by Jennifer Juo
Sylvia cut pieces of her fresh, white tofu and cooked it together with chili peppers and ground pork, making Winston’s favorite spicy tofu dish. She fried up the tough beef from the “meat man,” who came door-to-door with bloody shanks hanging on a metal rod across his shoulder. The West African cow was a skinny creature with a large bony bump protruding from its back.
She served the spicy tofu, beef and broccoli, steaming garlic noodles, and fried shrimp to her husband. Like a dutiful Chinese wife, she kept replenishing his plate throughout the meal, making sure it was never empty. This was the first meal she had prepared for him since their marriage and arrival in Nigeria. It was a small, unspoken way to show some kind of affection toward him, a substitute for the physical embrace she so craved. She watched him eat, shoveling the food into his mouth as if he had been starving the past few months. She realized he missed their food just as much as she.
“You’re a good cook,” Winston said, his mouth full of her homemade tofu. He smiled at her, it was a crooked smile, a half-smile, his eyes still did not meet hers, but she held onto this little sign of love. She was starved for any kind of affection and wanted to be close to him.
That night, she offered herself to Winston in bed. But the roles were reversed. He was like an ancient Chinese bride, face hidden behind an opaque red veil, a distant stranger in her arms. Long after he was sound asleep, she lay awake in the dark, listening to the West African highlife music and drumming coming from the town.
Chapter 7
The spirits, particularly the snake spirits, began to assault Sylvia’s house. From the dense bamboo bush in the garden, the snakes found their way into the house, slithering through the open pipes that let out condensation from the air conditioner. The first snake to enter the house—a poisonous green mamba—came into Lila’s room. She was seven months old, sitting up, playing with her toys on the floor, but not crawling yet. Sylvia stepped out of the room for just a second, assuming since Lila wasn’t mobile yet, she couldn’t get into any trouble. But the spirits knew her daughter was alone, helpless, and dangerously trapped. The snake came out from under the air conditioner and slithered toward Lila. She stared at it, mesmerized by the moving, bright green scales glittering in the sunlight. As it moved closer, she reached her arms out for it.
***
Sylvia heard her baby scream. She and Patience rushed into the room, only to see a flash of green, a snake slithering away. Sylvia grabbed Lila off the floor. Had the snake bitten her? She frantically searched the baby’s arms and legs. The bite marks of a green mamba were small and difficult to see, but she was almost sure there were faint red marks on Lila’s right arm.
“Sometimes de snake bite, but it no spread poison,” Patience said, looking at Lila’s arm. “We have go to doctor now now. Dey can fix it.” It was a Saturday just after five o’clock and the compound clinic was closed for the weekend. They kept the antivenom for snake bites there. But how much time did they have before the venom spread all over her body and took her?
Sylvia let out a bizarre, animal-like wail, even she didn’t realize she could make such a sound. She ran down the hall, her eerie wail carrying beyond the walls of their house. But her neighbors didn’t recognize it as human, and no one came to help. Winston was away as usual. Where was he when she needed him? She ran into the kitchen pantry, still holding her crying baby in one arm. She knocked down the tins of Chinese food, looking for Ayo’s card.
***
Ayo arrived in ten minutes. He kept vials of poly antivenom in the fridge at his apartment, a combination of antivenom concocted for the multitude of snakes in West Africa. The green mamba was a common poisonous snake in the region, not as a fatal as the black mamba, Sylvia had read, but still, death could happen any time between thirty minutes to four hours. Thirty minutes. This random fact terrorized her.
Ayo quickly placed Lila on the couch and examined her arm.
“There’s some swelling and bruising round the bite marks, which means the snake injected some venom. But I don’t know how much yet,” Ayo said as he wrapped Lila’s arm in a crepe bandage and splint from his doctor’s bag.
Then he took out four vials of antivenom and emptied the contents into a syringe.
“I’m going to give her the first dose now. Then, we need to get her to my clinic. Help me hold her down.”
Sylvia held her squirming and crying baby down on the couch even though it went against her natural instinct as a mother. All she wanted to do was pick Lila up and comfort her, but instead she had to forcefully hold her down. Lila could not understand, her eyes pleading to be held and comforted. What kind of mother was she? She had left her child alone and vulnerable. She thought of her sister Mei Mei’s death. Sylvia felt cold and hot at the same time, and suddenly she was drenched in sweat.
Ayo injected the first dose of the anti-venom, and Lila screamed. Afterward, he picked her up and carefully placed her in Sylvia’s arms.
“Keep her arm hanging down, it needs to be lower than her heart. With the bandages and splint, this should slow the spread of the venom,” he said as he adjusted Lila in her arms. He spoke calmly and with so much confidence. If she could just anchor herself to him, maybe she would be alright.
