Carol A. Bowman Creative Writing Contest 2012 Results

By Mgbechi Erondu, '15 

The plane took off suddenly as though lifted by a great hand.Ijeoma craned her head to look through the cabin window. As the plane climbed higher, the clouds seemed to come together, the bluespace between them becoming the eyes and mouth of a bearded man.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for flying British Airways," the pilot's accented voice sounded even more clipped over the intercom." We should be landing in Lagos at approximately oh-eight-hundred hours."

 Ijeoma willed the butterflies that fluttered under herheart to quiet down. It was the summer after her first year of medical school.

It was Ijeoma's father who had found her the opportunity to accompany the youth members of the Kingdom of Heaven Pentecostal Church on a mission trip to rural Eastern Nigeria, the area where their family was from. The Kingdom of Heaven mission team was excited to have Ijeoma on board given her knowledge of the Igbo Language. They would be working with a Nigerian Pentecostal church called the Spiritual Bank of Jesus Christ. There were six of them,and Ijeoma was the only black medical student in their group of nurses, phlebotomists, and student mission workers. Although she didn't have her medical license, let alone a degree, even the nurses and phlebotomists who had more clinical experience than Ijeoma, deferred to her. They made her feel as though she was supposed to serve as cultural informant on a mission that was mainly religious and clinical.

During the early stages of the flight, Ijeoma had tried to distance herself from the group. She'd ignored their comments about the unbearable heat and tropical diseases awaiting them.

"How do you say hello again?" She had overheard one group members to another.

"Kay-doo."

"IJ, is that right?" They had turned around in their seats to face her.

Ijeoma had pressed her fingertips to her headphones and pretended not to hear.

This trip was a homecoming for Ijeoma. Her greatest fear was to be dismissed like a foreigner; yet another meddler who didn't understand the sociology of disease. A stranger who didn't understand that malaria nets are useless during mosquito peak activity hours, in the early evening when everyone goes outside to cook. Later, nobody wants to stay inside in tiny rooms with only the light of a candle, and the sour smell of kerosene filling your nostrils. One can harp on the importance of condom use, but the ones they sell in the markets are poor quality, smell too strongly of rubber, and break easily. And why would you use a condom with your husband especially if you're trying to get pregnant? He goes to look for work in town and comes back to the village once a week,but how can you know what he is doing? How can you ask?

Kingdom of Heaven, in conjunction with Spiritual Bank, would be running an HIV testing and counseling mobile clinic--a satellite operation of the Nigerian Christian Hospital in Aba which had been founded during the Biafran war.

 Ijeoma's grandmother had been a nurse at that hospital during the war. This had been her father's motivation for becoming a doctor. He had seen children with kwashiorkor coming in to what was then a makeshift clinic in a rundown, looted and bullet-pocked schoolhouse. He had wanted to one day be like the tireless,red-faced white doctors who did not seem to fear the blood of people who looked so different from themselves.

His mother had encouraged him to study medicine in the States.When he chose Obstetrics and Gynecology, she didn't understand why he, a man, had chosen a profession that was so similar to midwifery. She didn't understand his passion for assisting women in childbirth after having witnessed so much death in childhood. He Dealt mostly with middle class white women who painstakingly wax their pubic hair and gasped at the suggestion of an HIV test by a black African doctor. They also protested when he confirmed that their spoiled teenage daughters were pregnant, gasping at the suggestion that they, too, should be tested for HIV. The excuses these women made for their daughters came just short of calling the pregnancies an Immaculate Conception.

Perhaps this was why Ijeoma's father was proud that his daughter had chosen to go back to Nigeria. They had visited Nigeria twice since he had married Ijeoma's mother. Once when Ijeoma was a baby,and again when she was nine. Her father had tried to explain to Chimaobi the importance of the places they saw--his parents graves; even the trees his family had hidden behind during the Biafran war. But Chimaobi had been more concerned with swatting bugs, complaining about the heat, and insisting that Nigerian ice cream didn't taste like real ice cream. Their father had refused to give up. Chimaobi, his only son, would inherit everything. Still,he noticed how Ijeoma listened eagerly, and he encouraged her,secretly hoping that her enthusiasm would one day rub off on his son. It didn't.

