When Your Friend is Called Death

BY Femi Akintunde-Johnson

In this season of ruthlessly spinning cycles of deaths and births, I have a story for you…perhaps it may resonate broadly in tune with the moment.

“In a quiet neighbourhood, three of us sat in single chairs…no table. Two young men, close to my age, were discussing an area of their business that they thought I had the expertise to fix. After about 15 minutes, we instinctively knew the meeting was winding to a goodbye. Just then, a friend walked in… more their friend than mine.

They both stood up to exchange pleasantries with the newcomer. He was well dressed, in a bohemian mode, but was so skinny… gaunt would define it more, yet he did not exactly look sickly. I noticed that his friends did not shake his hand, he also did not offer.

It seemed odd to me (this was eons before the COVID phenomenon). I was still pondering it, when it struck the two of us: he was a friend of mine too! Perhaps 20 years ago, or more. But he was a good friend then, and the light of recognition flashed through the passage of decades in a second, And we hugged, shook hands furiously. I was so happy to see him.

The depth of his gauntness was even more alarming when we hugged and shook hands. He was just bones. I shuddered in confused concern. I motioned discreetly that I would like a word with him as soon as we rounded up our meeting.

So, my partners resumed eye-contact with me, and instantly, I noticed their tentativeness. Probably a worry. In any case, I needed to make a brief point before we departed: “In the course of exploring areas of intervention in this project, I’ve encountered people and sentiments that give me concern, and I will like it to be known that, yes, I love the challenge this project presents, and will want to try out few ideas to make things come alive, but I don’t NEED to do this job. I want that to trickle down, or reach the top, whichever is relevant…”

One of them gestured to the other and said, “He’s the Top!”

“Good,” I replied. “And two, I like your style, no hangs up, daring, ‘risky’, crazy’… I really like that.”

So, I stretched forth my hand for a parting handshake. The Top-chap looked at my hand, back to my face…he grabbed my shoulder…dragged me close, and said… “You just shook an AIDS patient!” And he strolled stiffly off.

I was stunned. AIDS! Willy has … you mean that is why he appeared so gaunt? I mean Willy was a dapper, boisterous fellow, who could not stop having fun, even if he tried to. He was popular, from a rich home, good-looking… he has been driving lovely cars since we were on campus. I looked across at him where he sat listlessly by the boot of his cute Mercedes Benz. Though sick, I thought to myself, his taste was obviously not contaminated. My heart drew to him.

As I walked towards him, he looked up. He must have seen the cloud over my face… something he must have grown weary of… people trying to overcome the initial wave of intestinal shock and subsequent dread of his new status.

“So, they’ve told you?” It was not an accusation…he just expressed what has become a defensive counter-punch… just before he would go into another session of self-purgation and implosion. I wept within me.

“So, that is why you want to kill yourself? Are you the only one? Do you think you’ll be the last?” I held him on his shoulders…gently shaking the bag of bones that had become Willy’s body and soul.

I continued: “My friend, you can walk on earth, and plan for hell… when there are options that can make you change for better the hell this earth has turned to for you!”

He looked at me for a while, shrugged, and looked away: “FAJ, I don’t need your pity or your preaching.” I commended him for his valiant attitude: that at least he was doing his best to fight the disease, and looking the better for it.

He was stung by my sardonic words and smile. My argument with Willy went back and forth, as he sought to put me off his well-arranged fence of isolation and defeat. I hammered firmly but with concern and love flowing shamelessly through. About an hour later, we had to part. I asked for his phone number… as he turned to pick his complimentary card, my spirit nudged me that that was his ”last card” of discarding unwanted “helpers” … dummy numbers that will keep you out of his life and self-destruction, forever.

“Don’t bother…just tell me, I’ll save it right now, and give you my own when I call the line…Sebi, your phone is in the car? He hesitated, looked straight into my eyes; half-scowling and half-wondering… he grumbled the number out. Then, under his breath, he said, “I hope you know what you are doing?”

POSTSCRIPT:

It is always amazing when you see people who should know better act as if they have never entered the four walls of a school. When our supposed leaders frequent overseas, steal us blind to build homes and sire children abroad, you would at least assume they must have fallen in love with the beauty, organisation and infrastructure in those foreign lands. The least you expect from them is to work hard and replicate a semblance of such life-enhancing scenarios in our country…whoseside? They display their bastard genes by securing the good-life only for themselves and their families, at the grave expense of the masses of their people… Leaders!?

Such is this. With all the varied mass of information on the prevalence and scourge of HIV/AIDS, it is amazing that well educated people still lose control of their loins and senses, and engage in frivolous and unsafe sex (pointing accusing fingers at the ravages of alcohol or ‘mood of the moment’).

As in the story above, many of the so-called intelligentsia and professionals play leading roles in the mindless stigmatisation of HIV/AIDS victims. They betray staggering ignorance and selfish fear of the grievous disease. HIV/AIDS to them is a vicious death sentence that is prone to spread to everyone close to the sufferer. But how wrong they are.

If I were to have the divine power to complete the story above, everyone who disdained Willy because of what befell him would die before him. He finds out that with a bright and positive acceptance of his situation, coupled with vigorous administration of available drugs that can prolong and prevent HIV from turning to AIDS, Willy can live a fairly healthy, profitable, valuable and inspirational existence. Everyone on that table, minus me of course, suffers one tragic elimination or the other…mostly because of greed, willful and irresponsible lifestyle or aggravated depression on account of financial misadventure. A classic case of a cruel paradox.

If nothing, let us come out of all this with one conclusion: a life lived on hope cannot be imprisoned by immediate predicament, however devastating.”