Hi guys! How have you all been? Wondering where I’ve been? Well, I did announce that I was going on a sabbatical of some sort, though I might have extended it a little. Pardon me. Before we dive in, we all know that Nigeria (my beloved country) has been under the negative spotlight lately, ( thanks to the terrorist sect that is Boko Haram) with the two Nyanya bombings, the senseless abduction of the over 200 chibok girls and the lackadaisical attitude of our government to these pressing matters. Thank Goodness for the intervention of the International community, I’m sincerely hopeful that the girls would be brought back home soon and that the scourge that is Boko Haram (plus their cohorts) be forever purged from Nigeria. I am not here to blog about the chibok girls today.  I just want to remind you to do whatever you can, whatever is in your power, to help in bringing them back. Thank you and God bless. Well, today, I’d be resuming with a guest post, written by a dear friend of mine, tush curry bobo of life, Edward Adugba. He has a very interesting mind, ever the thinker. Enjoy.
He threw himself at me and wept with a loud voice, “Aboje, you won’t understand.” I had to comfort a brother I had always looked up to. For the first time, I was speechless for I had never seen him cry before. He was the epitome of great strength and courage.  I knew Eche had to be hurting seriously, more than words could describe. Sam was leaning against the back of a pickup truck, his eyes deeply erythematous and filled with tears.  “Aboje, I’ll miss mama. Kai! Mama tried for all of us.” Peter was sitting on the ground, completely oblivious of the full weight of the African sun, too broken to speak. I was speechless, unable to fully comprehend what Mama meant to them.

I had always been far from home, away among strange men, pursuing a dream. Home was becoming a faint memory to me.I’d missed the sounds of the crickets’ chorus reaching a crescendo at dusk, just before the start of the rains; the experience of farm work; the company of aunts and uncles, full of kindness; the taste of the fish studded soups;  and yes,  the compassionate voice of Mama. I didn’t stand aloof.  I was just distant.  I cried at mama’s burial. Not just because of her loss, but because I felt disjointed.  I couldn’t connect emotionally with them.  I felt like fish pulled out of water.  Like a bird with clipped wings, denied of the right to the skies. Disjointed.

I couldn’t possibly understand the grief of Eche, Peter and Sam. Just like I can’t understand the grief of a cast away who loses an only friend, the only voice of reason lost forever. It seemed a bright light of hope suddenly went dim to a people unprepared. Eche had the right to be angrier than most of us. He seemed the most saddened and broken and I couldn’t possibly understand why.

How does a frail old illiterate woman do so much when she has so little? How do “insignificant” people do great things in the lives of “significant” people?  What brings giants to their knees?

Money, it seems is the answer to many things.  It gathers kings to a table. It leads us to a stage upon which a bright spot light is shined on us. It gathers strange people to us. However, I have found that love, long suffering, patience, wisdom and kindness often heals the injury that results from the constant contention that characterises our world. These were the things mama had. These might have been why Eche cried.

Rejection is a curse. To be insignificant, cast away, left behind, every man dreads these. Mama loved what was insignificant.  She valued what was cast away. She valued those things that were unknown. These she did even though she attended no school.

It’s time to slow down and learn from the “insignificant rats”, from that dirty old woman who lives past the street or the lunatic who stares blankly at a world that doesn’t accept him. Through them, God can whisper something to us about what it really means to live.
We live in a very fast paced world. Indeed, sometimes we have to consciously slow it down and really pay attention, appreciate the small things, reach out to the people around us. Enjoy your week!



Welcome! First, I want to apologize for putting up yesterday’s post quite late, network issues.  (Oh, Etisalat, are you beckoning? I see you boo.)
We have another guest post today. This is written by one of the most soft spoken and easy going person I’ve ever met (in my opinion). With great pleasure, I present to you, Ayodeji Van-Erubu ( interesting name right?)

I couldn’t exactly tell whose figure I saw in my dream that night; however, I remember being woken by an emergency call from the hospital. With heavy eyes and whacked muscles, I struggled out of bed un-cuddling my wife in her heavy-snoring state; then rushed out of our bedroom without the usual soft peck on her forehead.

As I drove, I knew I had to accelerate through the bridge leading to the hospital as fast as I could regardless of my drowsy state. ‘’I could as well get there on time to save a life ,’’ I muttered to myself several times. But I noticed my eyes weren’t getting clearer, the more I fought to stay awake on wheel the more the horrible sleep drew me in deeper. Then I saw the bright red reflections of my front-lights slowly turn snow-white. For a moment, this cloud of white snow was all over my car. Strangely, there appeared the same figure I saw in my dream. He was stretching his hands to help me out of a filthy pit. I initially did not realize I was in a trance. Soon as I did realize, I was out of the trance. I found I had rolled off the express bridge; I had lost control of the wheel that night. The last thing I had remembered before going into shock was my car landing in a narrow canal. The shock had swallowed the agonies of such a ghastly crash. By the time I came out of shock, I was already in the Accident and Emergency unit, about to be wheeled into the theatre suite for urgent surgery. Bathed in my own blood, I screamed like a woman in labour. I couldn’t tell exactly where the pains were coming from, but it was as if I should go back into shock, better still, I felt I should just die. To my greatest disbelieve, I heard the same man I saw in my dream shouting at the casualty officer to wheel me into the theatre.
He yelled violently at the doctor on call ‘’This man is a doctor! You must not let him die!’’ Then, I realized I had just been helped by this man; he had appeared out of my dream to rescue me from the crash site and he brought me to the hospital.

