This story is from UJCHIEF Mazi"s bunkmate and he is telling us his story from his point of view
The third day at camp was one of my worse days. I had a crisis session early that morning.
Like all sicklers, crisis can come at anytime or any day. Mine had reduced tremendously when I got to 21 years. The asthma had stopped totally, but once in few months, I would have a crisis.
I struggled through that very early morning. Everyone was asleep except me. I wanted to reach for my locker and get my relieve drugs, but I couldn't. I fell twice on my way to the locker. Sprawled on the floor, I looked for a way to wake up my corner mate, but I couldn't. I called on him few times but he was sleeping like a log of wood. Gradually, I kept breathing in air in long gasps, trying to fill my lungs with as much oxygen as possible. One of the numerous doctors my old man employed to take care of me while I was little informed me that any time I had crises, I should try as much as possible to stay in a well ventilated space and take in as much oxygen as I could. He explained to me that a short supply of oxygen to the brain leads to my regular fainting.
After few minutes, I had enough strength to get to my locker. I opened it and got my relieve drugs: a balm, an isreali mint which clears the airways and some other ointment and drugs. I took them and felt better. I stayed awake till the morning when they blew the biggle. I wasn't going to the morning parade. The weird one looked at me like a strange figure when he woke up. Maybe he didn't notice I was looking sick, maybe he didn't care.
He dressed and left for morning parade after asking if I wasn't going. I was expecting him to ask me why, I would have told him I had crisis: but he never asked. Like a real weirdo he was, he walked to the parade ground.
After the morning parade, my two friends came to my corner to see me. They were more interested in us going out. They wanted to groove on my money. They were worried I didn't show up at our usual joint and they came to know what's up with me.
I didn't border telling them of my condition. I hate telling people of it, it leads to them feeling pity for me, something I hated so much. They noticed I wasn't breathing fine but I promised them I was ok.
The weird guy came back from parade. I tried engaging him in talks, even made jokes about him trying so hard to win the wager. In his usual way, he answered me nonchalantly. He gave me a strange look when he looked down from the top bunk. I was getting used to it, so I didn't border.
I left with the other two. I bought breakfast for us all and we ate. I bought drinks for them and left. One of the doctors told me to avoid alcohol during crisis. He informed me that within 8 hours of a crisis, I should be careful of what I eat or drink. But he told me, off the record, that a menthol cigarette relieves the crises a bit. So was my love for dorchester cigarettes immeasurable.
I came back to the hostel and met my corner mate washing. I knew he was poor and broke, but never knew he was a miser too. There were laundry men around, who charge so low to wash and iron your clothes. At least, it guarantees the safety of your clothes.
I was taken aback by his new role as the platoon leader. I tried talking it down as nothing, but I knew better.
This new role was going to be a key factor in determining the winner of this wager. It was going to expose him to many girls in camp. His looks was already an advantage, something I can match and beat with my money. But this new role as a leader was just going to tilt the scale in his favor.
He asked some personal questions and I
answered them. I was excited he was really chatting with me. He was more interested when I told him my old man was a chief, and when I joked about killing my elder brothers so as to be the new osisi orji the 4th of egbema community, he laughed so hard that tears came out from his eyes.
I was glad we were making a good conversation. It wouldn't be bad if we both became best of friends in camp.
We would still keep the wager on, of course I wasn't going to let him go away with insulting me. He must pay.
Although this new development as a platoon leader was troubling, but I was going to look for a way to match it.
After all, Newton's third law of motion is very plain and concise:
"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction".
I was going to spring forth an equal reaction to match the actions. . .
And I did just that. . .
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