There was an uncompleted building opposite the house I grew up in. In the building was a man with mental disorder, we called him Sule-mental. Sule was normal sometimes, he would help empty our dustbins, he cooked, washed his clothes. Other times he wasn’t. He would talk with invisible people by himself and walk around smiling. On festive days-Xmas and etc., people in the neighbourhood would send food to him. I wondered why nobody took him to a psychiatric hospital for proper treatment.
I remembered him because of a news headline I read and the most recent crazy moments I have had with normal looking people. Someone who should know said that over 60 million Nigerians have mental health disorders and they are not treating it.
You are wondering why I am talking about mental health se?
As part of activities for the NYSC, we are required to partake in CDS- Community Development Service. They are different teams- Editorial and Publicity, EFCC, NDLEA, Sanitation, Charity, Legal Aid etc. Afterone of such meetings, I and a friend stopped at a shop to buy yoghurt, mixed with fura. We walked in and greeted the man behind the counter, he recognised us, ‘Ah, Mustapha good afternoon o, give us two cups.’
There was a woman in the shop, well dressed, in Iro and Buba made with ankara. She was gisting with two other “corpers’’, about the yoghurt and the fura mix. Her voice was a little too loud and the conversation sounded forced and fake to me. Occasionally, I would sense the woman looking at me, I thought it was my afro, only for this woman to move closer to me and say, “is your cunt inching (itching) you?’’ She was so close to me, I could see the pores on her face. I was so scared I told her to get off, almost went physical. Then she smiled, “ehn dun be angry I am selling xyz (forgotten the name) bitters. It can cure toilet infection.’’
What?
I backed away from the shop (with my yoghurt) She was still smiling, a half smile with her eyes gleaming, blinking furiously. Across the road, I looked back into the shop, she was still looking at us, but only her eyes were far away, with the same half smile plastered on her face.
Later that same day, somewhere in Ikoyi, a man suddenly appeared at my side, when he said “corper wee,’’ I reluctantly said “wa,’’ because he had grey hair and looked like somebody’s father. I thought he was done but he continued walking with me, then he said “I will like to take care of you. I believe in going straight to the point, no need to beat around the bush. I saw you from there,” he pointed to a tall building across the road. He proceeded to give me his card. I paused to look at him, a smile revealing brown teeth was plastered on his face, the smile didn’t even reach his eyes. “Call me,” he said, then he walked away still smiling.
What just happened?
See, if your relatives or friends are exhibiting signs of mental instability, kindly get help for them.
Not white garment houses help, hospital-help.