WHAT A NEAR-DEATH EXPERIENCE TAUGHT ME ABOUT LIVING Part 2

As I mentioned in part 1 of this piece, surviving the accident was an angelic intervention. People that came to our rescue in the aftermath of the accident were surprised that the bus hadn’t gone up in flames. We had a tank full of gasoline.  Apart from the driver who hit his chest against the steering wheel for ignoring the safety precaution of using a seatbelt, no one in the vehicle had any fatal injury. The closest we got to something serious was a young lady who had a cut just below her right eye.

I was the first to get out of the bus. This was another miracle. After skidding off the road, it was my side of the bus that turned up. I unfastened my seatbelt, managed to free myself, and climbed out. I sat on the edge of the bus, now turned on its side, and tried to help other passengers get out.

The first person that was closest to pulling out was a very plump woman. It took extra strength to support her weight and get her out. I had pulled out three to four persons before help arrived from other travelers who stopped to offer assistance. At that time, I had also secured my phone and bag containing my laptop and personal effects. Again, only my earpiece was damaged in terms of property, and I felt just a slight pain around my neck and right elbow. I put a call to my Mum because she was the only person whose number was reachable at the time. 

Not too long after then, a police escort vehicle heading to Okigwe stopped to offer help to some of us. I was lucky to be part of the four persons offered a lift in their Hilux vehicle. We got to Okigwe safely and later to Enugu.

When I got to Peace Park in Enugu, I swore never to board another Peace Mass Transit vehicle. We had somehow learned that the company had been aware of the fault but were negligent in fixing it. I had to take an Entraco bus to Nsukka.

It was early evening when we got to Nsukka. The university offices were already closed, so I checked into the Grace Manor, a modestly-priced hotel overlooking the varsity "sited on soft green hills.” It was then the events of the day began to replay in my mind. I put my bag into the wardrobe, some other things in the drawer, knelt by the bedside, and began to weep. It was just free-flowing tears of gratitude to God for offering me another chance at the human experience of living.

I put a call to some of my senior friends in Enugu and Nsukka. My goodman, Ndubuisi Alagba, was concerned. He wanted to be sure there was no case of internal bleeding following the impact of the accident. I had to assure him that I was OK. Dr. Ifeanyi Obeta offered to visit me that night, but I told him not to worry. That evening I ordered a sumptuous meal of ofe onugbu and garri in the restaurant. Returned to my room and had the most peaceful sleep I could recall in a long while.

The next day, I set out to the business of what brought me to Nsukka. I got to know that the Careers and Records office had moved to the old Nnamdi Azikiwe library. A young fellow who had graduated from the same department as mine was helpful with the process. I did all that was necessary to get my certificate. It wasn't so stressful except that an error was made in one letter of my name, which I had to apply for its correction. I also parted with ten thousand Naira (?10,000.00) as the fee for the convocation event I remember paying for at the time.

I would have returned to my hotel room to rest and prepare for my departure the next day, but now and again, flashes of the accident scene kept playing out in my mind. I started experiencing a morbid fear about my return journey.

Then I decided to do what I would normally not do – to see the campus once again. I began at the entrance of the university. I took a picture of the lion statue just in front of the giant oak or baobab tree. I moved close and read the inscription: "To restore the dignity of man, "which was the motto of the university. I came up to the George Marion Johnson building at the School of General Studies. I recalled how I would often visit one of the notice boards to enjoy the poetry of Lion Lord Jeff.

I proceeded to the Department of Economics, which now had a beautiful building courtesy of an ETF intervention fund. I took a peek at Princess Alexandra Auditorium and the new Vice-Chancellor building.

Took my walk close to Freedom Square and then turned left to the road leading to the new library building and just a distance from the Faculty of Pharmaceutical Sciences – new and sparkling buildings. Opposite it was Eyo-Ita and Bello halls of residence.

I was nostalgic about my visits to those female halls of residence. Room 340 Bello (Bermuda) hall, in particular, provided many dinners during my first year in school. I laughed to myself as I remembered those refrains of Ndi Ogo as one would announce his presence by knocking on the doors of those hostels.

 Whether it was 207 Okeke, 128 Isa-Kaita, or any room number in Mary Slessor, Balewa, Awolowo, Aja-Nwachukwu, or Okpara halls, the thrill was the same. I learned that Akintola and Akpabio halls have all acceded to the demands of the Beijing Convention and taken over by females. Anyway, those of us who lived in the Franco halls – Eni-Njoku, Alvan Ikoku, and Mbanefo never considered occupants of Akintola and Akpabio as real men.

I ended my tour that afternoon with a visit to my department, whose main offices had moved to the famous Jimbazz building. I met Professor I.M. Ezeonu in the hallway. I had to do a brief introduction of myself. Her smile was still as it used to be.

I was told Prof. Anyanwu was the head of the department. I don't know why I wanted so badly to see Prof. Jerry Ugwuanyi. I wondered if he still had that wry smile after 12 years. Unfortunately, he was not around. I had an audience with Prof E. A Eze and even had his permission to take a photograph.

I couldn’t explain my motivation for the activities of that day. But I just wanted to forget the accident in a hurry.

…to be continued.

?2021 Joel Ikiba