Years later, Chimaobi told Ijeoma that he didn't understand why it was so important for her who, like him, had been born and raised in America, to return to Nigeria. Their mother couldn't agree more."Go to Ghana, or even Costa Rica like your classmates. Let that God-forsaken country fend for itself. Those corrupt leaders cannot see a good thing unless it involves putting dollars directly into their pockets." Ijeoma forgave her mother's antagonism. It was the first time she would go to Nigeria without her parents. She also forgave her brother and hoped that his opinion would change with time. But she also remembered hearing him crying secretly, in the bathroom, after his cousins bullied him, mocking his inability to kick the soccer ball straight even though its flatness hurt his bare feet. Were it not for the encouragement of his father, all he had wanted to do was stay inside the house under the fan and play with his Gameboy.

As the plane prepared to land, Ijeoma recalled how much she loved Nigeria's climate--the palm trees, the smell of smoked corn and dried fish. She would beg to accompany her father on his visits to see his relatives. Her father would ask her brother first, ofcourse, but deciding that Chimaobi was a lost cause, he gladly allowed Ijeoma to accompany him. "Adaukwu, make sure to remind your brother that Nigeria is your true home!" her relatives told her.

After returning to the U.S., Ijeoma would pretend the streaks of sunlight shining through her bedroom window were the fronds of palm trees, and dreamt about the day she would finally go home.

The Kingdom of Heaven group landed in Lagos and then transferred to a local plane in order to go to Aba. Road travel was no longer safe because of armed robbers and bad roads. The smallplane made Ijeoma nervous and she was more than relieved to finally reach Owerri airport. The group had been advised to hire armed escorts. They were met by two sets of SUVs and four unsmiling menin green berets with tightly laced military boots, each with a submachine gun. Ijeoma felt as foreign and uncomfortable as the other members of her group. They had been overwhelmed by the collection of hawkers and luggage boys that had flocked to their whiteness like ants to sugar. Ijeoma hadn't had any trouble telling the hawkers and the luggage boys, "Ah ah, I sed I no want!"dismissing them, to the amazement of her group members, with a flick of her wrist. But armed escorts? It was not the Nigeria she remembered.

Before meeting the Spiritual Bank team, Kingdom of Heaven took a moment to pray for the success of their mission. Each member of the group took turns praying, and Ijeoma gritted her teeth as she heard echoes of "these people," "help," "sin," and "darkness." It was clear that the travelers had already made a clear distinction between the enlightened and the powerless.

"Dear God," Ijeoma finished, "Please help us to remember that only You know the heart of our fellow man. We are here not to judge, not even to pity, but to do your will, whatever that may be,wherever you may lead us. Amen." 

Spiritual Bank Church was filled to capacity with men, women,and children, ranging from the very young to the very old. Many Looked ill, and starved of food and hope. The latecomers sat on the floor, crammed shoulder to shoulder against the wall. Kingdom of Heaven was ushered to the front where five pews had been reserved with a sign that read "KINGDOM OF HEAVEN USA." They sat and listened to the remainder of the pastor's sermon. 

"Repeat after me: The devil is a liar!" Shouted the pastor. 

"The devil is liar!" The congregation repeated. 

"He tells you that you are sick, but you are healed in Jesus'name! Jump and shout hallelujah if you are well in Jesus'name!" 

The church was a circus of crying and shouting people--somewaved their hands while jumping, others prostrated themselves while their neighbors walked back and forth between them, speaking in tongues. 

"We are the Spiritual Bank of Jesus Christ!" The pastor continued. "In this church we are storing up souls! Each day that you are closer in your walk with Him, your soul gathers interest.This interest is the Holy Spirit, amen?" 

"Amen!" 

"I said, shout amen if the Spirit of the Lord grows deeper in you day by day! Amen! Will you be ready when God is ready to collect His balance? Some of you pray for earthly riches but this idea is a concern of the flesh! Give God His 10% and He will return it one hundred times over. I said, give God His 10% and He will return it how many times over? How many times?" 

"A thousand times!" someone shouted. 

"One hundred times one hundred times!" shrieked another. 

"Amen?" the pastor lowered his voice. 

"Amen!" the congregation concluded. 

The ushers began to pass around white buckets. Ijeoma was shocked to see that in a short while, the buckets were filled to the brim with crumpled wads of dirty naira bills. Where did that money come from? Ijeoma wondered. 

After the sermon, the Kingdom of Heaven mission team was led to the church offices to meet the pastor and the elders of the church.As they waited for the pastor to finish with his round of handshaking and anointings, Ijeoma noticed that the room had purple plush carpet and mahogany wood furniture. Imported? she wondered. They were finally greeted by the pastor who reached outto each of them with a many-ringed hand. A gold watch peeked from under his starched sleeve. 