He helped Sylvia and her baby into his car. They turned outside the compound walls toward town, driving through the faded, painted cement houses and blackened mounds of burning garbage that lined the road. People, vendors, goats and chickens, mopeds, and buses cluttered the road, stopping all traffic. They were stuck in the usual go-slow, now of all times. Thirty minutes, the random thought came back to her. Death could happen in thirty minutes. How much time had passed? She kept glancing down at Lila, fearing the venom was taking over her little body. Couldn’t they somehow bypass the traffic considering this was an emergency? But she knew there were no ambulances in Nigeria, and even if they had existed, no one would pay any attention to its sirens. She had heard of another child from the compound dying on the way to hospital because of injuries from a terrible fall. Trapped in the usual grinding traffic, the girl just didn’t make it to the hospital in time. She tried to push this thought away.
But Ayo seemed to read her mind. The traffic in the opposite direction was relatively sparse. He suddenly drove over the dirt, garbage, and overgrown grass that divided the road into the lane of oncoming traffic. Others followed, suddenly reversing the direction of the third lane. The road could be three lanes one way and one lane the opposite way, depending on the flow of traffic and the whims of the drivers.
Ayo drove like a maniac, weaving between the other cars, breaking all the rules like a local driver. She thought of his words, I might save one or two, but the rest I fail. She pulled Lila closer, holding her breath, looking at her child’s arm, the arm full of venom.
***
At Ayo’s clinic, Lila was burning with fever now. To prevent a massive release of the venom trapped in her arm, Ayo un-wrapped the bandages extremely slowly. The bruising and swelling seemed worse, even Sylvia could see this. She looked up at Ayo, something in his eyes seemed less confident.
He rewrapped the bandages, then pulled up a chair next to Sylvia.
“The blood and urine analysis show there’s more venom in her bloodstream than I originally thought. She’s going to need another dose of antivenom.”
“More venom?” Suddenly, Sylvia struggled to breathe as if the poison were attacking her own body.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got this under control.”
He turned to the nurse in the room. “Monitor her vital signs frequently. Check for any neurological or respiratory symptoms. And keep the fluids going through the IV.”
“What symptoms? What are you monitoring her for?”
“Don’t worry, the antivenom should do the trick.”
“I want to know. What symptoms?”
“The venom from snakes is neuro-toxic,” he spoke slowly so she would understand. “What this means is
that it can interfere with the body’s nervous system and could result in tissue or organ damage or, very rarely, paralysis. The odds are very low. I’m monitoring these symptoms more out of routine protocol, not because I think it’s likely.”
She nodded, trusting him was all she had now.
Ayo got up. “I’ll get the nurse to bring you some dinner.”
The warmth of his hand on her shoulder had steadied her. She wanted him to stay with her, but it was now eight o’clock at night. Of course, he had other patients, other lives to save. He left the room and went on his rounds. She watched the IV flood more antivenom into her baby’s system trying to stop the toxin from doing its deadly deed.
They were given a private room, but she stepped out into the hallway overflowing with patients. Some of the children were naked, dressed only in torn T-shirts. A dirty mosaic of brown fingerprints covered the lower half of the clinic’s walls. These same walls absorbed the sound of children in pain.
When she returned to the room, she noticed Lila was drooling. The nurse kept suctioning the excessive saliva, so Lila didn’t choke. But what did this mean? Didn’t paralyzed people drool? Sylvia was frightened. Where was Winston? Was this the way it was going to be, him absent when she needed him the most? She wished Ayo would come back into the room; his presence alone was somehow reassuring.
***
She watched Lila’s heart rate pulse rapidly on the machine. Ayo had explained that this rapid heart rate was to be expected. Her body was fighting an attack. It was one o’clock in the morning. On the table next to Sylvia was a half-finished plate of food—gari and a spicy stew of muddy river fish.
The nurse came in and began her periodic vital signs test, testing for paralysis by jabbing Lila’s legs hard enough to see if she would react or cry. Luckily for all of them, she cried.
Ayo came in, looking concerned.
“How are you holding up? You should get some sleep.”
“I can’t,” Sylvia said. Sleep was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to be by Lila’s bedside every waking minute.
“I’ll get a cot for you.”
He returned carrying the kind of cot the military used, made of dark green material and wooden legs that could be easily disassembled into a bag. He gave her a pillow, sheet, and blanket. She sat on the cot and started to cry. He hesitated at first, but then he sat down next to her and put his arm around her. She pressed her face into him, craving that warm feeling of being held by someone. She could smell him—sweet yet bitter, yesterday’s fading cologne, his sweat, the pungent smell of life. She felt his heartbeat and hers, both were beating fast.
***
In the morning, she found herself lying in the cot. She must have fallen asleep in his arms. She felt disorientated, her hair tangled. She got up and checked on Lila. She felt the regular rise and fall of her little chest and was somewhat reassured. She peered out of the room, hoping to see the nurse or him. Ayo was standing in the hallway full of sick children, looking ragged, unshaven. Their eyes met and he said softly, “How are you doing?”
Had she cried in his arms? She couldn’t remember, but she had probably fallen apart. No one had just held her like that in long time. Winston rarely hugged or kissed her.
“Lila…” Sylvia began.
He came over to her, put his arm over her shoulders. “Her vital signs are improving a little. That’s the direction we want things to go. So that’s good. But I’ll be honest, we’re not out of the woods yet.”
A part of her wanted to collapse in his arms again, he had that effect on people, women of course. It wasn’t just his looks—it was his confidence, openness, a kind of vulnerability, all of it drew her in—but she tried to be strong and stepped away from him.
