In my native language, Igbo, ‘Love’ can be loosely translated to ‘Ifunanya’ which means ‘To see with the eyes.’ This informs the title of this post about the stranger in a train who cared enough to see my sadness.
This time three years ago, I didn’t know I would ever smile again. A member of my immediate family was diagnosed with a life threatening medical condition that needed urgent attention, and I was going to be both chaperone and nurse. I was miserable as I sat in the train en-route Sedlescombe in East Sussex, where I was going to stay with my friend, Dr. Gloria Nwahiri, and her family for one week before returning to London and then to Manchester for the surgery and post-surgery period. In that almost-empty train coach, my big, red suitcase in between my legs, the weight of my worries must have sat heavily on my face because the white gentleman seated opposite me said, “You look so unhappy. Are you okay?” An African lady leaning against the coach’s wall looked at me and back at him, and nodded lightly. (As an aside, I usually wonder why Londoners would enter a coach with almost all the seats empty and still prefer to stand.) Actually, I was muttering the words of a song under my breath, my default behavior when I’m overwhelmed with either joy or sadness. But the lady may have thought I was a bit ‘off.’ Before I could reply, the train slowed down at the next stop and the gentleman got up to disembark. He was tall, heavy set, and wearing a white tee shirt over black trousers. Pulling out a complimentary card he said to me, “Call me when you can.” I said ‘Thank you’ and put the card away.
About two weeks later I called him, and when I came back from Manchester we met for lunch somewhere I don’t remember now. I told him why I was in the UK and he offered his sympathies. I also told him I was trying to find outlets for my company’s hand-made ethnic-style products. I showed him a sample and he gave some advice, mostly about the pricing. It turned out he was a Rotarian and had been to Nigeria a few times. He then invited me to a Rotary chapter meeting. I was curious and bored, a great combination which I was eager to feed.
At the meeting, which had a predominantly Nigerian membership, he introduced me to the house and urged me to talk about myself and my business. I felt sort of ambushed because I wasn’t prepared to make a presentation. I don’t remember how my talk went. What I remember clearly is that my fellow Nigerians were all guarded with me. None of them was willing to give me their phone numbers, even after I shared my local and Nigerian numbers freely. I can smile about it now but I felt out of place, and even more unhappy, in that gathering of mostly my own people.
Another thing which stuck out from the events of that day was that all the Nigerians came late for the meeting; all of them, without exception. The white gentleman and I were in that lobby, talking, for quit some time before the others started arriving. In Nigeria, tardiness is normal, even expected. I just didn’t expect it abroad. It’s interesting to see how we, Nigerians, exhibit the same tendencies no matter where we are.
Back to my story, that member of my family had the necessary surgery and, three days later, was climbing the hospital steps with the physiotherapist as part of the post-surgery regime. I became the primary care giver, to the extent that I learned how to administer injections in their stomach to prevent blood clotting. It’s been three years now and with Facebook memories I started to relive that time when my siblings and I were distraught thinking about the long journey of ill health and its management ahead of us. I also started to think about God’s goodness and how, through science, we were handed a new lease on life for our beloved.
I think taking photographs is like therapy for me because I took many during that period. I was just too unhappy to post them. But here are a few from the picturesque seaside of East Sussex. Trauma is real, and it took me almost a year to get over the experience. That family member is hale and hearty today. Unfortunately, I lost touch with the white gentleman. All I can do is wish him well. To all who make our journeys lighter by their kindness, may your days be filled with goodness.
Vivian Ogbonna's Blog 