Woes of a Drunken Master – Akeabasi Akpan

Unearthly chants and repetitive, disorderly metallic clanking rattled from a disgruntled hut, somewhere in the outskirts of the village, about a kilometer from village stream. The air around there reeked of burning leaves, and the tweets and chirps of mother nature were the only thing that seemed natural in this vicinity.

“Akpanudo…. Akpanudo! you dey there!?” A tattered-looking man in a red robe called out.
“Sorry,” Akpanudo muttered beneath his breath. He jerked up to the voice of the Ifa priest.
“Abadgo fowl wey no born with wings, zebra wey get one-eye, tortoise wey no get shell, plus bush rat wey dem just disvirgin. If you no get am no wahala, I fit run am for you for 250k.” The priest said.

“You sef know say you don mess up as you dey jons the gods anyhow. Na why everything dey sup like this. You no dey drop your sacrifice for month end, so as you run dem street, dem run you back.”

Akpanudo couldn’t believe his ears With one punch to the hungry looking figure in front of him, he knew he could trigger these angry gods to visit him in person, this time with worse ferociousness.

“How we take reach here?” He mumbled to himself as he lowered his head and began to pace all over the room.
His posture revealed his enormous belly, and his discolored feet were covered in wounds needing healing.

“Okay, I go send am.” He said feebly as he took his bag from the wooden bench and trudged away from the shrine; into the bush.

During his walk back home using the village stream route, his mind wandered to when he was still at peace at his shop, selling Okrika and gossiping with his fellow traders. He used to be recognized as an important personality in the village because, in addition to selling the most fitting clothes, he also supplied the village with the best palm wine. It stung that he seemed more of an outcast now, a sore to eyes. No business. No wife.

As he neared the stream, he sought rest at a stony spot beneath the foot of a large palm tree because the pain from walking had become unbearable, so that every step felt like a hundred needles pricking his feet.

Under the tree, he examined his legs. The sores had become worse than they were two weeks ago, wider, with oddly dirty margins. His feet also had its own fair share of pain, as the sharp stones by the river bank were at constant war with his withered flip flops. It appalled him, so that he barely noticed the beauty of the rippling water in front of him.

Here, he reached for his sack bag which lay beside him, and began to search for something. He sighed, pulling out a bottle of palm wine. The drink should have been familiar and comforting, but today, it tasted bitter.
“Wetin dey sup abeg!!?” He scoffed, pressing his hand to his forehead. “Why won’t all this shit just go away?”

He had been drinking palm wine for years. The wine was a source of income, yes, but also a source of calm in the most turbulent of times. Now, it troubled him that all he could feel was a sense of helplessness, even while ingesting his most trusted antidote for pain.

“Wetin be this! Hei! I’ve failed you, my love!!” He sobbed.

Akpanudo’s love for palm-wine took root in his youth. His frequent drinking and occasional smoking kept him in the brightest of spirits, so there was hardly any dull moment with him. Sometimes, there was trouble and rage, outbursts serious enough to draw attention from his loved ones, whose advice he gladly rejected. His smoking and drinking continued until he became a married man, the frequency of his anger outbursts had waned with the years. Three months ago, he’d already begun to feel so weird in a way that he couldn’t clearly explain to anyone.

He felt weak in the morning, barely able to breathe properly. Other times, he would get all sweaty, especially at night and urinate more frequently than ever. Sometimes while at work, he could hear his heart beat so loud such that he’d usually slump after these. About a month ago, sores began to form on his feet, which were initially painless but rapidly began to multiply and worsened to produce so much pain and a serosanguinous discharge which had a terrible smell. the villagers and its gods.

With support from the village withdrawn from his business, his life gradually began crashing down. Already, rumors of banishment from the village were already flying all around and one could only wonder what example the gods would want to make out of him.

“Kai, Abagdo don finally vex,” he muttered to himself as he broke out from his stream of thoughts and gently stood up from the tree to continue his journey home. “Be like dem really don curse me like this.” The remaining walk home was very painful, coupled with the scorn of the angry villagers. Even mother nature wasn’t smiling with him as the sun smote him heavily on his way home.

This evening was supposed to be his last in this cruel world. The thought of losing his legs, becoming a man unable to walk, seemed unbearable. Nothing was worth living for anymore.

As he raised the bottle of Snipper to his lips at home, a familiar voice called from around the compound. It was his childhood friend, Amos, who left the village years ago, having found an opportunity to begin training as a nurse. He left the sniper where it was and rushed to hug his friend outside, who stepped on Akpanudo, pain jarring Akpanudo.

“Sorry man, what on earth happened to you?” Amos was in disbelief. Akpanudo could respond with just a sigh. Amos grabbed a bench from the nearby tree, where Akpanudo sat and then began to fill his friend in on all the tragedies that had befallen his life.

Amos listened, and listened, and then bent over to examine his friend’s sores.

“You’re not cursed. You’re sick. This isn’t witchcraft or punishment from the gods. It looks like diabetic ulcers, Chinedu. You’re diabetic. That’s why your wounds won’t heal. We need to get you to the hospital really quickly.”
Before Akpanudo could even show signs of adamance Amos quickly added, “If you no come tomorrow, your leg don kpai be that and we go finally saw this your leg commot.”
Like a cornered rat, Akpanudo yielded with a nod.

“Do you know you are diabetic sir?” a feminine voice gently asked. They had arrived at Milestone Hospital, a health facility well distinguished for its doings in the field of endocrinology. The hospital environment was serene and the smiles on the faces of the workers wasn’t something Akpanudo was familiar with in such a long time. Although the hospital didn’t look extravagant, it smelled clean and had the quiet hum of hope in the air. It was at this hospital Amos was trained as a nurse and where they met Dr. Uche, a young but experienced physician who welcomed them into the consulting room and proceeded to examine the sores on his foot.

Akpanudo blinked in confusion. “Diabetic? wetin be that? I no sabi wetin be that.”
“It’s a clinical condition,” Dr. Uche explained, her voice calm but firm, “where your body can’t process sugar properly, and that causes your wounds to stay open. But it’s manageable, so there is no need for fear nor is there a need to lose your legs. Your sores are now infected, that’s why you feel so much pain. I will get you the right medicine and the right care so that you can go back to your normal life. You just have to promise me you’d stop drinking so much palm wine.”

Akpanudo stared at her, his mind racing. “Live normally again? That easy? You mean… I won’t have to lose my legs?” His voice trembled.

Dr. Ifeoma smiled reassuringly. “No, Akpanudo, we’ll take good care of you. We have the medicine, the treatment, and the support you need. But the most important thing is you have to take it seriously. No more ignoring it. No more old habits.”

Tears welled up in Akapnudo’s eyes. For the first time in months, he felt a flicker of hope. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could still live, and with his legs.

He looked at Dr. Ifeoma, gratitude flooding through him. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for saving me.”
Dr. Ifeoma smiled. “It’s never too late for a second chance.”
Akpanudo then smiled back, a sense of peace settling in his heart. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had a future worth living for.


Author Bio: Ake is a writer & medic who lives in Uyo. He is fascinated by literature & is open to exploring more of it in the future.

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