BELONGING - BOOK 1

08. His Granny's Keeper

HALIMA

As I stepped into the hospital room, Dr. Ja'afar briefed me on the enigmatic case of Efua Jimoh, a young girl rushed in from school. Her parents, Mr. Jimoh and Mrs. Pokuwa, exuded an air of affluence, their worried faces a stark contrast to their lavish attire. Mrs. Pokuwa, a statuesque woman with rich, dark skin and curves that commanded attention, wore a vibrant kampala and gold jewelry that glinted in the fluorescent light. Her headscarf, intricately tied, framed her face, which was etched with a mixture of concern and frustration. Mr. Jimoh Bala, his bald head gleaming, stood quietly, his eyes fixed on his daughter with a deep-seated worry.

Efua lay motionless, her petite frame wracked by pelvic pains, her face contorted in a grimace. The scent of antiseptic and fresh linen filled the air as I approached her bedside. Her chart revealed a litany of symptoms: heavy and irregular bleeding, infection, fatigue, dizziness, frequent vomiting, and insomnia due to debilitating migraines. The possibilities swirled in my mind like a vortex - menstrual cramps, urinary tract infections, gastrointestinal issues, stress, anxiety disorders, hormonal imbalances, or thyroid dysfunction. Yet, the bleeding hinted at a more sinister culprit: hemorrhage.

But Efua remained stubbornly silent, refusing lab tests and CT scans. Her eyes, sunken and guarded, seemed to hold secrets she wouldn't relinquish. I sensed a deep-seated trust issue, a feeling that only someone she trusted implicitly could coax her into opening up.

As I headed to the nurse's station for a brief respite, Mrs. Pokuwa's voice trailed behind me, laced with a mix of desperation and accusation. "This girl wants to kill herself, or is it her village people?" I offered a reassuring smile and a gentle touch on her arm. "We'll do our best, Madam. Please, let us help your daughter." Her gaze lingered, a blend of hope and skepticism, as I disappeared into the bustle of the hospital corridor.

For days, Efua's enigmatic case had consumed me, leaving me unavailable for new assignments. Her three-day hospital stay had yielded nothing but silence, her secrets locked behind an impenetrable facade. Frustration simmered within me, threatening to boil over. I pondered abandoning the case, but a pang of guilt stayed my decision. As I entered the nurse's station, Hannatu's engrossed expression caught my attention. She waved, and I returned the gesture, my smile faltering.

I opened my locker, retrieving a chocolate bar to calm my frazzled nerves. The sweet aroma wafted up, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of Efua's silence. Hannatu's voice broke the spell.

"Halima, can we talk?"

I settled into the chair, licking the chocolate from my lips. "This Efua is a mystery. She won't let anyone touch her. I'm sick and tired of the case." Hajiya, my hospice patient, flashed into my mind. "I miss her already."

Hannatu dropped a bombshell, her words slicing through my distraction. "Habib asked me out."

My eyes widened, frozen in shock. My Habib? The one who had once held my heart? I forced a nonchalant tone. "It's your choice, Hani. I don't care. Habib is ancient history."

Hannatu's gaze searched mine, but I evaded it, gathering my stethoscope, hospital ID badge, patient medication chart, and pen. "If you love him, tell him." I fled the room, unprepared for the turmoil brewing within.

As I descended the stairs, children's chatter drifted from the receptionist desk. Funmi, engrossed in jotting down a prescription, didn't notice them.

"That's her nurse."

"The albino one."

I turned, my eyes meeting two young faces, probably Efua's classmates.

"Excuse me, nurse," they called out in unison.