·Caveat: Sensitive Post**
Sleepless.
21:53
My eyes are tired. They have been attempting to shut down for more than an hour now. Yet, my head refuses. It is still taking stock while Tim McGraw’s Humble and Kind wafts in through the hallway.
My head does this nightly ritual. It pulls up the Day’s scorecard and shoves it into my face. Not asking my permission. Or does it do the same to you too?
Well, it has dredged up the image of that Baba inside the bus. Baba, a multilingual word for father, also used by Nigerians to denote respect for an elderly man. And with that image, came the visual of the other baba at that funeral party. That, finally called up the memory card of my father.
Alright.
Exhale.
Let me connect the dots for you.
It was this afternoon on my way from the hospital. At a bus stop, a handful of new passengers boarded. And with them came this putrefying odour. The stench was overpowering enough to turn heads in it’s direction.
**Caveat: Sensitive from here on**
A quick scan showed an elderly man dawdling towards a seat. He had on a loose jeans which seemed okay from the back as he ambled past me towards a seat. Then a cursory downwards glance showed it. Oozing out from the leg of one jean and onto his white trainers was watery poop.
I went cold.
“Oh no, this man has had a faecal accident!” I thought as my eyes noticed his perceptibly wet flap
“Why did he not have diapers on?”
“Is he incontinent or he could not access a toilet?”
Is it diarrhoea?
As those thoughts swirled across my mind, I felt an anger. Anger at Life for injuring this man’s pride.
If a pre-schooler has ever stood shamefaced before you with an “I had an accident again”, then you may get the picture
Meanwhile, I was glad it was off-peak period. The uniforms were still in school. His pride did not need any further dent.
About two stops down the road, he alighted and shuffled off. A glance through the window showed him stood outside, unmoving. The whole length of his inseams now soaked.
Life is a Humbler
As a vulnerable person following a cancer battle, it proved a disturbing sight for me. I know what it means to be running on your track today then unable to stand up tomorrow. And trust me, such an experience toys with your head.
In there, mulling over that incident, another image appeared on my mind’s screen. A high profile party at Lagos. The deceased was the first female chartered accountant in Africa. In addition to being a former president of the Institute of Chartered Accountants of Nigeria (ICAN).
By tradition – her former colleagues - past ICAN presidents had a
{This is a lengthy article. If interested click here where it was originally published}