By the way, my name is DR. Alfred Olufemi Sunday; a fellow of the West African College of Physicians, and this was how I first met the man in my dream. Some ten years back, I was a young intern at the University of Ilorin Teaching Hospital. I was fresh and green, but not without this great passion to be a successful practitioner despite my inexperience. I thought experience would come with time and thus I  strived with each of my duty to execute it well. My mother used to tell me as a medical student, ‘‘what so ever is worth doing at all is worth giving the best shot.’’ She taught me not to give up on anything, not to even talk of the patients I would be managing.

Soon after graduation I got employed and behold, adhering to my mother’s words soon paid off. I was cherished by my registrars and consultants for my diligence. Everyone knew something was different about me, including the patients I managed. They preferred to interact with their Dr. Sunny. Sunny was a popular nickname they themselves gave me.
During my last rotation as an intern, I met this man; he was one of the patients I clerked and presented at the Male medical ward. But beyond that, he was a victim of a terminal illness: an intractable lung disease that was ripping off his breathing organs, without cause and without remedy. All what my senior colleagues had diagnosed of him were preceded by the word ‘query’. At first, he was managed at the Male Medical ward, but later the Intensive Care Unit became his abode of treatment. Each time he shed a feather to talk to me, I had feared for his failing state; he was no longer eating through the mouth. Uttering  a word was like expending thousands of kilocalories of energy. Sometimes, I thought I would lose a friend in the next minute; oh yes, good friends were what we became. But written all over him was lost hope. I once over heard him tell his family members to give up on him. His own condition was more of scourging incapacitation than physical pains.

One morning after reviewing him, I held his hands and prayed with him, but suddenly, he withdrew his hands. Then spoke weakly, ‘’Dr. Sunny, I want to die.’’. Anybody there that day would not disagree with him, considering his seemingly hopeless state. Euthanasia was a choice for him; ‘Merciful death’, he thought would end his sufferings. He said he had made up his mind and only needed a consent-form from my consultant. My green medical head quivered with grief; I couldn’t allow this man to go. Besides, I had never believed in mercy killing. I saw euthanasia as another form of suicide or worse, a medicated homicide! But I thought he needed to put up a fight against his desire to die, even though he had lost the fervor to live.

Internal Medicine was my last posting as an intern, thus for the few weeks left to spend managing this man, I tried everything possible to help him keep fighting. Each morning, it became my call of duty to pray with him, and at any point he expressed his wish to die, I had encouraged a tinge of hope out of him. Medically, it was only a matter of time before he gave in to such degree of incapacitation. Thus, deep inside me, I-in-reality knew I would lose him sooner than I expected. But could I be blamed? Doctors are just another set of ordinary beings.

I concluded my internship program on the 5th of November. I couldn’t garner the gut to visit my dying friend at the ICU; I left without so much as a goodbye. I had to move on, I told myself as I prepared for my next course in life: the National Youth Service Corp.

That was the last I knew of him before the night of the crash. And after rescuing me that night, I discovered my patient eventually made it. Not only winning the battle for his life, he has also won a lucrative niche in his career; against all odds, my friend became a successful multi-million Naira entrepreneur.

After my surgery, I was moved to a private ward to recuperate. The next day when my wife rushed down to the hospital, she met my friend and he introduced himself to her. He was full of gratitude and tears as he narrated how we met to my wife. He encouraged her to be strong; and told my wife I would make it for he had made it through worse. Before he left, he paid my hospital bills and left me a small piece of paper, written inside was:
‘What If Death Never Came?
Live Doctor, like you helped me to live.

Ayodeji is a writer and a medical doctor, amongst many things. For more  great articles on health and lifestyle, Kindly like his facebook page, He also blogs at

Euthanasia can be simply defined as the practice of intentionally and painlessly taking a life to relieve suffering.
It can be voluntary, in which the patient requests that measures be taken to end his/her life. In compulsory euthanasia, the society or those acting on authority give instructions to terminate the lives of patients who cannot express their wishes e g Infants or patients in a vegetative state.

Euthanasia is a controversial medico-legal issue. Some people believe that no one, including the doctor has the right to play God.  The role of deciding when and how one dies belongs exclusively to  God, no matter how much pain or suffering one is going through. He giveth and taketh away. Besides, miracles do happen, don’t they?

Others believe that if one is in dire physical suffering and pain, and is terminally ill, why not spare them the torture. It would be a kindness to let them die peacefully instead.

What is your opinion? Do you think euthanasia should be legalized?

Kindly leave your comments and thoughts.( Yes, that thing that came to your mind, while reading this article) They are so important.

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