There was a bird’s nest up in the ceiling. Father Angus led me down the hall, i passed a man with a coffin, i winked and smiled at him as i walked by. The other part of the building had a beautiful archway, a sign was on it: Peace unto you
I had not even fully stepped into the infirmary when my spirits already came down, there was the instantly recognizable smell of blood and bottled fear. All hospitals probably smelt same way, whether in London or Lagos. It was really a sore sight, pain was in abundance here, i thought.
There were four nurses struggling with a man on a stretcher.
“He doesn’t want his leg to be amputated,” Father Angus said. “But his leg has been completely shattered, we need to cut it now before it completely kills him…he can’t fight on one leg, that’s what he’s saying, i have told him, we don’t want to do this but we have to.”
Father Angus led me towards a small barn, completely wooded.
“This is where we keep our medicines and stuff and we occasionally have to fend off the friendly thief, they seem to believe there’s something here that they can sell on the black market.”
Father Angus walk with a gait, not particularly regal, a cross between tired and strong. He had very deep brown hair and there were deep mosquito welts across his neck. One can only imagine what he had seen in this region; colonization, the deep resentment and relenting nature of the people, then the surge in the calls for independence and now this.