I HAVE been under the weather for the past six weeks – a period during which I have not gone to my office. Though being visible almost always online may suggest otherwise, I do mean it in the literal sense. And ironically, what dipped me under the weather is the weather itself. There was a period when Abuja went rainless for about two weeks. Of course, it became a serious issue of concern to many, especially farmers and students of climate change.
However, when the rains returned, it was not only to refill the emptiness its absence caused, but to overspill many times over. The rains came in torrents and were also incessant – night and day, mornings and afternoons. The sun was virtually veiled. Days that should have been filled with light were instead shrouded in half-light, with everything dim. Drivers had to turn on their vehicle lights to navigate the town.
Cold weather exacerbates COPD symptoms, such as cough, phlegm, and shortness of breath, by irritating airways, increasing the heart’s workload due to blood vessel constriction, and potentially leading to increased mucus production. Air pollution often accumulates during colder months, further stressing the lungs. Managing COPD is like managing asthma — only much more challenging, because while the latter is reversible, the former isn’t.
That type of atmosphere always comes with its own peculiar problems. I am not talking about just imprisoning people at home, flooding, erosion or the destruction of roads and houses. No, these are generally physical encumbrances. But physical challenges like these can cause, or aggravate, health issues. The dewy atmosphere, characterised by air containing a significant amount of water vapour, creates a moist environment with high humidity, resulting in a sticky or damp feeling on the skin.
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Everywhere becomes cold. You may not have heavy enough clothes to cover yourself up, or at least protect your chest, which houses your lungs, the primary target. Even at night, you may not have heavy enough blankets to cover yourself up. Worst of all, you may not have a room heater to warm your room, and even if you have one, you may not have electricity to power it.
The effect of such on asthma patients is, sadly, enormous. An asthma attack, or flare-up, occurs due to inflammation and narrowing of the airways, leading to coughing, wheezing, shortness of breath, and chest tightness. During an attack, the muscles around the bronchial tubes constrict, the airways swell, and mucus builds up, making it extremely difficult to breathe. Believe it or not, this is a situation you don’t want to be in. Now, here’s the thing: triggers, among others, can include allergies, cold and flu. Treatment may involve using a reliever inhaler.
For people battling with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) like me, such weather is a nightmare. Your prayer is always to come out of it with your feet firmly on the ground, not six feet below. The experience a COPD patient goes through is unimaginable, something that a man with a good heart wouldn’t wish on his enemy. By the way, COPD is a progressive lung disease characterised by chronic obstruction of airflow, leading to difficulty in breathing, chronic cough, and excessive mucus production. COPD encompasses conditions like emphysema and chronic bronchitis.
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The airways become swollen and scarred, making it harder for air to pass through. And this is because the air sacs in the lungs, called alveoli, can be damaged, leading to a condition called emphysema. And so, the combination of inflammation, scarring, and damaged air sacs restricts airflow, especially when you try to exhale.
Cold weather exacerbates COPD symptoms, such as cough, phlegm, and shortness of breath, by irritating airways, increasing the heart’s workload due to blood vessel constriction, and potentially leading to increased mucus production. Air pollution often accumulates during colder months, further stressing the lungs. Managing COPD is like managing asthma — only much more challenging, because while the latter is reversible, the former isn’t.
And so, I found myself surrounded by all forms of inhalers – bronchodilators and steroids alike. The cannula became my wristwatch, permanently (relatively) inserted into my veins, ready to deliver medications that would open up my airways and strengthen the necessary organs meant to expel phlegm. Oh, a cannula is a thin, flexible, hollow tube inserted into the body to deliver fluids or medications, remove bodily fluids, or gather samples. And you know where the name comes from? It is the Latin word for “little reed”. (By the way, with all the above, one would be forgiven if they mistook me for one heck of a medical expert.)
Despite the array of drugs around me, I was lethargic and downcast when they came. But by the time they left, I was a new soul, stronger in body and spirit, full of life and feeling great; not by scientific calibrations, my health had improved by not less than 20 per cent, which was a massive boost at a time a minimal boost was being craved.
Surely you may understand with me that such a condition can affect the psychological well-being, increasing the risk of depression, anxiety, panic disorder, and feelings of isolation. Physical symptoms, such as breathlessness, fatigue, and activity limitations, combined with the stress of breathing problems, fear of exacerbations, and difficulty with daily activities, can trigger negative emotions. And that was the condition I found myself in until some friends, Yusuf Iliyasu (Aston), Mohammed Idrissa Madaki (Anash), Bala Tiyande, and Rabiu Alkali, from my childhood years, came visiting.
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Their visit came a few days after some of my co-workers, worried and concerned, paid me a memorable visit at home, a visit that buoyed up my spirit. They were led by the Head of Admin, Mrs Lilian Hosea; there was the Editor-in-Chief, Cara Luckson; the Daily Editor, Maryam Sulaiman; and the Weekend Editor, Maryam Umar. Others were Mohammed Kukuri, Social Media Manager; Salim Sani, Chief Sub; Mercy Adaji, Office Assistant; Vivian Okafor, Photographer/Videographer; and Zara Ahmed.
Aston, we knew ourselves in 1980-81. Our father, the late Alhaji Sulaiman Gimba Ahmed, had just resigned from the then Borno State civil service as a permanent secretary due to some irreconcilable differences with the drivers of the government, and returned to UAC, where he started work after school, as regional manager, North, for AJ Seward and Kingsway Chemists, with his base in Zaria.
We had grown accustomed to Maiduguri, where we did our primary and secondary schools; it was the one place we knew and where our friends were. And so, we preferred being there. The problem was where to hit the hay since we no longer have a house in Maiduguri. Having heard stories about Aston from the late Olusola Ogunmuyi, a primary and secondary school classmate, who prefers to call him Ba’aba instead, I went looking for him in their Bama Road, New GRA abode. I did not even know the name of his father, who was a very close friend of our father (I did not even know then). I just went there and asked our contemporaries for Ba’aba’s house. And I got it. I did not go to the main house to introduce myself. No. I went straight to the two-bedroom boys’ quarters and asked for his room. He was out, but I was shown his bed. I climbed his bed, the top of a double bunker, and just went to sleep. When he returned and our eyes jammed for the first time, we picked up as if we were born together. We have been friends since. Our friendship culminated in me nearly marrying his younger sister, which I missed by the whiskers; he got mine instead.
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He came along with Anash, technically our senior by a year, but being a humble chap, he has become our friend. It is this humility that is gradually shaping him into someone about to step into the shoes of his influential father, the late Madaki of Fika, Alhaji Idrissa Madaki. Bala Tiyande and Umar were also friends and great company.
Despite the array of drugs around me, I was lethargic and downcast when they came. But by the time they left, I was a new soul, stronger in body and spirit, full of life and feeling great; not by scientific calibrations, my health had improved by not less than 20 per cent, which was a massive boost at a time a minimal boost was being craved.
The experience of having true friends support you when you are “under the weather” and lift your spirits made me realise that “friends are medicine for a wounded heart and vitamins for a hopeful soul.”
Indeed, you know true friendship during difficult times, not otherwise. And knowing is sweeter than the sweetest of honeys.
Gimba is the Publisher/Editor-in-Chief of Neptune Prime.
