The rural doctor, a non-governmental agency, led by its founder, Dr. Okeme Arome, paid a condolence visit to the Yakubus. Mr Yakubu, late Raymond's father, lives in a village called Sakiyo, in Jema'a LGA, Southern Kaduna, northwest Nigeria. His home is almost inaccessible by either a car or a bike as the only access footpath is almost effaced by erosion and high growing weed. The journey commenced in the morning when the rural doctor's team got in touch with a relative of the late Raymond, Amos, who lives at Mailafiya, some 5km from Sakiyo, for directions. We got to Mailafiya where Amos had parked his motorbike in anticipation of our arrival. He hopped into our car and we drove off. We disembarked from the road after driving some 5km and started off on an untarred road leading into a forest. Pools of stagnant water from the rains parted ways transiently when we drove through them. The uneven surface of the road made the car wobble. Deep holes expertly created by erosions almost made the car careened then gaining balance again almost immediately. We arrived at a stream over which a bridge was constructed. By a bridge, I mean an emergency sort of contraption to enable people get to the other side. The sort that the government will unabashedly cut a tape over to commission as a project successfully carried out. Here, a lady was doing her laundry, while some fetched water to take home whereas others had their bath. A few kids had a line and were trying to catch some fish. I almost joined them out of nostalgia. After crossing this bridge with our hearts in our mouths, we continued the slalom drive. Upon getting to some impassable road, we parked, alighted and began to walk. A few yards ahead, a lanky figure appeared from the maize plants. Mr Yakubu had a rather drawn face, furrowed masseter, prominent cheekbones within a narrow head carried by a long neck. His smile tried not to betray years of life's unfairness to his masculine features with difficulty. He appeared to have seen a messiah. He led us through the footpath and farms with varying degrees of crops at different stages of development. Soon we appeared at a recluse building that I am soon to find out was where late Raymond lived with his parents. I almost swore nobody lived in it. It was almost crumbling. At one end of the mud-building, five dried branches propped against the wall of the already splitting house in defence to its imminent fall. I doubt if it would survive the August downpour. The mother emerged from the building looking gay and delighted by our presence. I recognized her face. A petite lady unconcerned with the pleasures of life. Little kids buzzed around her like chicks will a chicken. They looked starved and malnourished. Raymond was more like a flicker of hope in this destitute and gloom. She pointed to his grave and said, 'well that's Raymond'. I approached the grave, said a little prayer in my heart, and joined them. We talked about his dreams, his uprightness and his community activities. Amos and a couple of kids around bore witness to the fact that he was more like an angel. His burial attracted almost the whole of his church and community. A testimony as to how good a child he was. His only dream, even on his sick bed, was to write his junior high exams. He wouldn't. Six children are left now, none up to the age of 10, except Ray's elder brother who preferred to trade. His younger brother appeared smart. He wished to go to school. The others, all girls and the suckler, are all seated at home waiting for mama to put food on the table for them not sure what the future held for them. Ray's health didn't just steal him away from them, it stole most of their livelihood. The father had sold off his motorcycle, farm land and roofing sheets initially meant to build a makeshift room to escape the collapsing building to treat Raymond. Their hope now is the growing maize and bean plants just in front of their building, all for subsistence. This brings to fore the need for government, community, civil society and people of good will to ruminate on a system or framework where standard healthcare will not only be the reserve of a privileged few but an affordable and accessible necessity to all and sundry. Managing Raymond's condition alone, until surgery worth over N4m, rendered his parents paupers from being initially in abject poverty. They couldn't afford basic healthcare not to talk of comprehensive tertiary intervention! Health care is expensive in Nigeria especially when patients have to pay for themselves. I offered to build a tombstone over his grave and probably source for funds to help them with their collapsing building, getting a motorbike for the father and having one of the younger kids go to school, at least to the junior high level where the cold hands of death cut short Raymond's dream. We prayed together and dispersed. The journey back to the hospital was quiet, doleful and uneventful. Support the work of The Rural Doctor by DONATING to
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