His next sentence was terror to my human ears. "You shouldn't try to get married or make children as ur children will automatically bear a similar consequence and these tags will have to remain for the rest of your life"
Well, I wasn’t born beautiful as u might think, but then, I have a billion skin tag all over me, in numbers, I have a total of 40 on my arm, 6 on my legs, as of yesterday’s count, I had 74 on ma trunk, my neck; about 6, and so far so good, I have just one on my face, and that makes me spectacular.
You should see d way people stare at me, ma sight amuses or perhaps amazes the whole neighborhood, but it don’t matter though, cos the mirror I stare at every morning; my mirror tells me something different. He speaks of me rare. A human prototype that has failed his parentage. Such unexpected transition from the regular human form and worst of all, he speaks of me diseased, and every time he says these words, I reply with tears......tears that flow nonstop.
People call me 'Jimoh' and I'm almost 18. I stay with my aunt; aunti dara with her two mischievous kids in a poorly ventilated apartment located very close to d city land waste site. I had everything separate in the house, I had my own bed, my rubber pillow, my own plastic cup, my own spoon and plastic plate, I had my own space. Aunti dara always told her kid about how they could grow tags all over their bodies if they ever thought of playing with me, she told them how strange I was. She said more and many more to her dear children in d deep dark of the night when the walls listen keen and were seduced by shadows. Cos of this, even the walls move away when I get close to them.
Routinely, day after day, I wake early to take a gentle bath while counting ma fragile tags. Afterward, I wear ma 'tag concealing shirt', and off to the front yard where I stir up yesterday’s dirt that's settled on the concrete floor with ma gentle broom and parker. And slowly, while I wait the fall of dawn, they come; the neighbors come out, everybody with his own routine. My job as always was to collect aunti dara fees. The fees every water deprived neighbor pays for coming to fetch water from aunt dara large water storage tank. And till night fall, day after day, I keep to ma routine.
When there's life, apparently, there's a lotta hope. In all my years of existence, I had hope in two things, and then my hopes were shattered by these things, my life was quite worthless in the end and my mirror was there to witness my sad ending.
She was almost the same height as I was, and that was d only way I could tell we were probably age mates. She was obviously beautiful. No one saw her the way I saw her, no one saw her beauty in 256 colors, only me. She appeared naive tho, as someone who knew little of their own beauty. And every morning when she was clad in that blue skirt and white shirt heading for school, I take time out to admire and imagine how it'll feel to hold her close, hw it'll feel to kiss her, how it'll feel to make love to her, how it'll feel to…..ahhh........how does it feel? Maybe one day she'll be mine, she'll be mine for the loving, and she will be loved like no one ever loved. 'jimohs love' that's what she'll get. But till then, I think I have found someone to love, she; sekinat
Aunty dara never told me of this day. She never told me. She just said we were goin to see the doctor and I should prepare for the next hour. A lotta thing came to mind I must say. I instantly rushed to my mirror to tell him I’ll be cured. I told him how perfect I’ll look when I arrive. I pulled of ma 'tag concealing shirt' and then I imagined my trunk without tags, I imagined how pristine and handsome I’ll look to her (my love). With anger, in joy, and in memories of all the bad words I’ve heard him say, I smashed the mirror with my fist; I left it shattered on the floor and left with aunt dara to the hospital to see doctor.
On our way into the hospital, i saw a lot of sad faces going in along with us. lotsa smiling faces coming out too. And by jove, I had the feeling I was going to smile out too.
And when the moment came, it was me and the doctor in that cold quite room.
He examined my tags carefully. He showed me dark spots on my skin which he referred to as cafe au lait spots. He examined my eyes and ears with his special toys. He asked of my lost parents, parents I never knew, and then he, he spoke softly, he said I was beautiful, and that I had a great life, and that I suffered from neurofibromatosis, but then his next sentence......ahhh
His next sentence was terror to my human ears. "you shouldn't try to get married or make children as ur children will automatically bear a similar consequence and these tags will have to remain for the rest of your life,"
I walked out of the hospital sad.
What’s there to live for, for how will I be loved perfectly by Sekinat, just like I was born with tags, so was I born to die? My mirror, my pacifier, shattered, but then, the pieces might be useful, their sharp edges can slide through the neck vessels easily, so well that I’ll cut off everything, every tag that have grown the sadness that I feel. The pain can’t be worse than what I have felt all my life.
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