. "is send you with the nurses and have them remove that cast off your leg."
"Sure, sounds great." I'm very thankful to finally have this thing off of me.
"Good then and in the meantime while you're gone, I'll have a word with your mother about your uhmmm... case."
Even the way he was talking proved that this was a lost cause, it proved that I had no hope whatsoever.
In just a few minutes, the nurses entered the room and the two women I think to be middle aged, kindly guide me out of the office and into an open room I think must have curtains for walls.
I sit upstraight on the bed while keeping my leg atop something I couldn't quite figure out what it was, and let them begin their work.
My mind of course drifts back to what the doctor meant, to what he's currently discussing with mama and even though I really didn't pin my hopes on this, my heart sinks. I didn't need to go back there to know that he was telling my mum that whatever it is they had planned, wasn't going to work out.
The nurses announce that they're done and after they've done a few reflex tests on my knee, they declare that I am indeed cleared for walking. As I stretch my leg and bend it in all possible directions, I run a hand over the skin that I hasn't been exposed for two weeks now. I made do with my sense of touch to tell me how rough and cracked the skin had gotten since I couldn't see it.
Standing up on my feet on all two legs after such a long time felt absolutely amazing. Too bad I could never figure out what seeing again will be like.
Over the week Roland had been teaching me his memory techniques and I decide to put them to the test now and take myself back to the office from which I came. Though the nurses all offered that they guide me back, I very politely tell them that I'd like to try myself since it wasn't even that far. I use my seeing stick and swing it from left to right at my feet as I walk away and try to estimate the number of steps and the direction of turns we had taken from the office to this room.
After a few steps ahead and as I was about to take a turn to the left, a nurse stops me, of course they had followed behind me to keep an eye on me.
"Sir, it's by your right."
Like everything else I had hope in, this wasn't a success and I had failed in using my memory to take myself back. I take the right turn and defeatedly, I let the nurse guide me through the rest of the way.
"Come in young man!" Dr Majid says immediately the door swings open and I take the first step in. "Indeed what a remarkable recovery it is! Mrs Sambo, your son's walking like he has never had a single broken bone!"
I wonder what you'd say if you knew the number of times Baba has broken my bones.
Again, as if Mama had heard my thoughts, she hurriedly intervened to divert the conversation from the subject of any broken bones.
"The tests Doctor?"
"Of course, we'll get right to them!" Dr Majid answers and I hear a few squeaky and screechy sounds from somewhere in front of me.
I feel a heat focused on my eyes and the Doctor asks me to move my head closer and keep my eyes wide open. I realize he must be using some giant apparatus that was shining light on my eyes and he must be looking through a binocular thingy at my eyes.
Afer a few moments of adjusting my position and the heat disappearing and reappearing, signalling the lights turning on and off, the test finally comes to an end and I'm in no way expecting a positive result. Probably all this was only just for show, the doctor himself knew that it was pointless.
"I'm afraid it is exactly as I have predicted Mrs Sambo." I hear the deep melancholy in his voice.
I knew it.
"No but Doctor, maybe you should do another test? Surely you can't conclude so soon."
"Mrs Sambo," the doctor adopts a more comforting tone. "I'm afraid this isn't too soon, I assure you that all other tests will show the same results. This is as dire as a case of amaurosis, I'm afraid."
Mama takes moments before she replies and I fear that she might be crying. That was why I hadn't been in support of this since the beginning. It would be better if it were just me, I just couldn't bear to see my mum going through another heartbreak.
Though I'm not sure if she's crying, I reach out under the table and hold her hand in mine. By the way they were trembling, I confirm that she is indeed crying, softly, probably so I wouldn't hear.
I hold on tighter to her hands in an effort to console her.
"Mrs Sambo, please understand that we've done the best we can." Dr Majid's tone was soothing. "I'll give you two a moment." I hear the screech of his chair as he gets up and the slam of the door as he closes it behind him.
I scooch closer and envelope Mama in a hug. I hold her tight as her sobs only get more and more louder.
"We're not giving up," she whispers, her head on my shoulder. "They clearly just don't have the resources and expertise Ahmadina, but this is curable." I felt how her muscles tensened and I know she had said that with fierce determination. "We're going to China, Germany, UK, just anywhere that has doctors that can make you better!"
At this point, I honestly was just tired, I honestly just want to do what it is Mama said we're not doing; give up. I just want to learn to accept this instead of fight it. But of course my mum was in no state of mind to understand that so all I do is nod my head, agreeing to whatever she wants.
