Yesterday on my way to church, I saw a boy’s life slipping out of him like a woman out of a night robe. It must have been asphyxiation or something related, because the Kufuor bus he had been in was stacked with more people than a matchbox is with sticks.
His father and some elderly men were trying to resuscitate him the best they knew how. Screaming his name “ABUDU, ABUDU!!” like he could hear them if they raised their voices a notch higher. Like all that was wrong with him was a hearing disorder. Another man was smacking the soles of his feet and yet another was shaking him vigorously. I felt their fear as I stood by in my crisp ironed black trouser and neatly tucked in grey TM Lewin shirt.
Another man managed to stop a taxi. Fortunately the North Legon Clinic was only a few minutes away. In an instant, an unknown random taxi driver became the bearer of the keys to a little boy’s life. His rickety Opel Astra and his untried driving prowess didn’t matter so long as his horns blared loud enough and the car moved fast enough.
As I watched the taxi-turned-ambulance screeching away, Read the rest of this entry »
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