Nigeria is real life…exaggerated! I keep saying this because it’s so true. As mental as this country is, I will be honest; I love my life here. You just don’t know what you’re going to face from one day to the next and that’s probably why Nigerians don’t only live in hope, we live BY hope. Some of the things I see or hear about convince me that one day, I will surely write about this place! So much of what is considered totally normal within the boundaries of the Nigerian map is so far out of the ordinary anywhere else, so absolutely mad, so certain to never work even in neighbouring Chad, that it makes no sense that it works so well in Nigeria. The country seems to be stitched together simply by sweat, mutual suspicion and illogical hope. And that’s what makes this country so alive, I mean you get off the plane in Lagos and the air itself seems to be heavy, humming with atoms of actions impatient to manifest. It’s strange yet at once wonderful and frightening. I thought all this after a strangely sweet incident happened to me on Tuesday.

The last time I fell sick, I had to take a blood test to help the doctor determine if I was plagued by the Disease of the Tropics, Malaria, or something more sinister. When I fall sick I try to do all relevant blood tests at the same time, because I hate needles.  Now, I had told myself that the next time I fall sick would be an opportunity to do a test…a test that has been long overdue. *Insert ‘One Minute of Silence for your Speculations to Run Wild’ here*.

It’s the test for my genotype and blood group.

(A bit of a letdown if you guessed Pregnancy Test).

If you’re Nigerian and reading me I imagine that my announcement is followed by your startled gasp, “A woman your age doesn’t know her genotype?!?!” No, no she does not. And she will now stop talking in the third person as it’s weird.

“Sickle cell anemia is most common in people whose families come from Africa, South or Central America (especially Panama), Caribbean islands, Mediterranean countries (such as Turkey, Greece, and Italy), India, and Saudi Arabia.”

–National Heart, Lung and Blood Institute

So kneegrows and gentlefolk, I know not my genotype. In all fairness I went to school in England after secondary school here and it’s far less common to find yourself being asked to fill out your genotype on any form. Or, to be asked your genotype by an English man interested in you -which is actually the order of the day in serious Nigerian dating FYI. It was not until I saw the requirement on my application form to the Nigerian Law School that I seriously contemplated finding out my genotype. Now, before it appears that I’m endorsing a laissez-faire attitude to health issues, I’m not; I really do think I should have been more interested in discovering my blood group and genotype earlier just as a part of understanding my body and managing my health. Disclaimer aside, I didn’t.

I did the tests for the first time while headed to the Nigerian Law School. The problem is, we were required to do our medical checks for  Law School medicals at a government hospital..which are not exactly celebrated for competence. Now before anyone argues with me about the Nigerian health care system, I know the teaching hospitals are well respected, however no one can deny that the entire system is suffering from overburdening. Hell, even when I went to do the tests I knew I couldn’t vouch for any result I got just from what I saw happening before my eyes! Nurses screaming at a woman who walked down to the laboratory from her ward RIGHT after giving birth; complete with soiled wrapper and fast-drying blood, because the nurses took away her new born for tests claiming he was sickly. The poor woman just wanted the results of the alleged tests and got a ‘concerned’ shouting-at for her trouble.

Or, the doctors who daily arrived- just before noon- to find a stampede of patients lying on makeshift beds littered on the floor of the hospital corridors. The doctors’ coming was always signified by a clamouring, a rushing of broken bodies forming a Parting of Patients to allow the revered doctors flounce in, white coats trailing behind them, looking like angelic extras from the Harry Potter cast. What irritated me the most though was the way some doctors would bark and flinch when the hems of their garments were touched by a sickly patient. The helplessness of the entire system made me sick. I’d only returned to Nigeria for a few weeks by then and would have to return to that hospital day after day due to the long queues to see a doctor or get a result. I wouldn’t be seen…but I would certainly see. I just remember feeling so overwhelmed by the horror of the Nigerian health system.

Now I’ve gone and made this a sad story and that wasn’t the plan at all. But that’s Nigeria isn’t it? Deep sorrow buoyed by humour and hope. Let me get to my point.

So, genotype. My law school-required medical examination revealed my blood group and genotype but following the incidents witnessed at the government hospital I knew I could not be certain of the results of any test undertaken in such a defeated environment. I procrastinated on redoing the test to confirm my blood group and genotype and only got to it two weeks ago (oh just about five years later! LOL Wendelyn!). I only returned to collect my results on Tuesday past.

So I bounce into the lab at the hospital at work and ask if I can get results from a test two weeks ago. The laboratory assistant asks me which and I reply, “My genotype and blood group tests please.” Immediately his eyes swivel from the empty sample bottle he is labeling, staring at me dead-on he shouts, “CONGRATULATIONS MY SISTER, SO YOU HAVE FOUND YOUR RIB!!!!” His wide yellow face cracked open by a wide smile, he congratulates me again asking me the date of my wedding. All while I’m feeling my sides, trying to account for all my ribs. Before I know it, a nurse has joined in in the felicitations! “Wait, wait let me check your genotype for you, oh I hope it is what you’re hoping for!” He opens the relevant page on his computer and asks a bewildered me if I would like a copy or just an announcement to all. I tell him I’d just like to be told please- my lunch break was nearing its end- and he quickly checks his system again and tells me the result. I smile because I’m surprised, surprised the government hospital was right…okay and because my genotype is most convenient. My smile is apparently translated as deep relief because everyone in the lab, unbeknownst to me, was waiting tensely to see if this last hurdle to my apparent marriage plans will be crossed. My smile, it appears, confirms my victory and the whole laboratory breaks into cheers and best wishes on my good fortune. The impending nuptials shall take place!!!

“Congratulations again my sister!”

“Your fiancé is lucky!!!”

“What is your fiancé’s genotype?!”

“Bring our own invitation cards to the clinic oh!!”

I left the lab in a blaze of goodwill and very warm wishes. Beautiful kindness from strangers sincerely happy at the supposed joy of a soon to be married young woman they’ve never met before. The whole situation was a bit ridiculous as it was based on an untried assumption… then again as many churches require evidence prior to wedding a couple that the potential bride and groom have compatible genotypes, I imagine that the lab assistants only really see the young asking for genotypes at the marriage hour. So the assumption was not unfounded…just untested. STILL, the simple joy of the entire incident really brightened up my day. I kept smiling stupidly to myself every time I remembered the happiness on the faces of the nurses, lab assistants and even the sick patients as they thought they were sharing a moment of joy and confirmation with me. It was heartwarming and so damn random!

And that’s Nigeria.