Only Nigerians can speak for Nigerians.
I’ve been feeling this fleeting pain in my chest for two days now. I know my daughters (especially Rinu) will flip once I mention that I have been feeling this tightness in my chest going on three days now. She will actually lose it when I tell her that the intensity of the pain has increased in the last 15 hours.
[Knock knock]
Pause
[Knock knock knock]
Pause
This is strange…
“Mr. Sule?” I turn the door handle and push.
“Sir?” I say, scanning the room for my boss. Stepping into the study, I simultaneously make a mental enquiry of whether I saw Chief leave again after he returned from his 10:15 am breakfast with his daughters, Dr. Rinuola Awosika and Dr. Ayinsiola Madu. Since this breakfast thing started, they’ve never missed one Thursday. It’s one of their newly found ways of staying tight, after madam passed.
The TV is on, and something is burning. Is that not Zenith bank?
“Oh my God!! Alexa!! Dial 112, now!!”
“Chiiiiief!!” Throwing myself on my hands and knees, I check his pulse and I don’t know if I can feel it or it’s my own pumping heart I can hear.
The housekeeper, Eno, has been at the bank since 7am today and Richie our run-around guy left to join the queue at the filling station as early as 6am.
I remember the training Chief made us all take, four months ago…CP-something. I yank my sleeve up to my elbow and look down at my hands. Your right palm over the back of your left hand…
Interlocking my fingers and with the first stream of tears now running down my face, I get in position and begin to pump.
[hello, this is the Lagos state toll-free…]
“Helppppp!!” I’m full-on wailing now. “My boss is dying…”
