I don’t know anyone who met Chizoba who didn’t fall in love with her right away. It wasn’t just her smooth ebony skin or pointed “oyibo” nose or her pink lips which contrasted perfectly with her skin; it was her inner beauty that was her greatest appeal and attraction. She loved to read and daydream about fun times. You see, she spent her younger years in the UK attending a special school for the deaf, Mill Halls School, and at 11 she returned to continue her education in Nigeria. Her time in the UK was truly a special part of her life with good friends and fun adventures.
I remember looking forward to the holidays when she and Chiamaka would come home from the UK. I loved to pamper her; we all did and of course she enjoyed the attention. My parents were not immune to her brand of charm and found it hard to refuse her anything and of course we used that to our advantage. If we wanted a treat, the request was made on “behalf” of Chizoba and they would buy it. Now that I think of it, it’s almost comical (at least at the time we thought it was) how we thought up ingenious ways to get to Ikoyi Club. In those days if you didn’t hang out at Ikoyi Club, your social standing was seriously lacking. If my older siblings or I asked my parent’s permission to go, we were sure to be turned down. So we devised ways, always including Chizoba, to get our way and we were usually not disappointed. Of course she couldn’t go by herself, so we would offer to act as chaperones. And we’d get chaperone money too! Who could beat that? My parents I think caught on or maybe they knew but they played along anyway.
Fifteen years ago your life was cut short, too early, your passing, tragic. The time was the Christmas holidays and all the schools, Universities, and FGGCs (Federal Government Girls' Colleges), had closed. The driver had set out early that morning to Illorin to bring you and Chiamaka home. As soon as we heard the honking at the gate, we ran out excitedly to greet you guys. There were hugs and kisses, we thanked God for bringing you home safe, and we laughed and hugged some more. I hadn’t seen you since mid-term and you had grown a few inches in just 5 weeks. Wow! I tried to play it down but was not to be let off as I was dragged to the nearest mirror for a side by side comparison. You were already taller than both our parents and 2 siblings and now you were taller than me by a fraction of an inch. That was enough to get you into a tizzy and I’ll always remember the excitement in your eyes. This was Thursday, 10 days before Christmas.
Christmas in Lagos is such a fun time, parties and “owambes” everywhere. For those that were mobile, you went visiting friends and “paddys” (unannounced of course), and in fact it was pure festivities everywhere. For us the Christmas goat was tethering in the backyard being fattened for slaughter. The freezer was overflowing with chicken and turkey parts, and rice, oil and other condiments filled the pantry. This year we were celebrating in Lagos and not the village as was the norm with Ibo people.
That Sunday, my mom had gone for evening mass and a few friends from a different college had come over to visit. We were catching up and “gisting” when my younger brother ran down alarmed; Chizoba was having a seizure and he didn’t know what to do. She had had seizures in the past so we weren’t afraid but rather aware of the seriousness and we knew we had to act FAST. Keep in mind at that time we had no Emergency services or first responders in Nigeria. We put her in the car and drove her the 3 miles to the family clinic. Thankfully the doctor was in so we hastily explained the situation to him and he began trying to resuscitate her. Sometime during the next few hours, my older brother, barely out of med school himself, got there and immediately joined in. A huge responsibility had been placed on him to save not just any patient’s life but his sister’s.
She died that night i.e. in the medical sense. She suffered respiratory and heart failures but they were successful in resuscitating her. We sang and praised God and danced and danced. Haba! This was a testimony! Our friends and family must hear this one o! They will offer praises with us. While we went home and rejoiced, my brother insisted on staying by her bedside overnight to keep watch. His medical background gave him full understanding of what had transpired. Even though the doctor said she could be discharged the next day if she remained stable, he knew things were not in the clear yet.
The next morning my mom took over from him and he came home tired and exhausted from lack of sleep. He asked me to go to the clinic in the evening to relieve my mom and wait until she was discharged when he’d come and pick us up. As I walked away from him, he held my hand and told me he’d never been so scared in his life before.
“Do you know Chizoba died? We brought her back to life.”
He explained everything in detail. I was quiet and began crying as the realization hit me. I appreciated our miracle now knowing more of the medical facts. When evening came, I practically skipped to the clinic. This was going to be a “better” Christmas after all. I walked into her room and saw my mom with her, she was ok and happy to see me, and my mom was praying her rosary. I encouraged her to leave. I had everything under control. She would see us later she said, she wanted to make one quick stop in church. The doctor came and checked her vitals, she was okay and could be discharged.
We were waiting for our ride home when it happened again. She began to sieze again. Her head rolled back and she began to foam at the mouth. I screamed frantically for help. The doctor and nurses came and once again began the fight for her life. When I noticed the nurse faltering on the ambu bag, I took over. I squeezed that bag. Boy, did I squeeze. What is this? I thought it was all over! How do I escape this unending nightmare? I didn’t like this role I had assumed mostly because I was afraid of failure but with each squeeze I knew I was pumping life into her body so I continued. Despite the cramping in my hand, I squeezed. I’d just change hands and keep on. When our sister and brother came to take us home sometime later, they walked into utter chaos. Kelechi had come laden with balloons and a get well card. Something to cheer Chizoba up. Not this time. It was too late. Even though they tried their best to resuscitate her, it was not to be. This time there was no miraculous rising from the dead. I had watched her die twice.
The death of Chizoba shocked everyone. My mom was inconsolable. My dad didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. He left for Abuja the morning she returned from school. To say he was crushed would be putting it mildly. Her best mates, Troy, Zoey, Angela and Eleni were still holding onto hope that they’d meet again, someday, as adults, maybe through one of the social networking sites that are so popular these days. They were deeply saddened to hear she had passed and are planning a memorial in the UK in the months to come. Zoey even has a tattoo of Chizoba on her back.
February 20th 2009 would have been her 30th birthday. We’ve all grown up and reached academic and personal heights and I’ve missed that we couldn’t share it with her. I’ve missed that we couldn’t share and be proud of her own successes. After all these years, it never occurred to us that Chiamaka never knew the sequence of events leading to Chizoba’s death. They did everything together and were more like twins. They were kindred spirits. By reading this, I hope it brings her closure.
