Skip to main content

After You


The man leans down. ‘Sorry. Hard to hear over the siren. We’ll be at the hospital soon.’ He places a hand on mine. It is dry and warm and reassuring. I’m suddenly panicked in case he decides to let go. ‘Just hang on in there.

What’s our ETA, Donna?’ I can’t say the words. My tongue fills my mouth. My thoughts are muddled.


Click Here To Download The Book

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Power, Politics And Death

  Before I could reply, there was a command: “Come straight to the Residence.” Even though Colonel Mustapha Dennis Onoyiveta, aide de camp (ADC) to President Umaru Musa Yar’Adua, and I were friends and often took liberties with each other, the tone with which he spoke on that night of May 5, 2010, was rather unusual. Curiously, I had just left the same Residence (the official home of the president) where I was to keep an appointment with the First Lady, who, as soon as I arrived, was called upstairs. By the time Mustapha’s call came, I was at my apartment to dismiss the PHCN official I had earlier invited to rectify an electrical fault.  While I felt a bit irritated by the commanding tone in his voice, I nonetheless heeded the colonel’s instruction and returned back to the Residence. Click to Download