Spring Cleaning in Harmattan Season

I know, spring and harmattan have nothing in common and should hardly ever be spoken in the same sentence, but please indulge me a little.

I was reminiscing the other day about how the dusty dry winds of the harmattan season usually ushered in the Christmas festivities. The sweaters and socks were dug out from the back of the closet and somehow, there was always the smell of something frying, - chin chin, chicken, or fish, wafting through the house. Something was always cooking when the harmattan season rolled by, it would seem. The excitement was often so palpable. Now that I look back, it wasn't as though there was ever any big event planned, but the anticipation, the general happy mood of everyone in the house, made it all the more sweet.

But, harmattan in Lagos just isn't the same as it used to be those days. Or did I simply grow up to find that what I thought of the Christmas weather was all in my head? There are no more chilly winds, even though the dust has remained a constant. The most one would feel now, is a few days of lower temperatures just around Christmas day and it was all gone by boxing day. Maybe it's all in my head?

This past year however, Christmas felt a bit like the old days, with just the right temperature, humidity and pleasant smells. It was the perfect excuse for the sweaters and socks, but with the added, irritation of having to wipe the dust off surfaces more often than I would have preferred. The irritation comes from me not trusting myself to simply dust surfaces and leave it at that. Before you knew it, I would be turning over cushions, pulling down books from the shelves or rearranging an entire closet! Well, that's what happened on this day, where this tale of mine, is set. 

The yellow room, so named for all the sunshine that it receives, as well as its yellow painted walls, is where I often stored items of clothing or shoes that I wanted to give away. Because the room was not always occupied, the dust tended to pile on, rather quickly. Earlier that morning, I had gone in there to check for some fabric I wanted to give my tailor so she could have them with her when she started 'work' for the new year. I opened the closet, hoping to quickly locate the fabric, but a medium sized carboard box at the bottom caught my eye. It already had a layer of dust on it, enough to distract me. "Just a quick wipe", I thought to myself, as I dashed out to grab a piece of rag. Lifting the box, I was momentarily surprised at how light it was. Surprised, because, the memories evoked by that box were definitely heavier than I cared to remember. More than 2 years prior, the year of the corona virus and the notorious lockdowns, I had tossed that box in there, out of sight. It contained hard evidence of how my body had seemingly failed me. 

I sat on the floor with my legs stretched out in front of me and I drew the box close, dusting the top flaps with absent-minded motions, all the while fighting to keep the tears that welled up in my eyes from brimming over. These tears were of the mixed-emotion type. The ones you shed when you are both happy and sad at the same time. Just like one would look at a prominent scar on a visible part of their body, and be sad that they went through the trauma, but also glad that they survived. You get?

Finally, composing my self enough to forge ahead, I opened the box and saw everything stacked neatly like they had been, when I had arranged them long ago. Every vial, every cotton swab, every syringe, every needle, every tube, every blister pack of medicine. Everything. Still there, like they were from another time. But it had only been two long years. Please forgive my concept of time because those years appeared to stretch into a decade at least, for all that happened. 

Most of the drugs had expired. I noted the dates as I reached into the box to take the drugs and vials out, one by one. I paused long enough to recall what each drug was supposed to help my body accomplish. Sigh. On the day that I packed up everything, hubby and I had just returned from the laboratory where I had gone for a third blood test, in as many days. Up until then, I had no idea that people needed to test for the progressive failure of a pregnancy. Dr. B. had said it was important to test the hCG levels in my blood, over a considerable period of time, to ensure that the numbers were actually dropping. This was to rule out an ectopic pregnancy.

A mere 3 weeks before that, I had been beside myself with joy at a positive pregnancy test result for the first time in 13 years! It had been my 4th IVF cycle and by far the most rigorous. That box of drugs was my faithful companion for months and weeks on end. Everyday, there was something in there to help prepare my body for the all important work of conceiving and carrying new life. I had charts that I carefully studied, to know what injections were to be self-administered, what combinations of drugs were critical at certain points during the cycle. There were strict doses and strict timelines. Numerous visits to the clinic with the attendant prods and pokes. These amazing team of doctors, nurses, embryologists and pharmacists were working with me, encouraging me all the way. I was doing so well, too! For the first time, my uterine lining did look like it was preparing to receive new life. I had been told over and over again, how thin my uterine lining was. My body's response to the IVF drugs were always so abysmal but we always trudged on, keeping hope alive. That same hope brought me back the 4th time and this time, things were really looking up.

