Lion’s Heart
(For those with incurable illnesses)

I have often thought it a sensible thing to write about the important happenings in my life which I initially believed would be short-lived. However, recent incidents have shown that I will live a long life.
There are paths we take because others before us took it; there are those paths we take because we are compelled to do so but there are paths we take because our conscience dictates rightly to us. My case hinges on the last. In fact, I am tortured by guilt stemming from the fact that I am still alive and also the recipient of the favoured benefits that only a lion heart could achieve.

I never asked to be severely anemic. I don’t understand why my blood cells decided to take on the sickle-like shape. I am twenty-one today, three days after an incident that altered my pessimistic view of life and left me guilty.
I am Nnenne and my twin –Nneka is in this with me. I can’t be convinced otherwise for only distance separates us.
I never asked to be born this way. I remember how I blame the Creator on countless occasions for making some healthy and others frail or sickly. Nnenna never complained. She was ever taciturn and the braver of us.

Together we endured the endless nightmare. Feverish moments never ceased. One minute we would be healthy and full of life while playing, the next minute would be tragic as we lay prone battling either a cold or hot sensation wracking our body.
I tell you succinctly that I would never wish our infirmity for our worst enemy. It was terrible.
I was the speaker and I rained abuses on Nature and blamed our parents while my sister suffered in silence. Only Akudike was our emotional shield.

Every moment I think of him, I realize people are godsent sometimes to help others.
He was not anemic. He was a willing blood donor not just to us but for others in similar condition.
His heart was an ocean of compassion.
He was a helper, adviser and go-getter. He was the one who observed that I loved to write and that Nnenna out-ran her mates in every race.

I continued to write because he liked whatever I wrote. I did not believe I could pursue a career in writing because I saw no future for a writer in the strangulating economy of my country. It was disheartening and felt more by the likes of us who had never known our parents that died in an accident at the age of three.

We lived with an aunt and never went to school. We pushed food-carts along busy roads and sold the food she cooked from morning till night to customers at her restaurant.
Akudike used to be an altar-servant to an American priest at St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, Alaba. It was this priest that granted three of us scholarship through primary and secondary school.

Luckily, we finished our secondary education the year he returned to his country. By then, Akudike had graduated from a Technical College and had secured a good job. We finally moved to a better apartment that was comfortable and affordable by my brother’s financial standards.

He encouraged us to improve our abilities in writing and running while we prepared for our J.A.M.B exams.
Funny how success eludes even the intelligent at times. We sat for that exam four times before we made it.
Akudike did not give up on us.
He encouraged Nnenna to participate in internal sporting events while he took my writings to several publishing houses. His faith did not waver when he was turned down by publishers or whenever Nnenna did not secure the first place in a race.
And then he started growing emaciated daily. At first, I thought it was the job that was wearing him out and advised him to take time off from work. Nnenna implored him to worry less about our incessant trips to the hospital thinking that might be the cause.

“Remember, we will soon be twenty-one and won’t be in real danger anymore.”
But Akudike’s reply to all of this would be a benign smile. He seemed more desperate than ever in helping us achieve our dream. He would make the calls, write the letters and make the introductions when the opportunity arose in such frenzied spirits.

We just saw him as the over-protective or loving brother helping two sick sisters.
I wish his dreams had completely come true.
There was an international sporting event in Beijing, China in September that year. Nnenna partook in the competition and came home victorious. She removed the gold medal around her neck and hung it around my brother’s neck the moment she came through the door.

There was celebration and merriment with friends throughout that day in the house.
That night, the most swift and deadly bout of fever seized her around 3:00am. I ran and called Akudike but before we could carry her out of the room, Nnenna died with a look of contentment on her peaceful face.
I would have died with her but my brother would not let me jump in after her as she was lowered into the earth. So, we buried Nnenna, the gold-medalist in peace. But I know she is still here with me –body and soul.

Three months later and back on our feet with bitter memories of a lost loved one, I walked through the door with news of a publishing contract for my novel, Lion’s Heart which Akudike had submitted for review some months ago.
That was the day he told me that he had full blown HIV/AIDS which he had contracted in the course of one of his numerous blood donations for our sake via transfusion by a careless nurse.

My world fell to smithereens.

I wanted to give up on my dreams but he urged me till the end when it was published and won the Booker prize.
September ended three days ago and also brought to an end the painful battle of Akudike’s illness after four years. Akudike died in my arms with a beatific smile on his face and I knew then that it takes only a lion’s heart to walk the path of angels here on Earth.


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