"Welcome!" The grinning man was short and round-faced--not atall the immortal being who seemed to fill the entire church with his voice that morning. Ijeoma was reminded of the Wizard of Oz."As you can see, God has truly blessed this ministry." He made abroad, sweeping motion with his arm. 

His called himself Pastor George Michael (Ijeoma wondered whether this was his given name). He had dark stains under his shirt, and wiped at his glistening forehead with a handkerchief initials in gold. He announced that he would guide them personally from village to village. 

"But Pastor George Michael, we can't ask you to do that! You Must have quite a bit of church business to attend to! Surely, we can get one of your church elders to escort us!" the Kingdom of Heaven youth leader stammered. 

"Nonsense! A pastor always has time for his flock!" He clapped the youth leader heartily on the back. The group laughs uncomfortably. They would later realize that the pastor was using their presence as a political campaign to harvest more innocent souls to invest in his spiritual bank. 

Their first mobile clinic outreach event was housed in a local school. When it came time to practice her Igbo skills, Ijeoma Froze. As she listened to the patients applaud her teammates even as they stumbled over words, she sunk deeper and deeper into a fearthat her own mistakes wouldn't be so well received. She spoke only English that first day, taking a back seat. She handed out supplies and watched silently as the nurses explained the procedure to each patient before deftly pricking a finger to collect blood. The Results of the HIV rapid blood test took 20 minutes. As the patient waited, he or she would be directed to speak to one of the youth missionaries. 

They had arrived with a supply van flanked in front and behind by the SUVs. Two guards stood near the van while the other two patrolled the schoolyard to maintain order. "Ijeoma, right?" 

Where had the pastor come from? Ijeoma turned to see a wide smile tease across his face. The ministerial team was now handingout Christian children's books and candies to the waiting patients.She had expected that the pastor would be among them. Instead, the two were alone at the back of the supply van. 

"I have visited America quite a few times. What you're doing is good. Most American born kids like yourself don't seem to have any interest in what is going on in their parent's land." He placed a hand on the small of her back. 

 Ijeoma tried to convince herself that this was a fatherly gesture. She said nothing. 

"I just wanted to let you know that we at Spiritual Bank commend you for what you're doing. The whites mean well, but there are somethings they don't understand about our people. How we do things here. Everything is so hurry hurry for them. They swoop in like Superman during a crisis, but always leave before the real work isdone. The devil does not rest. Superman does not realize that once he leaves, the monster will simply put himself back together and terrorize the city all over again!" 

His breath smelled like eggs and sour fish. Ijeoma was glad when he finally went away. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers along her spine. 

She finished the inventory of the remaining supplies and returned to the schoolhouse. It was a long, hot day, and by the end of it, everyone, particularly the guards, was irritable and tired.As they packed up to leave, intent on reaching their hotel before night fell, the crowd became agitated and started to swarm the van.One of the guards fired his weapon in the air. Someone screamed and the crowd dispersed. The guard was quickly reprimanded. 

Their hotel was rundown, but clean and had a power generator and fans. The windows and doors had screens, but each person still work long sleeved pajamas and took an anti-malaria pill. 

That night, Ijeoma's mother called to say that she had heard in the news that kidnapping in Nigeria was becoming more popular than four-one-nine fraud scams. Some relatives would be coming to see how Ijeoma was doing. Ijeoma's father was more interested in hearing about each patient--what illnesses they had and the stories behind their illnesses. Had they been able to test everyone? 

They had not been able to test everyone that first day, and once the patients realized that the mission team was running an HIV testing clinic, some left, muttering, "How can a church be supporting such a thing. They should just let those people die."According to official statistics, AIDS didn't seem to be as rampant in Nigeria as it was in other sub-Saharan African countries. But Ijeoma wondered whether it was underreported. Part of the problem was that those suspected of having the disease were shunned. Ultimately they died unnoticed or were buried in secret so that it was never confirmed what disease they suffered from. 

The team had invited a few local doctors to join them. The Doctors were responsible for taking care of general health concerns and handed out vitamins and bed nets to women with children. Soon Older men (there were very few young men at the site) were getting kids to the clinic. The local doctors helped the mission team convince those who came to the clinic for other ailments to get tested for HIV, too. But the testing process was a double-edged sword because, for those who tested positive, the team could only offer counseling and then a referral to the nearest hospital for further testing and medication. Ijeoma did not know any individual stories because on that first day, she hadn't dared attempt to speak to anyone. If she said her name, the patients would respond, "So your name is Ijeoma. The way you're speaking English now, Iwonder, ma i n'asu igbo?" 