The lockdowns seemed like a haze to me. Who cared about the corona virus and the epidemic? I was on my way to conquer infertility! 2 days before I was scheduled for a blood pregnancy test at the clinic, after the mandatory 2-week wait (TWW), I had secretly bought a test kit which I used at 2:30am in the morning, when I was sure the whole house would be asleep. I wanted the privacy to grieve in silence if the abdominal pains and twitches I had been feeling turned out to be wrong indications of pregnancy. They weren't! They weren't! The lines on that test kit were as bold as they could ever be. I was astounded. Wait, wait. Is this test kit lying? I packed everything up and went back to bed.  But I couldn't sleep. What if? What if it's true? Dear Father!

I never said a word to hubby or anyone else for that matter. I tucked that secret away in my heart, hardly able to sit still as I waited to hear the doctor's verdict after the blood test. She was beaming as she announced, "Congratulations Mrs. Pedro, it is positive!". I didn't realize that the clinic staff were listening in on our conversation until the whole place erupted in shouts of "Praise the Lord!". As it was customary with the clinic, every positive pregnancy test was followed by a few minutes of praise and thanksgiving. As they sang and prayed, I remember thinking that I wasn't 'displaying' my joy convincingly enough. You know, after all these years of waiting, somewhere in my subconscious, I often imagined myself leaping up with jumps of joy, followed by a dramatic rolling on the floor, all the while screaming at the top of my lungs "Thank You Jesus! Thank you Jesus!". Instead, there I was on the chair, smiling and quietly saying under my breath "Thank You Jesus". I think I was just in awe.

In the 3 weeks that followed, support from my box of medicine grew even more intense. I had moved from self administration of the injections on my thigh and abdomen, to needing someone to inject me on my bottom. We were in the middle of a pandemic, where were we going to find a clinic that was willing to offer this little service. Mr. Hubby stepped up to the plate and became my home doctor of sorts. It was really brave of him considering how horrified he often was, watching me inject myself every single day for weeks on end. Everything was going so well, until it wasn't.

Thank you for following our story. We'd love to hear your thoughts!

Seven Years and Counting!

Here's  a picture of the first day we met. I'm looking at it and laughing at how 'scrawny' you looked then. And yeah, I was still my good old elegant self, thank you very much!
That was 11 years ago.

The first day we met!

The last time I did a post on our anniversary, we'd only been married 2 years. Back then we were still basking in the freshness of our union. We still had sparkles in our eyes, blissfully oblivious of the steep curves that lay ahead of us.

So young and in love!

In this second picture, you had recently proposed to me and anyone who saw us could immediately tell we were in love. See how our eyes shone. We were so happy, so hopeful for a beautiful future together.

The day we made our vows...

Then came the day of the 'Big Leap'. 1st December, 2007.
I have our wedding song on repeat in my head even as I write this now - Luther Vandross' "Here and Now". Lovely song.
We made promises to each other on that day and God has helped us keep them so far.
The laughter on my face that day has not left my face, it has instead slipped into my heart and remained there ever since.

The Mystery of the Visiting Bats(II)

 The bats had stopped visiting our house for quite a while. But they had left a certain impression in my mind. I found myself subconsciously looking around in search of any flying 'thing' once I entered the living room or opened the door to our bedroom. I would then chide myself for being so silly. Didn't I know that people usually found what they were looking for? If I entered living spaces, looking for bats, chances are, I would find one!

Thank goodness I never found one. At least not in the way I had imagined I would.  Besides, I felt quite safe knowing that my husband would always be there to deal with the creatures should they decide to pay us another visit.

Somewhere in mind, a voice kept taunting me, asking me what I would do when hubby had to leave town for business. I would mute the voice in my head. Let's get to that bridge first and then we'll cross it.

Sure enough, the day finally came. Hubby had to make a quick trip to PH for a meeting. He would be back the next day. Just one day. Surely I could survive the night alone for just one day?

I got home early from work and since it was a Friday, I settled myself into the couch, armed with a large pack of Lays potato chips, to watch movies till well past midnight. Around 1:30am, exhausted and sleepy, I checked, again, that the doors were locked and switched off the generator. I was tempted to leave it on through the night just for the comfort of having the lights on but I didn't. What was wrong with me anyway? Suddenly scared of the dark? Besides, PHCN might restore power during the night so why burn fuel unnecessarily?

I said a quick prayer as I buried myself under the duvet. Sleep came quickly.

