— The Beginning...
“If time were a friend of man, man would have to exercise all of his potential without being worried about how long he has to live.”
“But you see,” she said calmly. “Time is not just a regulator; it is a factor.”
“Time stands in the gap between us and our fathers. I will tell you more about how important time is to everything a man desires, but first, I must rest.”
Mama Agba, my grandmother, looked pale as she lay on her bed with her yeri. She no longer wore iro and buba; she could not afford to weaken her already tired bones to tie a wrapper around her waist. To ease her burden, all she did was wear her big, loose gown. Aduke, Mama Agba’’s caregiver, had gone to bring the local physician to come see Mama Agba, who looked far from herself.
Mama Agba, an unusually strong woman in her late nineties, would go to her farm every morning and walk back home before sending Aduke to run errands for her.
While I waited for Aduke, Mama Agba moaned as she made efforts to get on her bed. I watched as Mama Agba’s condition graduated into an impasse.
“Mama Agba, the healer will be here soon; be strong,” I urged her.
While I encouraged her to be strong, I wondered where Aduke could be at the moment. She was taking too long to return with the physician. The local physician was a man with a compassionate heart who would rush down to see the sick, irrespective of whether the sick were rich or poor. He had learned healing and herbs from his grandfather, Baba Elewe.
The local physician, Adunigbeyinewuro, was the only surviving relative of his grandfather. Adunigbeyinewuro stayed after Baba Elewe had lost two of his sons—one at birth and the other after his marriage to Adunigbeyinewuro’s mother.
Baba Elewe was rumored to be the physician who could not heal himself. “Physician, heal thyself,” the people uttered mockingly often to him.”
Healing had been the practice of Baba Elewe’s fathers, which the local physician continually practiced. The local physician treated with compassion all that came his way, as he had learned from his grandfather, who also learned from his ancestors.
Aduke eventually arrived, panting and screaming, “He is here, he is here.”
“Who is here?” I asked impatiently.
“The local physician, the compassionate one, the one who considers others even when it is never pleasant, the one who…
“Will you shut up?” I yelled
“Welcome, physician; your presence means a lot. And you, Aduke, will explain where you have been since morning.”
The physician, who immediately entered the small room designed with traditional aesthetics, including a ruffian mat and chairs, gave me three different herbs to be used for three days for Mama’s health.
“Mama agba”
“Mama agba”! Aduke screamed from the room. I hurried into the room where Aduke knelt, shaking Mama Agba’s lifeless body.
“Mama Agba, stand up. Open your eyes,” Aduke called.
I moved closer to her to see if it was truly Mama Agba.
“Mama Agba, answer me!” I called with tears in my eyes. “The herbal concoction is here with me. I have brewed the herbs just as the healer instructed.
“Mama Agba has gone to rest,” the physician said somberly.
“Ah, my helper. I should have hurried down here earlier with the healer. It was Adio who delayed me.”
“I am sorry, everyone. It was Adio’s fault. Adio got me pregnant and killed my benefactor.”
“It is finished.” Aduke lamented.
“Watch your mouth, woman, and allow the dead to rest well,” the local physician warned.