"Yes, I speak a little." She would answer in Igbo, but after that small phrase, she reverted back to speaking only English. 

After hearing these things, Ijeoma's father insisted that in order to get the full experience, she would need to follow the example of her teammates. "Next time try your Igbo," he said toher. "If they laugh at you, so what? Your Igbo will improve that much more!" But she had already grown frustrated with every grossly mispronounced attempt on the part of her teammates would be met with clapping and encouragement, while her own, near correct accent would be met with laughter and disbelief. 

As the days passed, Ijeoma befriended the local doctors who appreciated that she was humble and eager to learn. Unlike many expatriate medical students who called on them only to serve as translators, she did not assume that she knew more than they did because she was training in America. The Kingdom of Heaven team stayed three days at each site. Soon the crowd learned the pattern of their coming and going. People would gather hours before the mission team arrived. Some would even make repeat visits. 

On the seventh day, as the drivers revved the engine to go,Ijeoma noticed a woman sitting on the side of the road with alistless child in her arms. The child didn't look to be more than five or six months old, and Ijeoma could see its distended belly from where she stood. 

The woman was crying. "They tell me that a witch is doing this to her but I cannot believe it." She said to Ijeoma in Igbo. The Woman could not have been much older than Ijeoma, but her cheeks were drawn and the corners of her mouth and eyes were already deeply wrinkled. "This will be my second child to die from this sickness. They say that I'm cursed. My husband won't touch me anymore." 

The Kingdom of Heaven crew called to Ijeoma from the cars. "IJ,tell her to come back tomorrow! We have to go!" 

 Ijeoma was transfixed. "I've been travelling all day,"said the woman. "Nobody has been able to tell me what is wrong with my baby. She was born healthy, and now she won't eat. She struggles to breathe. They told me that she has the disease. That is why I Came here. But each time these people chase me away. They tell me not to come near, that I'm a witch, I'm cursed. It's my in-laws who did this to me. They didn't want him to marry me and now they have destroyed my name. I refuse to walk anymore. I will wait here.Maybe by some miracle this child will live. If not, I will die here, too." 

 Ijeoma looked at the child. She had swollen hands and feet, yellow eyes, and a distended belly that indicated a swollen spleen--all symptoms of severe sickle cell disease. This child needed folic acid and a blood transfusion. 

"Cheer, we're going to help you." Ijeoma ran to one of the doctors in the nearest SUV. "It's unacceptable that a child should die of sickle cell disease in this country! Where is the nearest hospital?" 

The doctor told her. 

"We have to take this woman there! I'll meet the rest of you at the hotel!" Ijeoma beckoned the woman over to the vehicles. The Guards looked irritated. 

"But IJ, it's getting late!" The group hesitated and then,seeing that she was serious, the Kingdom of Heaven team made room for Ijeoma and the woman by squeezing into the remaining cars. 

Signaling for the group to go on without them, Ijeoma helped the woman into the freed passenger seat of the first SUV. They were joined by a doctor and one security officer. As they drove to the hospital, the child woke up and began to whimper weakly. The guardeyed the mother as she tried to press her swollen nipple into the child's mouth, dripping milk yellowing her faded white T-shirt. She Looked up self-consciously. They all looked away. 

When they finally reached the hospital, the nurses said, "Blood Transfusion? We don't do blood transfusion here!" 

 Ijeoma was so frustrated she wanted to cry. The doctor shehad come with argued with a nurse until she at least agreed to let the child and her mother stay the night. 

As they drove to the hotel, Ijeoma was so physically and emotionally exhausted that she began to nod off. 

She was jolted awake again when the car stopped abruptly. 

"Mumu, if you know wetin be good for you, I sed you bettageroutnow!" 

The armed guard pushed the doctor out of the car and the driver sped off. Ijeoma thought about action movies where the actors rolled out of moving cars to safety. Did people actually survive after doing that in real life? The guard, noticing her eyeing the door, told her gruffly, "Don't do anything stupid!" 

 Ijeoma began to pray silently. Why was her mother always right? She hadn't spoken to Chimaobi since she'd arrived in Nigeria. Now she missed him more than anything. 

The car finally stopped at what looked to be a food stall or rundown shack. 

"Don't move! If you run, I shoot!" the guard clutched at his gun menacingly as he got out of the car, then pulled Ijeoma so hardhatshe felt as though her arm was yanked from its socket. She fell to the ground. 