"It'll be okay Mama, just please stop crying, please." I loosen my hold on her and manage to get a few tears off her cheeks with my hands.
Eight years ago, I had thought that my hands will never again be required to perform this task. I had thought that they had retired from their duty of wiping away my mother's tears since the one that caused them was no longer alive. But here I am again, over these three months, they have been doing nothing but just that and what hurt most was the fact that now, I was the one that caused them. Now, Baba's screams and blows and hits weren't what caused my mother's pain, my blindness was.
Mama finally comes to and she uses a tissue to clean herself up. We leave the office with my hand in hers as she guides me ahead and after we say a goodbye to Dr Majid, we walk out of the hospital into the blazing heat of the sun.
Just before we enter the car, I press the button on my watch and it tells me that it's 1:35 pm. Meaning we spent almost three hours at the hospital.
"So where are we headed?" though I'm not looking forward to it, I ask in a high-spirited tone, an attempt to lift Mama's mood.
"Home."
"Home?" I'm surprised. "What happened to 'mother and son's special day out'?"
"I figured you'd prefer just staying at home Ahmadi."
I didn't press the matter any further since she was right, I would prefer just staying at home, waiting out the torture of the weekend and I know she must've planned whatever it was as a celebration for when the doctors give us any good news. But she now must be feeling like the slogan of this year's Nigeria's independence day; what is there to celebrate?
We arrived home at a few minutes past 2 pm and when Mama tries to guide me in, I declined the offer and inform her that I was practicing what Roland had taught me.
As I swung my stick from left to right at my feet, I counted the steps. It would be easy this time since I had been practicing it a lot in this same space at the entrance of the house and now I have a kind of mental map from unlike earlier at the hospital, I was used to this environment.
I knew the number of steps as well as the direction of turns from the thresholds of the house to the door of my bedroom. I know that they were twenty five steps from the entrance to the stairs if I walked straight ahead, using my stick to make sure that they were no obstacles lying on the floor and when I reached the foot of the stairwell, they were sixteen steps up the stairs. When I ascend to the last step, they were then eight steps to the right to my room and a further ten steps to Mama's room. Once inside my room, there were five steps to the left to my wooden desk, four steps ahead to the door of the toilet and another five steps to the left to the center of the room, where my queen sized bed was.
Now I collapse unto it, proud of myself that I have taken myself all the way here without bumping into anything and without taking any wrong turns. But all of this was of course under Mama's watchful gaze and she's now standing somewhere in front of me as she laughs as if she hadn't been crying just minutes ago.
"Now get up and pray!" she commands and I hurriedly get to my feet and count the steps to the bathroom to perform ablution.
I might sound and even look like an atheist asshole but well, I'm not. And that is no thanks to me actually, but all thanks to my mom. It was also no thanks to my father, might I add.
Baba was a sheikh, a very famous one at that but that wasn't the only reason I had memorized the whole of the Quran at thirteen years old. It was because I feared for the lights to be knocked out of me whenever I made a single mistake of not pronouncing any verses right. I feared the thought of which part of my skin would be pressed to a burning hot iron when I had gotten a single letter wrong.
My father had no doubt made me memorise the Quran by heart and to near perfection but it was my mother that melted my heart into it. She was the one that strived to instill it's teachings in me and to show me that memorisong it wasn't what mattered, but practicing it. And though she was a no one compared to him, she was the one that showed me that showed me that my father's way of doing it was wrong. It was only because of her that I didn't fall into that deep dark abyss of seeing religion as a compulsion and a torture but instead, as a way of life that enhanced my life every segment of my being. As a component of living that I would be completely lost without.
My friends back in school were always so surprised at seeing this side of me, seeing that the infamous school rascal and badboy was actually a practicing Muslim. But of course, like all humans, I had my weaknesses and like other boys my age, that weakness was girls.
Though unlike other boys my age, I had them chasing me instead of me chasing them and I remember how Khalid would look at me mischievously as he pats my back before I went on to make my next conquest.
"Shege ɗan Malam, ka ƙi halin Malam." he would say with a smirk.
And though I know that first word was an insult, I still have absolutely no idea what the rest means. Of course the reason why my Fulani is impeccably perfect but I don't speak nor understand a word in Hausa - despite being surrounded by people who's first language is Hausa for fifteen whole years - is a different story all on it's own.
