I just finished writing exams (as of writing this), and as much as it feels great to be done with it, I think the wait for the results is worse than writing the exams. That’s when my mind starts playing tricks on me and I begin to think I fucked every part of it up.
During the course of the exam, I fell sick. I had been doing late night studying in places with mosquitoes and stuff (they were doing a good job at keeping me awake, lol). I remember feeling weak but not out-of-the-ordinary weak, more like I-am-fucken-hungry weak. I ate. Then I tried to stroll to my house and take a nice long nap. I was too weak for that, so I stopped over at my friend’s place instead and went to sleep on the floor because his mattress was propped against the wall so he could have space to do his business.
I promptly fell asleep and when I woke up, I was shivering like a leaf in a Harmattan breeze, though the surface of my skin was burning.
First thing that came to my mind was: Not again!
I had been falling sick for the past 3 months at least once. Usually malaria-like, but with changing weather, I tend to get cough and catarrh too.
I managed to get to my hostel and called my dad. I told him I’d got a fever and he got angry with me because I hadn’t gone and done a malaria parasite test as he had insisted the last time I’d fallen sick. He cut the call on me.
E ma gba mi o!
So I took some paracetamol and headed to my school’s clinic for its free treatment. Free treatment = crappy service. I waited for over an hour and even dozed off on the hard waiting bench, and still, no doctor was ready to attend to the waiting patients. I felt much better though (thanks to the paracetamol) and decided to fuck the free healthcare. I left the clinic. I’d just rest as much as possible.
The next day, dad called me. He asked if I felt better. He asked what drugs I’d taken and I said paracetamol, and I could imagine the smoke coming out of his nostrils as I said it. Even I realised how dumb that sounded. He reminded me that paracetamol doesn’t cure malaria and I was just keeping it latent and that I should go and do a fucking test and get some proper fucking medication (in much less Latin, lol). He said how much he hates people not listening to advice when he gives it (and he doesn’t do that often) before cutting the call.
I found a clinic and did the test and threw in an HIV test too. That’s the reality of being gay. You fall sick and you start to worry that your sins have caught up with you even though the last time you had unprotected sex was over a year ago and you had gotten tested three months after and it was negative and you’ve been monogamous for the past five months or so. But it seems to have been drummed into my subconscious that I’m a high-risk person and I keep wondering what if those tests were wrong due to improper storage or expiry. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing because it drives me to be tested as often as possible and also keeps me trying my best to ensure that’s not where I end up. If you’re not abstaining, I don’t think you can ever be too careful. Even abstinence sef has comma if you don’t have your own clipper.
Anyway I did the tests. I tested positive.
For malaria parasite! Lol!
I got my HIV test the next day. I wasn’t very worried about it. Not as worried as the first few times. Maybe because I knew I had been a good boy. But bad things happen to good people. Anyway, I tested negative. So I was dealing with malaria.
I got pricked three times over the next three days.
The nurse would go, “Oya pull down your trouser”, and I’d want to say, “Haba, at least offer to buy me dinner first.” But she wouldn’t get it so I kept my mouth shut. It hurt so much I gritted my teeth and curled my toes and managed to cut my newly repaired pair of slippers.
I feel much better now. My butt cheeks no longer feel sore. Hopefully I have destroyed whatever malaria parasite resides in my body unless it’s some resistant strain that’s bugging me.
Death to all mosquitoes!
Written by IBK