Around 2:30am, barely one hour into my precious sleep (I know the time because my phone sleeps next to my head), my eyes popped open. I felt the hair on my neck begin to rise. Something or someone was in the room with me but I couldn't see it. My fear was palpable. The darkness was thick except for the low iridescent light from my mobile phone screen. My heart began to beat really fast and that was when I heard it. The unmistakable flapping of wings. I froze. It was as though something had pinned me down in bed. It was unbelievable. A bat was flying around in my room!! The air surrounding my face was suddenly disturbed. I could tell that the bat had just whizzed past my head. That was when I regained use of my limbs and tumbled out of bed heading straight for the door.

I was breathing real hard as I felt my way to the living room. Was this some cruel joke of some sort? How come a bat was flying around in our bedroom at 2:30am in the morning? How did the bat choose this particular night? This one night when hubby was away? We had had several months of respite from these visits and suddenly they make their appearance again? No, this has gone way past coincidence. Way past!
I knew what I would do though. I would simply pass the night in the living room and by morning, I and the bat would resolve our differences. I nodded to myself that it was a good plan.

And so I curled up on the couch and tried to sleep. But just then I heard the familiar flapping of wings again. My eyes shot open but I could not see anything in the darkness. The hair on my neck was at attention and I felt blood rush to my head.

I jumped off the couch and dashed across the room to grab the re-chargeable torch-light which usually hung on the wall opposite the couch, hitting my shin on the coffee table as I went. I ignored the pain and switched on the torch. I could not believe my eyes. There was indeed a bat flying around in the living room!

No. Way. No. Way. No. Way. I kept repeating, over and over and over again as I marched towards the back door to switch on the generator. The fear was suddenly gone and in its place was anger rising within me along with the adrenaline being released into my blood stream. Without paying attention to the bat, I went into the kitchen to grab a broom, dust pan and Mortein Insecticide. These were my weapons of 'warfare' but just before I headed back out into the living room, I paused as this scripture came to me -"The weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty through God to the pulling down of strong holds..." II Corinthians 10:4.

I dropped my weapons and began to pray. I declared God's Word concerning my life, commanding the works of the enemy to be destroyed. Armed with faith, I picked up my other 'instruments' and practically charged at the bat. Swiping my broom at it as it darted here and there. After what seemed like a long time but which in fact was only a couple of minutes, the bat came down. I rushed to it and didn't wait to see if it was dead or merely stunned before I proceeded to slap it again and again with my broom. Oh, how I smashed that little bat! Convinced that there was no way the squashed bat could ever come back to life, I swept it onto my dustpan and threw it outside.

One down, One to go.
As I marched to to the bedroom, bolstered by my first conquest, it occurred to me that two bats had never visited our house at the same time before. It was as though this particular visit was supposed to accomplish something. Something quite sinister indeed. But the devil is a liar!

I threw open the bedroom door expecting the bat to charge at me since I had just killed it's 'sister' or 'brother' for that matter. But there was no bat flying around. I flustered the drapes just in case it was hiding behind them but it was not. I checked under the bed, behind the reading table, but there was nothing. It was as though the bat had simply disappeared.

I felt rather disappointed. With all that adrenaline in my bloodstream, I was spoiling for a fight! Or...wasn't there a second bat? I remembered that I hadn't actually seen this bat but the flapping of wings I heard was real. Or...maybe as I rushed out of the room, the bat followed me as well? And so maybe the bat I killed in the living room was the same one I had heard in the bedroom just before? Questions, questions.

I flopped into bed and became enveloped by a sudden feeling of exhaustion. What a night!!

Later that day, as I drove hubby home from the airport, he had this incredulous look on his face as I recounted the details of my 'adventure' with the bats. At the end of my tale, I could tell he was impressed at how I handled the situation. My usual response to distressing situations would be to call him, expecting him to do something, not minding the distance between us at that material moment. I had indeed come of age!

As we prepared for bed that night I followed my husband's gaze as he stared intently at something on the floor, partially covered by the the bedroom drapes. The puzzled look on his face caused me to approach the object with caution. It was he who bent down to take a closer look and he started smiling. "I think we have found that second bat after all". What?

Aha, it was indeed a bat. Strange thing is, it was dead!

Well, as far as I am concerned, that's divine intervention right there. And the bats haven't visited again since.

PS: One of our neighbours upstairs confided in us that bats had been visiting his place for quite a while. He was relieved to hear that they'd visited our place too. Even though there were unvoiced concerns of a superstitious nature, we got the landlord to organise a fumigation exercise. Interestingly the fumigation company discovered a colony of bats living in our roof. Does that solve the mystery then? I wonder.

Call me superstitious, discount the bat visits as 'normal' for a house with resident bats, but this one thing I do know - bats won't be visiting our house, ever again!