Chapter 1: Night Shift Fears

Many years ago, during one night shift for emergency ward inside Makurdi General Hospital, one young man waka enter with stubborn low fever. Night like this, you go hear generator hum and rain tap, but inside emergency ward, na only worry dey loud.

That kind of night for Makurdi, air dey heavy like ogbono soup. Rain dey slap zinc roof, generator dey cough for backyard, and nurse go dey hustle with torchlight for corridor. The faint suya aroma from outside go still find way enter, but inside, na only that sharp antiseptic smell and people worry hang for air like harmattan dust.

As soon as he step into my consulting room, he send him girlfriend make she go buy pure water. He waved her away with back of hand, as if to say, "Abeg, no waste time." She roll eyes playfully, adjust slippers, and waka out. Naija babes sabi when to play along, especially for hospital matter.

Then, stammering, he yarn me say e dey fear HIV. He look ground, scratch head, voice almost disappear—'Doctor, I dey fear say…'

He squeeze hand together, voice low, eyes dey dance around like he dey check whether any monitoring spirit dey hide for corner. That kain confession—e dey heavy for mouth.

"Wetin you talk?" I ask am, surprise really catch me.

I drop my pen, lean forward, try lock eyes with am. "Oya, yarn me true true, wetin dey bite you for body?"

He begin talk say some years back, he go secondary school reunion, drink sotay e no remember anything, next thing, e jam one old classmate, dem do am without protection. Up till now, just to think am dey still fear am. He no sure if na that dreaded sickness e carry.

He rub back of neck, shame and regret mix with worry. You go see guilt for face, like say na the classmate herself dey press him chest.

I tell am say e simple—draw blood, check for antibody, you go know sharp sharp. These days, HIV no be death sentence again.

"Oga, HIV na wahala wey get medicine now. E no mean say life don end. We fit check am quick-quick."

Even as I talk am like play, my reassurance no move am at all.

He still dey squeeze hand, dey swallow spit like HIV word dey burn him tongue. The fear stubborn, like old stain for white native.

Soon, him girlfriend come back, and the guy no mention HIV again. I no bring am up too—since we never diagnose anything, na just suspicion.

She step in, balance two pure water and small Gala, the Gala wrapper make nylon sound as she toss am to am, her face squeeze small like person wey no get change. He sharply change topic, shift for chair as if nothing happen. Na so e dey be sometimes, when man dey fear but no wan show weakness for woman front.

Emergency dey always full; many young people dey come do blood test because dem dey fear HIV. Bankers in suit, university boys with backpack—all dey sneak come, fear written for face. The way Naija parents and pastors dey shout about HIV, even small scratch fit make person panic.

Just one unprotected waka, not even with ashawo or another man—the chance to catch HIV low. But people dey fear HIV like dem dey fear rabies—very common.

I don see fear make grown man sweat pass malaria, even when the risk low like NEPA light for good day.

But his concern still need attention. As I dey write for his test, I just add HIV antibody join for am.

Sometimes, as Naija doctor, you gats sharp—run test quietly, then counsel them after, make shame no too catch person. Na empathy dey heal body and soul.

He tell me say this low fever don last over one month, he don chop medicine taya, still e no gree go.

As he dey talk, he reach for pure water, sip and sigh. Even him eyes look tired, like person wey never sleep since Christmas.

"Ehn?" My heart skip—something dey wrong. Low fever wey drag pass one month? That one no be beans.

Na real wahala be that o. Once you hear am, you go sit up. Inside Naija, we no dey play with fever wey stubborn like village masquerade.

Either na stubborn infection—like the HIV wey dey worry am (even if e no likely), or tumour, or some rheumatic or immune disease. All of them na big wahala.

Inside my mind, I dey count all the disease wey fit hide like this—malaria, typhoid, HIV, even cancer. E dey fear person.

What surprise me na: with low fever for over a month, why e no go hospital since? E just dey treat himself?

Sometimes, na pride dey hold our people. Or na lack of money. But this one, e just dey form strong man, dey swallow Panadol like groundnut.

He talk say work dey busy, him body dey always strong, so hospital no cross him mind. Chemist dey downstairs, so he manage am like that. This time, the cough bad, work wahala plenty, body weak. Na girlfriend worry, drag am come hospital, na im he agree.

He shrug, try smile, but you go see the load for him shoulder. That girlfriend, she get mind. Na so some women dey fight for their man, no matter how stubborn the guy dey form.

He plan say tomorrow he go see doctor, but cough disturb am sotay he land for emergency that night.

Voice hoarse from cough, he dey clear throat anyhow. You fit see say sleep never touch am for days. Night breeze for Makurdi no dey pity weak body.

I tell am say, with chronic low fever, you gats reason many things—tuberculosis, tumour...

I wan break am down small small, like we dey do for clinic, so dem no go panic.