I want to believe Allah (SWT) brought me back to read my scorecard. He does that whenever He wants. All the more reason to forgive those who transgressed against you and seek forgiveness from those you have hurt. Importantly, to continue doing the good things one has been doing for humanity, as Dr Imdad of Al Shifa Hospital told me.
And this was why He answered the prayers of the multitude of people who interceded with Him on my behalf. People, some I knew, many I never knew from Adam. There were prayers in the National Mosque in Abuja, in many mosques, including the central mosque in Potiskum, and in several local governments in Yobe.
There were special prayers by members of the Islamic Movement in Nigeria in Potiskum and several other centres. Nigerian brothers in Qum and Karbala also contributed their quota. And these prayers were not only on Fridays, but at every given opportunity.
Individuals also contracted others to pray for me: even their children, from as early as when they were able to talk, prayed for me. The prayers of some kids were recorded and sent to Makkah, where they were replayed in my ear when I was sojourning between this world and the other.
My siblings, in addition to many other forms of prayer, shared and read portions of the Holy Qur’an amongst themselves and with our children. They did not leave out the youngest, who could read the holy book. The same with my in-laws in Maiduguri.
A person may be forgiven if they thought Facebook and other social media apps were created for me because the people praying for me took them over. It is heartwarming that many, many people — family, friends, associates, those known and unknown to me — were all praying for me. I was surprised to hear that some Christian associates, pastors and a church in Ghana, too, had put me in their prayers.
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On my birthday, April 9, social media was filled with messages of goodwill, “get well soon” wishes and prayers for more health and a long life. Many people I did not even expect to be so prominent in their prayers for me were. Good examples, out of many, were distinguished Senator Musa Mustapha (Coolers) and Professor Abubakar Bukar Kagu, the Matawalli of Machina. The senator’s message was long and heart-touching.
In Makkah, too, prayers for me were many and earnest. Many of those who knew me and went for Umrah prayed for me. Even Makkah dwellers whom we met, like our landlord, Ali Bukar, his family and many others, were not left behind. My two wives, Dr Aminat Zakari and Hajiya Falmata Baba Adam, together with my son Abubakar Sadik, were always performing Umrah and, most times, circumambulating the al-Ka’bah al-Musharrafah (simply Ka’aba). On all occasions, they were praying for me. But the prayers were not limited to only these.
I was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) of Al Shifa, and visits were twice a day — 11 am and 9 pm — for 30 minutes each. One night, my wife, Dr Aminat, visited. I was then between this world and the other one, and so did not even know she came because I was not aware of my physical environment. She watched me, cried and left, but she did not go far: she sat outside the hospital crying and praying for me.
According to her, Dr Tamer, the chief medical officer there, came down to go home. He saw her and stopped. It was then she realised it was around 1:30 am. He asked her, “You are still around?” She answered him in the affirmative. It was not visiting time then, yet he asked her, “Do you want to see him?” and she said yes. He broke the rule and brought her in to see me, forgoing his own need to go home and rest.
When they came to me, she was just watching me and shedding tears. To her surprise, he, too, started tearing up. Then he showed his humility and belief in Allah’s Powers and Will. He told her, “Please pray for him and pray for us (the medical team) … we are also praying for him.” He was the one who, whenever my family asked him to give them the hospital bills, would tell them not to worry. “Let us take care of him first,” he would say.
I used to think Arabs were racists, but the doctors and nurses at Al Shifa have cleansed me of that thought. Here was I, a poor black man from Nigeria who could not profit them in any way, yet they gave their all to restore my health.
Doctor Tamer is like a father figure wherever he is. He always electrifies the hospital whenever he arrives. He went out of his way to get me a visa, get insurance to underwrite my hospital bills and secure an airline well-equipped to bring me home.
Dr Nazee, who was directly in charge of me, was a bubbly chap who also, like Dr Tamer, took my case personally.
Dr Imdad, the only non-Egyptian among them, is a Pakistani with a melodious voice. He gives the impression of being the life of the party. Kind-hearted, he comes close to a patient, propping him up psychologically. I recall him telling me to eat food. “You may not like it,” he told me. “Just eat.” And that was how I found myself eating the spice-less, bland Arabian food served to me.
Dr Hassan and Dr Ahmed Alsaid are two other great doctors there.
I could not get the name of the hospital’s chief executive officer, who used to come to the hospital now and then. One day, he stood by the door and blew kisses towards me. He, too, knew about Gimba the Fighter.
Hey, do you want to know about a nurse at Al Shifa Hospital whose great-great-grandparents might have fought side by side with the Prophet at the Battle of Badr, or who was born around that time?
Hassan Gimba is the Publisher and CEO of Neptune Prime.
