The Pastor's Son, a Chapter from Medicine in Translation by Danielle Ofri

The Pastor's Son, a Chapter from Medicine in Translation by Danielle Ofri:

Danielle Ofri is an attending physician at Bellevue Hospital, and Associate Professor of Medicine at New York University School of Medicine. A number of years ago we posted an excerpt from her 2003 book, Singular Intimacies: Becoming a Doctor at Bellevue" followed by Incidental Findings: Lessons from My Patients in the Art of Medicine. Her new book is Medicine in Translation: Journeys with My Patients:

There was a sharp rap at the apartment door. When Samuel Chuks Nwanko opened it, he saw a young man standing in the hallway wearing a stained denim jacket over a University of Nigeria T-shirt. The whites of his eyes were spidered with crimson streaks. He was probably a fellow university student, but not in the civil engineering department. Samuel didn’t recognize him.

“Are you Chuks?” the student asked, his voice quavering as his Adam’s apple bobbed unsteadily.

Probably drunk or high, Samuel thought. His fiancée Alaba and her friend were watching a movie in the bedroom and he didn’t want some stoned student making trouble. Besides, they were about to leave for church and he didn’t want to be late. But rudeness would only exacerbate things. “Chuks just left,” Samuel said, figuring it wouldn’t take much to outsmart a drunk.

The student laughed a thin, drawn-out laugh, reaching toward the doorframe for support and stumbling closer to Samuel. His breath was rancid.

Definitely drunk, Samuel thought. Probably brewed his own ogogoro. Samuel started inventing another polite excuse to send the student off, when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed movement at the end of the hall. Six other students turned the corner, their bodies edging out the light from the weak hallway bulb. As they strode towards his apartment Samuel realized he was about to be mugged. That was when the first student pulled a homemade gun out of his jacket.

Samuel slammed the front door of the apartment, yanking the lock closed. He pulled himself into the bedroom where the movie was playing and locked that door too. Alaba and her friend jumped up from the bed at the sudden noise. Samuel grabbed his cell phone, punched in the number of the police, and started some quick mental calculations: It would probably take five to ten minutes for those guys to break down two wooden doors with locks. The police — if he managed to get through to an officer who wasn’t taking a cigarette break, or who didn’t demand an upfront bribe — could take thirty minutes to arrive. In five-to-ten minutes Alaba and her friend could probably hide themselves under the bed. Samuel would probably have time to throw his laptop under the bed with them, but the TV was a goner for sure. His cash was hidden behind the bureau, but there were seven of them and they’d probably trash the place. The bedroom window was narrow — not practical for escape. In any case, Nigerian building codes didn’t provide for fire escapes, so there wouldn’t be much option from the fourth floor, save a leap to the ground.

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The Pastor's Son, a Chapter from Medicine in Translation by Danielle Ofri:

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