A short story by Nigerian fiction writer, Dami Ajayi, first published here n ZODML. It is read here by the author.
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Audio courtesy OratureLab.
Today is World Aids Day. For that, let me share with you an excerpt from my short story “Behind the Door”, published in the African Roar short story collection. The story was initially called “The First Test.” Enjoy.
______________
I followed her to the lab table and was going to ask her whether she had done the test on herself before, but I decided against it, convinced that she must have, at some point.
“What happens when one tests positive? Do you know?”
The words came out of me by themselves, but her response confirmed that she had heard it many times before. “Well, mostly we will just ask you first to do a few more tests to confirm that it is really the virus, before we know what to do next.”
“So you are telling me that it’s possible that this test shows positive and the other test shows negative?”
Her “yes”came in a firm tone that now got me uneasy. “It has happened before, you know. Sometimes there are some other infections that may manifest themselves on this test, and may not in fact be the virus.”
I was surprised, but more than that I was now scared. I thought back on my life and my confidence wavered. Her latest disclosure was now leading me to consider the possibility and consequences of being wrongly diagnosed. I did not like where my riotous thoughts quickly went.
“Let me ask you a last question,” I said, after a short pause.
“Alright.”
“What is the rate of infection in this part of the country?”
“Well, it depends on the organization that did the statistics.”
“No. I mean in your hospital. You do this every day, right?”
“Yes.”
“Like how many people, on the average, come here for testing every day?”
“About twelve.”
“Okay. Now about how many of them turn positive?”
“I would say about two.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” She said firmly.
Oh my God!
“Don’t be surprised, good sir. The infection is actually prevalent. With every ten tests I perform, there’s usually one positive person, at least. That is why we encourage people to come out and test themselves. There are actually more infected people roaming the streets than we know.”
I did not smile.
“So how many tests have you conducted today?” I asked.
She was busy writing on the notebook, so she gave no response. The statistics are not in my favour if all the people she had tested today were already negative, I thought. I could be the scapegoat. Oh wait, mathematics doesn’t work that way. Today may be the exception. Or in any case, the day is still too young for despair. The real unfortunate fella may be walking in very soon to receive his news. It is not for me. But even if this woman had already registered three positive people in her inglorious notebook today, is there anything in the world of random figures says that I can’t be another one. Damn, I should have spent more time in the arithmetic classes…
She gave me a wad of cotton wool on one hand, and in a quick movement of a professional punctured my right thumb with the little pin before I could scream for her to stop. She smiled assuredly, and proceeded to transfer the drop of my blood onto the little testing strip of cardboard resting on the table.
“Why don’t you go wait outside?”
“For how long?”
“Well, for just for a few minutes until the result shows on the strip.”
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The story is one of the twelve short stories in the anthology which you can buy here, here and here.
“I feel it’s best to look at this story critically from two angles. The first is the merits of the writing, which should of course remain paramount. In this, Tubosun does very well. He captures the dry absurdity of a potentially terrible situation, and the ending is remarkable in its pathos. I believed both the matter-of-fact and slightly sympathetic tone of the nurse, and I believed the narrator’s feelings when he hoped he did not have the illness, but suspected that, because of his life and where he lived, he might. Tubosun alternates between writing with very plain, ordinary language, such as when a conversation occurs, and larger, quite grand sentences which seek to encompass the tumultuous shifts of emotions experienced by the narrator. He is adept at both, and perhaps most importantly, knows when to use which. When the narrator talks to the nurse, the writing becomes short and sharp because the narrator himself is tense with anticipation, he must be calm, because if he is not – collapse. When he retreats within himself, his conscious is allowed to expand, and so, too, does the writing, Tubosun’s sentences uncoiling like languorous snakes willing to take their time to reach their destination.”
Culled from Damian Kelleher’s review of my story in African Roar. Read the rest here.
I read the 2010 Caine Prize-winning short story yesterday. “Gore” is the first word that came to my mind afterwards.
Olufemi Terry’s Stickfighting Days is a moving story that one never forgets in a hurry for its description of raw violence among (pubescent) boys in an imaginary dump site. I’ve read a few stories of raw violence that moved me. One of them was Fola by my friend Olumide Abimbola. It is a short family story with enormous prospects that I believe should be expanded to a standard short story length. It definitely comes to mind right now, but Terry’s offering takes us deep into an isolated world free of societal interference. There is no redemption at the end, just violence, and perhaps some jungle justice that must serve as the only catharsis afforded the reader.
Benson Eluma has written a review aimed at the insularity of the lives of the characters of the story. My friend’s observations in his review take the dialogue on literary craft and responsibility of the writer to a different direction and force us to ask a different kind of question. For me however, it is the stark violence without a chance for a real redemption that puts me off the story. It is not a deficiency as far as craft is concerned. The story is very well written and I don’t think I’ll be reading it again. Read the review on Nigerianstalk. You can read the story itself here.
My short story – Behind the Door – appeared as one of the eleven short stories in the premier anthology of fictions from Africa titled African Roar. That’s no news anymore, right?
What you didn’t know is that I wrote the story in about two hours after a moving experience in a local hospital. The events in the story, though fictionalized, were derived from a real life experience.
So what’s the reason for this post? I want to share with you a few of the reviews of African Roar, especially those that focused on my short story “Behind the Door.” Enjoy.
Powerful in its simlicity: Review by blogger Solomon Sydelle
Humorous without being frivolous: Review by Elinore Morris
Controlled and well-handled characters: Review by Novuyo-Rosa
The book can now be bought on Amazon, Lion Press, Barnes and Noble, and on the Kindle. Soon enough, we would be able to have them in physical bookshops all around. Until then, what are you waiting for to get an anthology of eleven powerful stories written from all across the continent?