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For about two days, my body temperature was high. It was resisting all medications administered. It got to a point that my family doctor recommended that I take injection, as that would be more potent in fighting the fever than swallowing drugs.
The clinic was located just in front of our house. After reassessing my body, the doctor called the most experienced nurse in the clinic to administer some injections in me.
Instead of having a syringe pierce my skin, I prefer taking loads of drugs. I never for one day love taking injections.
On that fateful day, there was no way to escape. All my preferences including herbs have been applied without improvement. I lay my small buttocks on a table, and the nurse injected the medicine in me. After relaxing for a few minutes as advised by the nurse, my dad held me by my hand as we trek the few meters distance to our house. I barely moved a distance of about ten meters when I fell down due a seizure from my right leg. My dad, with the belief that I had missed my step, lifted me up with his hand.
"I can't move my right leg, Dad," I screamed as a result of the sharp pain that I felt when I attempted standing on my both legs.
I fell back to the ground.
"What do you mean by you can't move your legs?" My dad asked as he squats down to examine my leg.
He rubbed my leg and massaged all the joints. Further attempts to make me walk home proved abortive.
"Climb on my back," he instructed me in his squatting position, turning his back to me.
With each of my hands under his arms, he supported me with his palms from behind as he took me home.
"What happened? Has it gotten to the stage of not being able to walk?" My mother asked me when he sighted us entering the house.
"It's more than you think, dear. He has lost control of his right leg after taking the injection," my father responded to her.
My mother left what she was doing in the kitchen and joined my father to assess the situation. I was lowered gently from my dad's back to sit on the spring bed in my room.
"What happened to my son's leg?" My mother asked as she lifted me up to stand on my feet.
"I can't do that, mom," I resisted with the display of pain over my face.
I lay on my back on the mattress before being assisted by my dad to raise my right leg from the floor. It became obvious that my right leg was experiencing paralysis.
"My son will never be paralyzed. God will not allow this to happen. I rebuke it," my mom mixed ranting with prayers as she walked to the clinic to inform the nurse of the development.
The nurse came to assess the situation. She caressed all the joints in my right leg starting from the waist.
"We may need to take him to the state specialist hospital in Ikole," the nurse recommended immediately. "The injection has ha a bad effect on his muscle."
"What have you done to my son? Which kind of injection did you give to my son?" My mom, with tears rolling down her cheeks, asked the nurse.
"He will be fine; let's just take him to a better secondary health facility now."
The following morning, my dad hired a car to take us to the hospital in Ikole. Upon arriving at the border of the town, we met a queue of parked cars. There was a traditional festival called oro being carried out in the town that was prohibited for strangers to witness. There was a particular masquerade that was roaming the town. Any stranger that set his or her eyes on the masquerade will spend thousands of Naira in appeasing the gods to avert grievous consequences.
The driver conveying us to the hospital pulled over from the road and parked.
"I am a stranger here. I can't face the wrath of the traditionalists," said the driver.
"This is about health. I believe they will understand with us. Please, let's continue our journey for the sake of the well-being of my son," my dad pleaded with the driver.
"I can't risk it, sir. I can even forfeit the payment for the service rendered so far for you if that will settle the issue. I am not moving an inch. If you can wait for the town to be friendly, I will take you to the hospital. For now, I am not proceeding with the journey," the driver insisted.
Having realized that the driver wasn't ready to take the risk, my dad brought me out of the car and sat me down by the roadside before sorting out payments with the driver.
He picked me up and placed me on his shoulder, and he decided to trek the remaining few kilometers to the hospital. Everyone was cautioning him not to go.
"I would rather live with the consequences of trying to take care of my son than live in regret of allowing my boy to suffer out of the fear of uncertainty," he responded to them.
A few meters away from the hospital, on of the dreaded masquerade emerged from a street along the road.
"Hey, duro nibe yen," a follower of the masquerade shouted at my father to stop in yoruba language.
"Aren't you aware that the oro is taking place today?" He asked my father.
"I am aware, but right on my shoulder is my son suffering from paralysis as a result of injection. I was warned to seek medical attention here as soon as possible if I want my son to stand on his feet again. Please, pardon me. The pain of a father seeing his son suffer is what brought me here," my father pleaded with them.
They whispered to themselves before another member of the masquerade followers responded to my dad.
"You must do what the tradition demands. You will be arrested and kept in the custody of the priest till your people come to pay for appeasing the gods."
"I am ready to face the consequences, but I need just an assistance from you. Allow me to drop my son in the hospital so that he can get the emergency care that he needs. You can take me anywhere afterwards."
My dad's eyes that were red before now have tears building up in them. He stood there for more than thirty minutes before the chief priest came. He was the only authority that could pardon anyone that broke the tradition of the Oro Festival. He listened to my dad express his frustrations. The chief priest pardoned us and selected two guards to follow us to the hospital so that other masquerades won't disturb us.
When we arrived at the hospital, the doctor and other staff were shocked that my father could take that level of risk.
"What motivated you to take this risk?" The doctor asked my dad. "These people can be cruel to strangers during this festival."
My dad looked straight at me before turning to the doctor to respond to him.
"For the well-being and comfort of my son, I can take this risk or a more difficult one a thousand times."
In all of our experiences that day, all that I saw in my dad was a father that was ready to lose himself for the comfort of his children.
I got the needed medical attention, and after a few months of regular visits to the hospital, I stood up on my feet and walked with the leg.
