Prose

The Future is Bright

Photo credit: Evgenii Iaroshevskii

Your mind had been set on working in the North right from your penultimate year in school. This is your fourth year in Gombe and you have no regrets coming up North.

Inside the geriatric pharmacy, more and more patients are coming in. It is amazing how the concept of pharmaceutical care has been an important aid to dispensing your roles as pharmacists. The clock makes its usual hourly tick-tock sound — it's 4pm, the hour when your shift normally ends for the day. But there's still one more patient you have to attend to.

"Good afternoon, Sen. Garba", 

"It is already a month you last filled your prescriptions, trust you're fine and getting better by the day"?

"Afternoon, Pharm."

"Yes, alhamduliLlah, I am fine. The doctor said my numbers were getting normalized fast".

"Happy to hear that, Sr. Here are your medications — there is no adjustment in the dosages yet. Kindly tell me how you use them so I can rest assured you still remember".

"Ok, Pharm",  

Sen. Garba picks the drugs packaged in dispensing envelopes one after the other and mentions their dosages correctly.

"Very good, Sir".

"Thank you. But, however, I am amazed I was able to remember everything correctly because, sometimes at home I forget to take my pill, especially in the afternoon".

"Eh ehn. Ok,  a minute please".

You walk towards the shelf and pick a pill box.

"This is what we will do Sir. Every morning insert all the drugs you will take for the day in the appropriate box — morning, afternoon, evening and night. That way you should not forget to take your pills".

"Ok. Thank you so much". 

As Sen. Garba departs, a sort of relief fills you. You can't wait to ride home and get some rest — ain't going out today no more. North is a home for introverts.

Pharm. Samira waves as you pick your backpack from the locker and exit the pharmacy. Outside, clouds are building up, maybe it is going to rain at last today. First time in a new year. You imagine how sweet sleeping and dreaming will be if it rains.

"As salaamu alaykum".

"Wa alaykum salaam, Pharm".

It is Pharm. Ismail. He must be done for the day as well.

Federal hospitals are a world on their own. Today, the hospital environment looks cool given the atmospheric condition. This is however sharply contrasted by the usual haphazard movement of people. So much has been done in recent years to improve the hospital in terms of its infrastructure, facilities and even in terms of horticulture — on horticulture, a recent study has shown that patients have a higher rate of recuperation when they feel surrounded by nature.

The road is clear as you drive home. Life feels so calm and orderly. There is something about driving that brings back memories. The past and its adventurous events come like a flicker of light — a sudden glow from a ray of  light, coming and passing very quickly so that a new one appears soon afterwards.

Precious parents. Siblings. Colleagues. You have missed them all, although, thanks to technology, you reach them very often. Ahead at the international conference center, a huge event seems to be holding and the road ahead is congested. All halt now. You hope you won't be spending too long.

As you wait, the traffic congestion gradually reminds you of the year 2020, the Coronavirus pandemic and the stay-at-home period. The talks, the interventions and the hot debate about which governor performed best. In school, Coronavirus popped up in everyone's conversations for a long time after resumption, everyone narrating their own version of the  pandemic. All your classmates had returned safely then and everyone had been very happy to see one another.

You gaze into the distance ahead.  You try to think of one person,  Umm Abdil-Waarith. It slowly comes to your mind now, the name and the beautiful memories attached — and memories which still lie in the future. You wonder why her name is  what you usually remember last. What is it people say we leave the best for the last?

Next week you will be traveling down South. Umm Abdil-Waarith's graduation is on monday and you have no reason not to be there. You will visit your prestigious alma mater, your colleagues and then home, too, in sha Allah. You have the whole of next week as leave.

"So, what you are saying in essence is that you are requesting to be off from work for a week, starting from Monday"?

Your director had asked the day you dropped your letter of request. He had emphasized 'a week' in a way that made it appear  as though you had asked for a month. Something about your boss makes you think if he had not been a pharmacist he'd have made a good actor. 

Two weeks back, you received an e-mailed invitation letter from Umm Abdil-Waarith. Since then, you have not stopped remembering and re-reading how she had ended the letter thus: the waiting period is almost over.

As you ease through the traffic, which is now finally as free as it was from the hospital, you put up a smile. AlhamduliLlah, indeed, the wait is almost over.

—

Abdul-Ahmed Soyebo is a final year pharmacy student of University of Ibadan.