Now I Can Die Another Day

God bless Joe.
Joe is my housemate who appears to have assigned to himself the duty of looking after me in Grahamstown. In my first few days in the chilly town, Joe got me two blankets that provided me warmth for the cold lonely night. It was Joe also who arranged for the two comfortable chairs I now use in my room. When a stranger walked into my room and stole my LG phone, Joe walked with me to the police station to lodge complaint. It is important that the police is aware in case someone uses my phone to commit crime. Just as we stepped out of the house, walking down Market Street to the police station, rain started. But Joe would not have us wait for the rain to stop. He had a class to attend that morning, and he did not want me to delay reporting the matter to the police. By the time we got to Grahamstown Police Station, we were both soaked to the pants. His fluffy hairs flattened on his pink head.
God bless Joe.
When Joe notices I stay too long in the room, he would quietly knock at my door and ask: Jibleezy, would you like to join us for drink? To all his friends, I am his friend from Nigeria.
God bless Joe
But despite Joe care and fret, I fell sick last week. My head pounded. Every part of my body was wracked with pain. But it was the pain in my chest that was the most excruciating. Throughout the night, I was uncomfortable. If I should die here, who would be the first to know? I asked myself in my dis-ease state. That probably would be Joe. But Joe doesn’t know any of my relatives or friends. And for the first time since I arrived Grahamstown, I was terrified by the fear of death. Bussie already is counting days for me to come back to her bosoms. Our baby would soon arrive anytime in June. In fact, s/he would be one year old by the time I am through with my MA programme in Rhodes. How terribly I long to see that child! The least I can do, therefore, is to live.
The following day, I decided to see a doctor. After all, I paid about R400 (N80,000) for my medical insurance before I left Nigeria. Immediately after Media and Society class on Tuesday, I headed straight to Dr. Pellinser’s clinic on New Street. But the old lady whom I presumed to be Dr. Pelliser’s secretary told me I was not on appointment. She later fixed appointment for the next day. Here, it looks like you book an appointment before you go see a doctor, else you will be asked to come another time. My Zimbabwan friend, Mphathise was not happy with that kind of arrangement. “What if someone’s case was very critical, are they going to insist that a patient visit the doctor on appointment still?” he asked.
Anyway, I returned home without seeing the doctor. That night, Joe gave me his Salton heater to warm my room with. Gawd! I never realized how terribly cold my room was until I put on that heating machine. The room was comfortingly warm. In fact, I slept like a baby. Surprisingly, in my dream I found myself racing side by side with Tyler Hicks, the New York Times ace photo journalist. We were both running along with other journalists covering Libya crisis on the street of Adjabiya. Libyan air force fighter jet just flew over our heads at only 2,000 feet. As Tyler swung his camera in order to gain good balance, his camera hit me on the face; I was blinded by pain and fear of death. Gratefully, I woke up sweating but alive. My body was, in fact, no longer in pain. I was as fit as fiddle. The room was so cozy that I wanted to continue sleeping. I turned head towards the left side of my bed, there was Salton heater humming and breathing warm healing air over the brown blanket covering my lanky frame. I had no need to see Dr. Pellinser again. I had just found a cure.
God bless Joe.