My Light: Kukhanya Kwam

C H A P T E R O N E

A M I L A   T O G U

SEVEN YEARS LATER

"Sorry Doctor, can you please take me through how to do a lumbar puncture?"

I turn to the voice, "You don't know how to do that yet?"
"Not yet. This is my first clinical year."
"Understandable. Do you have all the necessary equipment to use?"
She nods, "I got the tray from the nursing station."
"Alright, I'll be with you now. Let me finish up here quickly."
"Thank you," she trails away her colleagues as I finish up my notes.

My phone rings, slapping it to my ear, "Amila Togu."
"So formal. Still at work?"
"Yes, it is working hours."
"Weren't you on call yesterday?"
"I was. I am going post call at twelve," I glance at my watch, only left with an hour to go home and rest.
"Mm... Being a doctor seems hectic. I am calling to remind you about this weekend, Baby Jonga's party? I hope you haven't forgotten."
"I haven't."
"Are you coming?"
"I'll see if I am not busy."
"Amila."
"I'll try to make it, happy?"
"Very. It's been so long since we last saw you, sis. You have to come, pretty please? It will mean the world to Mrs Jonga."
"I am still at work. I can't chat."
"Oh... okay. See you this weekend."
"Sure."

I cut the call, closing the file after finishing up the notes and attend to the students that asked for help earlier, taking them through the procedure and it's importance of sterility, contraindications and indications.

After handing over some patients to another intern Doctor, I make my way out of the hospital towards Copperlake, a residence where majority of the staff in Nelson Mandela Academic Hospital stay.

My father, as congratulatory present bought me a Range Rover after finishing off medical school which I currently drive.

I enter into my bachelorette apartment— is it wrong if I call it that?
Either way, I immediately take a shower upon getting comfortable and change into comfortable shorts and sweater.

My phone pings indicating a text has come on.

SmartyPants: You home yet? I made lunch.

I smile immediately at the message, the though of cooking fleeting away in my mind.

I am home and starving, I text.

SmartyPants: For me, right?

For food, duh?!

SmartyPants: Open the door.

Already?

I pad towards the door, there he stands with a closed container, earning a huge grin on my face as I take the container, "I love you."
"You love what I do for you— not me."
"Don't be dramatic, Matty."
I kiss his cheek, walking to the kitchen and warm up the food.
"How was the call?"
"Busy as usual. I got a breather in the morning— took a power nap to soldier through the morning meeting with the seniors."

He hums, plopping down on my living sofa, "That's better."

I sit opposite him, taking a bite of the lasagna he'd made— moaning at the taste, "This is really good."

He stares, "I bet London doesn't make you moan like I make you."

"Only you know my weak spots, Matty."
"Speaking of which, when last did you see him?"
"A few days ago, why?"
"He came by— looking like shit as always. I still don't know what you see in that lazy p—,"
I raise my brow at him, slightly annoyed of his tiff with my boyfriend, "I was going to say, guy," he huffs, "Says you have been ignoring him after trying to get into your pants. I for one was happy that you didn't let him smash, so why? I thought you said you were ready to take the next step in your relationship?"