My father was Fulani and I remember how since l was born, and up till the day he died when I was seventeen, he has never spoken a word to me in any other language besides Fulani. And if I was so brazen as to speak to him in any other language too, I'd get the beating of my life. I was only allowed to speak English in school but other than that, no other language was tolerated in front of my father, not even Arabic. Thus I never really got to learn my mother's language since he spoke to her either in English or Fulani too and in return, she spoke to me only in English. Though now, I could pickup words and phrases from the Quran and understand them without the need of a dictionary. But I still could hardly form sentences or even understand and so I'm left sounding like an idiot whenever I have to talk to my grandma over the phone.
It may sound ridiculous but up till now, eight years since he's gone, I can't bring myself to even want to attempt speaking, or learning or even listening to any language apart from English and Fulani. That was why though I had fifteen years to adapt, from Australian English to Nigerian Hausa, I couldn't learn nor understand a word in Hausa other than five words tops which are all insults thanks to them Ebitoye, Khalid and co.
That was the one thing that diminished my bad boy image in secondary school since I was never found to be breaking the rule of not speaking vernacular in class. When they conversed in Hausa, I would just completely withdraw and unknown to them, mentally, I had even closed my ears because the language sounded completely like a taboo to me, a taboo that was worthy of getting me a broken bone.
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The highly anticipated Monday morning was here and I was in high spirits, preparing to hear my Siren's voice and spend a second week with her scent.
The rest of the people in the class were all okay too and as much as I was looking forward to talking to Roland, I was also looking forward to having a good laugh at the daily drama that happened between Mrs Akintola and her two kids, the stammerering DJ and the sixteen year old diva and also Grace the dancers entertainingly bizarre stories that made absolutely no sense. The only person I really don't like that much is that Fatima and not only cause her name sounds a lot like Farida's but because she talks to me all weird, like she's trying to seduce me or something. She's just a kid and so many times I want to scream it at her face that I'm not a pedophile.
All in all, I had really grown attached and found comfort in the sense of belonging I get when I'm in that class. When I feel that I'm in the midst of people who are like me and actually understand what it's like to be blind. I had really enjoyed this past week and I know that this second week will only get better and my spirits will only climb higher. That was of course, before Mama's news deflated my spirits.
"You what? You did what now?" I was beyond surprised and the bite of the apple I had taken fell out of my mouth before I had even chewed it.
"I said, I called up Khalid's mom and asked her to come along with him to your birthday party since I know you would never do it no matter how many times I ask you to."
"A birthday party for me?" I scoffed, still in disbelief. "Mama, you do know that we're only in the first week of September right?"
"And your birthday is on the twenty ninth, twenty day from now, so yes, yes I know." Mama answers boredly and matter of factly, her tone clearly the tone of one who has made up her mind about something.
"You seem to be forgetting that this isn't my sweet sixteen but my 26th birthday!" I pray that this will be enough to convince her.
"You seem to be forgetting Ahmadi," Mama mimicks me, "that I was the one who carried you for nine months then went into labor and gave birth to you so of course I remember that all that happened twenty six years ago not sixteen years ago!"
Why are mums like this? Why? Just why? Why do they always have to play the "I carried you in me for nine months so you have to do whatever I want" card? But that wouldn't happen this time, I won't bend no matter what Mama says. Having a birthday party that all my ex friends will be bound to get invited to was too ridiculous and awkward for me to bare so I'll just have to keep my foot down on this one.
"Mama," I try to flatten my tone and put on my puppy dog face at the same time. "please don't do this, I really don't want it. Please?"
If kids were vulnerable to the nine months card, then parents were even more vulnerable to the puppy dog expression card and I know that though Mama was fighting it, she had already melted to my request.
"Fine, fine, fine!" she concedes and I grin. "Anyways, can't you put off going out till a little bit later? It looks like it's going to rain."
I have been feeling and smelling how the wind had grown stronger and richer with the smell of moisture and if it really was going to rain, I couldn't be more delighted since I love the rain. I love how it washes everything anew and I love how the sound of it hitting the ground and the roofs drowns everything out. How lighting strikes and thunder roars and everywhere resounds in their might. It might sound chaotic to everyone but to me, that is peace.
"I'll be late Mama, it's already past 8 am and besides, it's not like the classes are held out in the open."
One of Mama's worst phobias was perhaps getting drenched in the rain but I loved it and I remember how when I was younger, I used to sneak out in the rain and get soaked to my fill. Eventhough it always followed with Mama scolding me, then nursing me through the nasty fever I had gotten, it was still worth it.
"But what if it starts raining before you get to the classes?"
"Umbrella's exist Mama." I say jokingly.
"Okay okay, I know you, you just better not go there and stay out in the rain on purpose." she warns.
