Dear Ladies, Watch Out!

My name is Fatima I live in a city located in northern part of Nigeria. I’m from middle-class family; my father is a university lecturer at the most notorious Nigerian university (Bayero University, Kano), while my mother is a nurse at Rasheed Shekoni Specialist Hospital.

I grew up with much love, care and affection from my parents. My academic career was successful. I long lived with the passion to be a medical doctor right from my childhood; until later the needs and implication of nurses enthralled my thought then I opted to become one. My both SSCE and UME was not up to scratch, therefore by virtue of that; I got a provisional admission offer into Federal University Dutse, to study nursing.
“School life is the best.”

My first semester was incredible; lectures were delightful, group discussion was organized every week, tutorial was conducted by the most intelligent and prodigy students amongst us, goodness I’m one of our class toppers.

I don’t have friends. I have never engaged myself in school’s activities. People used to say I’m perverted because of my loneliness; all I do in school is reading and attending classes.
But things swerved to fall apart when Aliya and Husna succeeded in grabbing my pleasure to join into WAF league; in spite of the fact that we have different life model but we got on like a house on fire. WAF (We Are Friends) is a group of three boys and two girls who were popularly known by the group name.

They never missed a party nor did they worry when they missed lectures no matter how tough the course is. I know I am skating on thin ice but I could not restrain my heart. Despite that I’m not prone to be a notoriety student; but joining WAF league changed my exemplary life and hypnotized my thought. I have been invaded by their total way of life. In the meantime the feeling of satisfying my friends and desire to be a superstar student hit my mind. But you cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs.

Attending night party is like regular lectures to me. To be frank, what was happening in our team was Quid Pro Quo; more fun than a barrel of monkeys. We never endanger our health for a time-being pleasure. Therefore we used protection to avoid being infected by incurable virus.

Six semesters into my bachelor degree, I started having too much of night sweat. It was so much that I had to change my dress twice at night in order not to wet my bed. As the situation was not ameliorated, I bought a more compelling standing fan that was enough to lower the temperature out of a normal human consciousness but my condition did not improve. Within two weeks I had lost tremendous weight. My weight and body temperature moved in opposite directions. While the former plummeted, the later skyrocketed.

Simultaneously, I developed fever that lasted for more than ten days and bruises on my skin that I cannot explain. Although the school doctors thought I was suffering from pyrexia, I encountered helplessly with severe, long-lasting diarrhea and general weakness of the body. Gradually I started experiencing shortness of breath.

My intimates, Aliya and Husna who popularly known by their nickname Leeya and Hussy respectively called my father to let him know the situation I was. My parents, Dr. (Alhaji) Bello and Nurse (Hajiya) Kubura, arranged that I should be admitted into the most reputed specialist hospital in Dutse. My sister Aisha, my mother and my father who insisted and would not be deterred to stay home accompanied me. I concluded that I would come back to Federal University Dutse very healthy again to carry on with my education.

With the aid that my mother works in the hospital, the attention of Dr. Habeeb, the chief of the medical doctors was called. Dr. Habeeb asked me a few questions before he concluded that I should be isolated.

My blood sample was taken by laboratory technologist. The blood was put into a bottle and corked. My name was boldly written on a small side at the end of the label. The technologist took the bottle to a centrifuging machine for processing and testing. After two hours, the laboratory technologist returned to the consultation room and presented a note to the chief medical doctors.

Sweat began to fill on the doctor’s oblong face. The technologist’s fingers were visibly twitching. A couple of minutes passed before the chief hematologist came in and studied the result. He made a very brief note on the result sheet. Together with the technologist he left the room.

Dr. Habeeb walked into where I was singled out.
“Are you married?” He asked.

“No doctor,” I retorted.

Have you been having uncontrolled and unprotected sexual intercourse with multiple partners?” He asked.

“No,” I answered. “I only had three protected sex with my friends”. I confessed. “I live on conscience that I would not allow superstition to expose my health to incurable infections.”

“But one day I wanted the taste of the real thing of my friend, thus we slept together without condom” I added.

The doctor further inquired, “Has anybody know to you been similarly sick before?”

“Certainly no” I affirmed.

“You have AIDS,” declared the doctor.

Contrary to the doctor’s expectation, I remained calm except for my probing eyes which urged the doctor to go on with the death sentence.

“So, am I going to die?” I inquired the doctor.
“Well one thing about this infection is that it is incurable.” The doctor concluded.
“Now, the only help you can render to me is to give me writing materials. Some people must hear my story so that they may be saved.” I begged the doctor.

“I am at your assistance, Fatima.” The doctor said as he walked away.

“DEAR LADIES, WATCH OUT was written boldly as I started writing my outrageous anecdote.”

KAMAL AHMAD TIJJANI is a teacher and writer who live in Dutse, Jigawa State, Nigeria. He is a graduate of Chemistry from Sule Lamido University, Kafin Hausa, Jigawa State in Nigeria. He is humanitarian, his works often dealt with the life and struggle of ordinary people in his community. He published under the pen name Kamal Tijjani.