Apathy at the Hospital Emergency Ward

“I’m Sergeant Nelson. What’s your name young lady?”

“I’m Lateefah.”

“A nice name. Who’s that man?”

 “He’s my school’s head master.” I answer with a languid drawl.

  “What’s his name?”

 “He’s Abudu.”

  “Is he married?”


   “Has he any kids?”

   “Yes. Three kids.” I say.

   The car pulls over at the emergency ward. I’m visibly tired and weak. The   officer helps me out of the car and walks me slowly into the main hall of the emergency ward.

I can see some patients sitting on the floor because all the benches are occupied. I sit down on the floor just beside one old lady in her seventies. She’s bleeding. She has a cut in her right arm. Tears are flowing freely down her cheeks as she toiled to ease the pain, stop the oozing blood and bind the wound. The pathos in the lot of patients waiting in the emergency ward is so much for me to bear.

   The nurses on duty are looking on unconcerned. Probably their minds are set on leaving the shores of  Africa in the search for greener pastures abroad. I can hear one of them telling the other:

   “Hm! Can you just imagine this? Last month, Felicia bought a house at East Legon.” A plush neighborhood in Accra, Ghana.

   “The other one inquires: “Which Felicia?”

   “Ah! Don’t you know Felicia Armah. She was our junior at the nursing school. Don’t you remember her?”

   “Oh yes! When did she go to London? I’m not aware she’s left the shores of  Africa.”

   “You do forget a lot. I did inform you about her departure sometime ago.”

   “So how long has she been there?”

   “She’s been there for only six months now and trying to let me join her.”

   “Eh! .Agatha, you’re so lucky.”

    The officer cries out.

   “Why are you nurses standing and staring at us. This young lady needs immediate attention.!”

   “Have you paid for registration?” A middle-aged nurse with flaccid arms and legs asks.

To be continued…