"Oyo, how much money do you have there? And that cell! Give itto me!" Ijeoma emptied her pockets, tears streaming down her face. 

"We knew one of you would be stupid enough to go off alone. We Had expected it to be one of your white compatriots, but no matter.If your parents get money to send you here, make them pay well to bring you back." The driver laughed.

The guard nudged Ijeoma with the butt of his gun as he circled her slowly. "I like how this one does not speak. This American galgo make good wife. She knows how to make the thing easy for us.Oya, go and sit down somewhere!" 

 Ijeoma did as she was told. She sat with her back against the wall of the hut and drew her knees tightly to her chest. She Felt lightheaded and struggled to breathe. Even worse than rapewould be death. If she shouted for help, who would come? She wished she had followed her brother's example for once and never left home. Her heart was pounding so hard she feared her captors would hear it. As she watched the guard and driver motion toward her, she felt her soul slowly stream out from the top of her head and out of her body. Trapped, perhaps, by the ceiling it hovered just above jerome's head. 

The driver was saying, "The kind of father that sends his American daughter to Nigeria by herself, no go pay ransom. This Kidnapping business, in fact. I don't know. By the time they agree to pay, they will have found us. I think we will fetch more money if we sell her passport." 

"How can?" asked the guard. 

The driver turned to Ijeoma. "Stand up girl!" the Ijeoma that was no longer completely Ijeoma did as she was told. "We'll let you go if you give us your American passport." 

 Ijeoma wore her passport on a neck pouch, messenger bagstyle, hidden under the arm of her shirt. Not even her group mates knew. 

"I left it in my hotel room." She heard herself say as the Ijeoma above her head writhed against the ceiling. 

"Is that so?" 

With her soul now divided from her body, Ijeoma felt everything twice, slowly as if it drawn out into one long, excruciating moment. She felt the guard's hot breath on her face. She closed her eyes. Her soul quivered. 

"Take off your blouse." 

 Ijeoma's body went numb and her soul panicked as she felt her legs nearly give way beneath her. The guard pushed her in the chest with the tip of his gun. "I said, take off your blouse!" 

Fingers trembling, Ijeoma unbuttoned her shirt. Her thoughts moved like quicksand. Everything was happening too fast and she needed to figure out how to reunite with her soul. Before she could remove her arm from the sleeve, the driver, noticing the porch string, pulled the pouch from around her neck, giving her stringing rope burn. 

"She doesn't speak except to LIE!" The driver barked, flecks of spit flying in her face. 

"Foolish girl, you think we're stupid?" The guard raised his hand as if to slap her, but thinking better of it, pushed her back against the wall. A shower of dust fell from the wooden rafters.Ijeoma that was still not completely Ijeoma rubbed her eyes,spitting and coughing. The Ijeoma that hovered above it all watched this unfold in slow motion and laughed, deciding it was too unreal to be happening. 

There was the sound of a motor. 

"Put on your blouse, idiot! And stop making noise!" shouted thedriver. Ijeoma slowly put her shirt back on. How could she go to the US Embassy for help without a passport? Would her American Accent be proof enough? How many people line those gates every day making the same claim? 

"Lucky for you, I'm going home to my wife tonight." The guard glared down at her. "I have no interest in these little things." He Pinched one of her breasts hard. "But maybe the driver would like to teach you a lesson?" 

 Ijeoma's heart stopped. Her soul fell from the ceiling. 

The driver shook his head. "Oga, let's go. We know who you are," he waved her passport at her, "If anybody asks you'd beta tell them you dropped this in a river. Otherwise, that means you'rewanting us to come and finish the job." 

"We were nice to you!" the guard added. 

 Ijeoma said nothing, instead wondering where her soul had fallen and whether she would find it again. 

The guard pushed the tip of his gun to her temple, forcing her head to the side. "I didn't hear you!" 

"Yes." 

"Good." He smiled at her. 

 Ijeoma noticed that his front incisor was chipped. 

The two men strode to the SUV laughing and joking until they drove off. 

 Ijeoma's body wouldn't stop trembling. She had watched asher soul, waving good-bye, had tiptoed out the door behind them and begged God to tell her what to do. How will I find my soul again?Is this what I get for trying to be a good Samaritan? Ijeoma,feeling like nothing more than an empty shell, curled up, blocking her ears from the whining of mosquitoes and willed the sun to come up so that she could find her way home again.