“Thank you,” she said, formally and awkwardly. “Thank you for…your kindness.” She wanted to say thank you for holding me, but how could she say something like that, even though her heart ached to tell him how good it had felt in his arms.
“Come,” he said cheerfully, this time careful not to touch her. “Let’s go and get some breakfast. I’m famished.”
“But Lila…”
“The nurse will be with her the whole time. I promise.” He spoke in Yoruba to a nurse in the hallway instructing her to check on Lila.
***
They went down to the cafeteria on the first floor. His clinic was just two floors, funded by a combination of nonprofits including the Red Cross and Oxfam. The cafeteria was busy, full of children—some dressed in hospital gowns but most barefoot, clad in torn t-shirts.
“We feed a lot of hungry street children here,” Ayo explained. “Basically, anyone who comes in our doors, especially a child, is given a free, hot meal. It wasn’t our original intention for the cafeteria, it was just supposed to feed the patients, but that’s what it has evolved into.”
It was hard for Sylvia to think about all these other children when her own child was struggling upstairs, but she tried to concentrate on what Ayo was saying.
“How do you manage, I mean funding wise?” Sylvia said, searching her brain for some way to make conversation. She desperately wanted to connect with him. He was so noble, handsome, the modern-day hero, she felt herself falling for him.
“We manage. We get bits and bobs here and there. I do a big fundraiser gala every year back in London with Oxfam to raise money specifically for my clinic. I simply have to show up in black tie and tails and give a speech about the place.”
She thought he probably cleaned up nicely. The wealthy ladies in London would have no problem reaching into their pocketbooks on his behalf.
They ate toast, eggs, fresh pineapple, and tea. Sylvia couldn’t help looking at all the hungry faces around her, dark-eyed children with swollen bellies. The place, the children, the man—suddenly she felt like dedicating a part of her life to his cause. To him.
“When Lila’s better,” she said. “I want to come back here. To help you.”
“I would love that,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. She thought she saw something else there too—desire, longing, loneliness, the same things she felt. But then he stood up abruptly and said, “Right, we should get back to Lila.”
***
When they returned, the nurse looked slightly panicked. Ayo spoke in Yoruba as if to deliberately exclude Sylvia.
“What is it?” she asked, rushing to her child.
“She’s developing a slight fever. I’m not sure what from exactly. Perhaps from fighting the venom or even from the anti-venom itself. I’m going to add aspirin to her IV to bring the fever down and then we’ll watch her closely.”
“I shouldn’t have left her, I shouldn’t have….” She sat down on the chair next to Lila’s cot. She shouldn’t have been thinking of him.
He sat down next to her. “Don’t fret. It will be alright. Trust me.”
She felt his breath on her face. “Stay with me,” she said. He let her rest her head on his shoulder for a few brief minutes before leaving for his rounds.
***
A few hours later, he returned to the room.
“Good news, her fever is abating,” he said, examining Lila’s charts.
She sat next to Lila’s cot, staring out at the window. Beyond the clinic walls, she could see the town, clusters of rusty tin roofs and spirals of smoke in the sky.
“She was an accident,” she said, still looking out the window. “I didn’t want her at first. That’s why the spirits are punishing me.” She wanted to say more, but she didn’t.
“No one is punishing you. Least of all the spirits,” he said, sitting down next to her.
“You don’t believe in them then, the spirits?”
“Oh I believe in them all right. But I don’t think they’re punishing you.”
“Then how do you explain all that’s happening to Lila?”
“Sickness happens. Things happen. I’m in the business of fighting off these evil things however they come about. Science can explain it in terms of ge
rms or dirty water. But I suppose we humans believe in spirits to fulfill this psychological need…this need to feel like we have some control in all of this.”
“And do we? Have control?”
He put his arm around her. “There’s a myth we have in Nigeria. It’s about bush-souls. We believe a person has four souls—the soul that survives death, the shadow on the path, the dream-soul, and the bush-soul.”
“That’s beautiful,” she said, her head next to his chest, breathing him in.
“But the bush-soul is special. It’s external to the body and takes on the form of an animal in the forest—a leopard, turtle, elephant, or hippo. Everyone has one. In the Calabar region of Nigeria, there’s this sacred lake where the fish are carefully preserved because the people believe their own souls reside in the fish. There was a chief in a village whose bush-soul lived in an old crocodile. When a hunter tried to kill it, the chief’s leg was mysteriously injured.”
He paused, and she looked up at him, willing him to go on. She felt the warmth of his chest next to her face. She could stay like this forever, listening to him talk, the melody of his voice lulling her into believing the world was a safe place, when it clearly wasn’t.
“If someone falls sick,” he continued. “It’s because the bush-soul is being neglected and an offering should be made to one’s animal. I want you to go home and pick an animal for your daughter, one that makes sense, and then make a little shrine, a little dwarf-sized hut in the forest and offer fruit to her animal. I’m not saying she will not fall sick ever again, but at least you’ll know there’s a bush-soul out there protecting her. It will help ease your mind.”
***