"Yes ma'am!"
And again, I declined her offer to guide me outside. I counted the steps and swung my seeing stick from side to side and took myself outside. When I was out, I didn't feel the warmth of the morning sun, the heavy clouds must've hidden its rays from shining down and I heard Harrison open the door to the car for me.
In less than thirty minutes, we were parked within the university premises. I opened the door and got out and when Harrison came over to guide me inside, I felt that I wanted to give my direction expertise a trial again. I told him to stay behind while I take myself inside and though he had kept insisting, I went on alone, trusting the mental map of the route from the parking lot to the classroom that has been forming in my head over the past week.
The insides as always, were loud with indistinct chatters and the sound of tens of footsteps walking in all directions around me and that was a bit distracting. The sharp clicking of some girls and the flat thumps of some guys in sneakers and converse shoes and many more were threatening to leave me confused at what direction it is I was supposed to go.
But I of course, pretended to be oblivious to them all whereas they no doubt must be busy looking at the lone blind guy. I held my stick tighter in adamance and started counting the first steps through the hallways, thirty I assume they were before I took a turn to the left where I'll pass the cafeteria and then take atleast thirty more steps before I reached where the classes were arranged and from there, I'll enter into the third door and that was it, I was in class.
Easy peezy.
Except, I had taken the thirty steps and the left turn but there was no aroma of food, nor was there the noise that came with people queuing up to order food so I was still no where near the cafeteria. Okay, I just must've taken the wrong turn, or maybe didn't count my steps right so now all I have to do is turn back from where I came and start counting once again.
As I breezed through people, I could feel their stares on me, I could hear as they whispered about me so no, I couldn't ask such people for directions or for them to take me to the class. I'd rather do it myself.
As I kept on walking, I felt the wind get stronger and I felt it as it blew through and carried with it the scent of fast approaching rain. Thunder roared and I could tell that the sky was densening. Perhaps, I should call up Harrison? But even if I called him, I have no idea where to tell him I am since I myself don't know exactly where I am. I should just trust my instincts and keep on walking till I reach the main entrance. Then from there, I was sure I could map my way to the classroom if I start again.
Finally, I walked into what was an open space since the ground was a pavement not floored with tiles and I could feel a strong air current from above me, signalling that there was no roof up there. I had probably reached the parking lot and if I keep on walking ahead, I'll make it to where it is I had started my journey from and messed up. I was at more than twenty steps and all I felt was the sounds of voices thinning out. So I changed direction again and went towards where I thought the voices were coming from only for them to fade even more with every step I took.
I blamed my lack of reliability on my sense of sound on the rumbling sky up above. The storm must be brewing stronger and stronger but I bet if I keep walking in the opposite direction, I'll reach back into the building before the rain breaks out. So I keep on walking and just a few steps later, I didn't feel that I stepped on tiled floors, I felt myself walking unto squeashy grass under my feet instead of the pavement. I thrust my seeing stick ahead of me and felt that there was only more and more grass to my left and right and in front and that was when I accepted that I was lost. I have absolutely no idea where there was an open field of grass in the university.
Now I strain my ears but I hear absolutely no sound apart from the light drizzle of rain that has begun to fall on the grass. Then the rumble of thunder, a terrifying loud sound and at that, as if on cue, giant drops of rain began to fall from the sky. Thousands of drops beat down on me hard and the sound they made enveloped everywhere in a loud chromatic quiet. I could hear absolutely nothing and it was impossible for me to use my phone now. Of course if the rain hasn't already spoiled the device, the voice accessibilty app wouldn't even work since it wouldn't recognize commands amidst all this sound.
I continue walking backwards, in the direction from which I think I came but still, there was no escaping the rain, I was out here in the open and I have no idea in which direction it is the buildings are. Turning my head from side to side was absolutely useless since I could see nothing and hear nothing. I could only feel the hard beating of raindrops down on me and how they soaked me completely to the core and had me shaking as the cold held me captive.
Walking was of no use any longer so I just stood in one place and folded my arms to my front, trying to retain as much heat as possible and forming a posture that I think would lessen the shivers that were now resonating from my body uncontrollably.
Had I been excessively overconfident? Definitely yes, and here was my punishment for it. Now I'm pathetic, alone, lost, cold and not to mention, blind in the rain and I know that my perception about rain is this close to changing into a negative one just like my perception about weekends had.
A/N
This chapter gave me the feels 😔
Lyrics from the very first paragraph up above are from Green Day's "Wake Me Up When September Ends."