THE STIGMA

‘His skin is the freshest I have seen in years since I began my medical profession, he’s so cute.’ These were nurse Kofo’s words to my father at the time of my delivery at Akiliki hospital. My father was so proud of me from the moment of my birth till this day, despite my morbidity.

Things became shabby when I became 19years of age after my Senior School Certificate Examinations (SSCE) at the Comprehensive secondary school; I was the youngest in my class. It all began during a football game, during my after-school holiday; I had an encounter with a pugnacious opponent who threw a couple of punches at me. Although I was restrained by my teammates against vengeance, surprisingly I didn’t feel an ounce of pain from the punches I received. I continued to experience such painless encounter then I informed father after which he took me to the hospital the next day as early 6:00am; Father didn’t joke with our health issues. In 3hours time we met doctor Kankanawa who affirmed that nothing was wrong, that the symptom is related to a man’s maturity. I do realize why such a senseless statement plunged out of his mouth, probably because of the name of the hospital- Duniya hospitals and clinic.

Following the villagers belief in knowledge and scientifical superiority; my father believed the doctor perfectly. Weeks passing, I began to feel pain around my respiratory tract which affected my breathing, a ‘Samson natured being’ like me began to feel feeble like a septuagenarian , I couldn’t see properly during the day, I felt it was owing to excess intake of garri that impaired my vision so I restrained from the consumption of that commodity. I tendered all these troubling issues to father’s feet. I could sense it that he was in a state of pandemonium ranging from economic challenge to keeping his son ill-free.

God be praised! The World Health Organization (WHO) held a three day health sensitization programme within that period in my locality; they conducted free medical check-up for the inhabitants of that area. We were the first to be attended to by the medical consultant, after the introductory rites I explained all the possible symptoms to Dr. Leon Bourgalia, an Italian medical practioner. He began by telling father and I that the infection present in my body system is called Hansen’s disease popularly called and known as Leprosy, my heart doubled-beat I remembered the biblical Syrian army general Naaman, whose case is about to become nascent through me. Dr. Leon said I was infected with paucibacillary leprosy caused by mycobacterium lepromatosis, these names were a mouth-full, I wondered how big they were and their capability to live inside me. He also said that they were linked to Deoxy-Ribonucleic-Acid (DNA) by polymerase chain reaction. Teacher Pinpin, my biology mistress taught us about genes and DNA, my grandparents and parents didn’t exhibit such symptoms nor acquire the disease, so why me?

Dr. Leon told father to take immediate action to counter the disease before 15-30days else the bacteria would manifest in its full stage through skin reaction, he said I needed Dapsone and Rifampicin drugs for 6months intake daily; when father inquired about the price of the drugs- the price ran in a couple of zeros. Father fell into a mental coma. Where would such money emanate from?

I didn’t find Dr. Leon’s analysis incredulous because tests were conducted and he gave explanations based on the result, unlike that of Dr. Kankanawa. My thoughts began to run wild. Unanswerable questions crossed my mind. How can I get an Elisha of my time to prescribe a miracle resulting therapy? Does this disease automatically make me an outcast amongst the community members? How will I locate my Jesus to touch his garment for a turnaround in my health status? Who would buy these drugs for me? Questions I couldn’t answer.

Isolation between me and the Iyaye villagers started. The doctors told father and I that leprosy could be transmitted through respiratory droplets so the villagers pressurized my dad to separate me from the ‘normal’ people. Although it was somewhat invigorating having a spacious hut to myself but the environment was fun-less and friendless. I was an exemplary child in the eyes of most parents in the community; I had the highest amount of friends and behavioural admirers. Presently a ban has been placed by most parents on their children towards drawing close to me, all of these resulting to leprosy.

Finally, am out of the quarantine zone. I feel that I would face more stigma than my previous indoor experience. My instincts never lie. Father told me that elder Kakarapupo(the man with the worst sounding name) sternly suggested that I should be worn a bell round my neck to send a ringing signal across a distance to tell people about the presence of an unclean individual. Father said he got worse statements from the elders when he went to seek for financial aid to purchase my drugs.

I now look older than the old. My hideous sins have caught up with me. My dirty bad looking skin is associated with evil existing in my family. These are harsh words I live with daily, coming from the mouth of the villagers. I ponder each word gently in my heart; my heart is greatly filled with an unquantifiable amount of pain. I have been hoping for my day of redemption. I am less a human in the eyes of others outside my family. Leprosy has caused me this. Will I continue to live like this throughout my stay in this world?

*Written to mark the World Leprosy Day