KNIFE IN
“What if this knife cuts your hand, you should change the angle of cutti…ah!”
It took me about five seconds to register the pain but when I did, it was the most painful I had felt in a while.
Blood trickled from my left middle finger and it was shaking vigorously. I rushed into my room to get cotton wool but I cried out and ran outside to pour water on it, then rushed in again.
I opened my wardrobe and picked a scarf which I quickly wrapped around my finger. Where’s the cotton wool?! I screamed.
I ransacked my first aid-kit but only found the band-aid there. I kept it with cotton wool for emergencies but hadn’t used them in a while. Letting go of the bleeding hand I managed to open a bag and found the cotton wool. My methylated spirit was finished but I needed to clean the wound.
“Yes, the hand sanitizer”, I thought. It was on my reading table, I picked it up and sat on my bed. I removed the scarf and more blood trickled down. It stained the bed and the cotton wool pack.
With resolve, I hurriedly tore a large chunk of the wool, dressed it with the sanitizer and wrapped it around my finger.
I think the pain was too much. I wanted to cry but could only groan.
When the bleeding stopped, I stood up and went back to the balcony where I was peeling potatoes. They laid there unaware of what happened to me. I stared at the knife with irritation.
I was hungry and happy to cook some minutes ago but all I wanted to do then was to throw away the potatoes and the knife. Then, slowly cry myself to sleep.
I went back to my bed, sad. I already had a pot of soup on fire and was supposed to hurry with the potatoes, so it’d all get ready in time for Iftar. And then this.
I still had the onions and vegetables to cut, all dependent on my hands. I must’ve let out a long sigh. If I sat down too long, the soup would burn, and I would have to get a takeout for Iftar, if I decide to leave the potatoes.
But I was too tired to place an order or go get one myself.
I imagined having a sibling help out. I’ll soak my hands in warm water, get tended to and eat.
Alone changed to loneliness then.
Without thinking I carefully wrapped the cotton wool that was coming off again. Up, to the kitchen, opened the pot of soup which was almost ready. Lowered the heat.
Back to the potato that led to the cut. I stared at it for some time, then picked up the knife and as carefully as I could held it down with my left palm and slowly peeled with my right. It was slow and painful, I had only cut one finger but my left hand could as well be useless.
I was done with the potatoes, then came the time to cut into smaller pieces. Followed the same process and was done in some minutes. I rinsed it with my right hand and went to the kitchen.
Went back to the room with the soup but I still needed to cut the vegetables and onion. I was fed up at this point. And I thought, why, ya Allah?
Midway, the hadith about pain leading to expiation of sins crossed my mind. I thought, “make I no use my mouth/actions spoil am”. I laughed, then. A hollow laugh.
I soaked the veggies in a bowl and added a bit of salt. Rinsed them into a bowl wide enough for cutting, then I slowly raised some of my left fingers to bring them together.
I began to cut without following any pattern. Satisfied, I picked the onions and did the same thing.
I was done. The potatoes were soft by that time so I added the ingredients and onions. It was time to break my fast, so I did.
The potato porridge was soon ready. I gingerly picked the pot and went back to my room.
It was time to properly tend to the finger. The throbbing doubled as I peeled away the stained cotton wool. Then, I was able to see how deep the cut was.
I literally cut open the tip of the finger — a little more pressure and I might’ve detached it.
I applied the sanitizer and cleaned up my finger. Just then, a neighbor knocked. I explained what happened to her and she was kind enough to help wrap the band-aid. I thanked her and she left.
I still felt pain but the sanitizer numbed most of it. The experience had disrupted my plans for the evening but I stood up to serve a meal and get back to work. But first, I needed to do something.
I served the potato porridge which turned out fine, by the way. Took a picture of it and shared it with my mum on Whatsapp. Did the same with my finger. The first with the face-moon emoji and the other with crying-face emoji.
Then, I took my food and logged on to my laptop. Some minutes later, my mum’s call came in. After exchanging greetings, the convo was something like:
Her: “Bawoni?”
Me: “Se e ti ri message mi?”
Her: “No, I called because I forgot to earlier”
Me: “Oh, okay”
Then, I started to talk (read rant 😓) about what had happened.
She was replying me but I didn’t hear her. When I was done talking:
Her: “Pele, lo paracetamol, ko de lo penicillin oint. Or you’ll get an anti-tetanus injection?”
Me: “Okay, motigbo”
I hung up after a few minutes, not happy but I wasn’t feeling sad anymore.
It was “oh-ah-ah-oh” for me throughout the night but I did what I could with my right hand. Alhamdulillah.
I haven’t written in a while but I often jot down ideas and my experiences in between my schedule.
The words below, and prompts from friends and acquaintances pushed me to write this.
I believe it’s helpful to not fight fate but flow with the unexpected — act despite your challenges.
Pause if you need to, breathe, cry but do these while taking steps, however slowly. Do everything but don’t wallow in self-pity.
Glossary
Bawoni — How are you?, How're you doing?
Motigbo — I understand, okay, alright
Iftar — the evening meal with which Muslims end their daily Ramadan fast at sunset.
