Chapter 8: Ambulance Siren and Mixed Slippers

As we dey kiss, my phone vibrate.

I for ignore, but Naija house get rule—mama call, you answer.

For phone, my mama dey panic: “Ifunanya, your grandma faint downstairs!”

My heart jump. No time for drama. Love matter pause.

No time for story. Me and Dr. Ebuka rush down. My mama hold heart medicine, dey panic.

She dey shake, voice dey crack. Na so fear dey scatter old people.

Dr. Ebuka change to doctor mode. “You call ambulance?”

He calm, voice steady. Real doctor at work.

“Yes, dem dey come.”

My mama dey nod, hand dey shake.

He check grandma pulse. “Na heart attack. No move am—make she lie down wait ambulance.”

His command sharp. Everybody dey obey.

With other hand, he open her collar, start CPR.

Him hand steady, face serious. E dey pump hope into all of us.

Ambulance rush come. We follow go hospital.

Inside ambulance, I dey hold my grandma hand. Tears dey my eye. My mama dey pray, dey shout, dey call Jesus.

My mama dey shout, “Jesus, take control!” as siren dey wail, neighbours dey gather for gate.

We wait long. Finally, ER door open. Thank God, Dr. Ebuka save her. She go recover, later need bypass—Dr. Ebuka go do the surgery.

My chest relax. Na so hope return. Family dey thank God, dey thank doctor. I dey look Ebuka with fresh eyes.

Everybody relief.

Joy dey flow. My mama dey hug me, dey hug Ebuka. Old wahala don disappear small.

Till one doctor look Dr. Ebuka, joke: “Ah, Dr. Ebuka, you fresh today o.”

Everybody look us. Dr. Ebuka shirt almost open finish, hickey dey show for him neck. My cloth scatter. We rush out so fast, each of us wear one of the other’s slippers, lips red and swell.

As we dey run commot, I dey hold Ebuka hand. Na so everybody dey stare. For my mind, I dey beg ground to open.

My mama realize, “Una two... dey kiss for room?”

Her eye wide, mouth open. Na so silence land for family like heavy rain.

Everywhere silent.

You fit hear pin drop. My papa for shout, but na only awkward cough dey room.

Dr. Ebuka quick button up. I cough, lie: “We... eh, na pepper snack cause am..."

Na so everybody eye dey shine, even small cousin dey whisper, “Aunty Ifunanya, why your lips red?”

I dey sweat, dey pray make lie work. For Naija, family gist dey move like wildfire.

Everybody just dey look.

Their eye dey judge us, but small smile dey hide. At least, love don get approval—even if na accidental.