Categories
Guest Posts

Near Death Experience and Writing by Darlene Jones

physio
provided by D. Jones

Being a pedestrian hit by a car means multiple injuries and critical condition, but it’s not all doom and gloom. Well, okay, 99.9% of it is, but there are a few bright humorous moments.

I know I’m lying on the ground in the middle of the road. “Where are my kids? Where are my kids?” I open my eyes and see my son bending over me.

“It’s okay, Mom. We’re right here.”

“Where’s my purse? Where’s my purse.”

I can’t see my daughter, but I hear her say, “It’s okay, Mom. I have it right here.”

So, you see, I have my priorities in the right order.

In the emergency room, I say, “I wear contacts.”

A nice young intern hovers over me. “It’s okay, we took them out.” He holds a contact lens case a couple of inches from my eyes. “See, I have them right here.” Maybe he’s not so nice after all. Or, maybe I’ve been babbling a little too much?

Weeks later I’m transferred from the trauma unit to the rehabilitation hospital. I lie in bed with casts from the top of my legs to the tips of my toes. My right arm has been so badly dislocated that it’s useless.

A nurse comes in to tell me I’ll be going to physio and occupational therapy. Physio first. I’m taken to a room that looks like something out of the Spanish inquisition. Weird contraptions on the walls, with belts and straps and hooks that menace the helpless patient.

“Mrs. Jones, what are you doing here?” says a bright young thing I recognize as a former junior high student.

“Sandra, what are you doing here?”

“I’m your physiotherapist.”

I look again at the instruments of torture. “Oh, God, I hoped you liked me.” Turns out we get along just fine.

One evening the tall skinny nurse’s aide who is my favorite staff member offers to give me a shower.

“How can we do that?” I ask gesturing to my casts. Not a problem for her. She wraps both my legs in green garbage bags, wheels me on a gurney to the shower room, proceeds with a shampoo, and sprays the top half of my body. Never has a shower felt so good…

To see the rest of this article and learn more about Darlene Jones, visit the ECS blog.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. If you like it let me know and share it with others. See you next time, Toi Thomas. #thetoiboxofwords

Categories
Guest Posts

My Friend, Uzo by Darlene Jones

drums
provided by D. Jones

Let me introduce you to Uzo

I don’t remember how we met. Uzo reminds me that he was surfing WordPress looking for authors, found my blog, and read some of the posts about Mali. He made a comment, I responded and a new friendship was born.

Uzo is a young Nigerian with a blog. He lives in Asaba, Delta State (South-South Nigeria), one of the oil producing states in his country. I’m an older Canadian with a blog. I live a world away (in so many respects) on Vancouver Island, Canada.

Uzo writes novels. I write novels. Uzo writes in English, which is not his first language. As he says, “English is quite a vast language. Every day is a learning process for me.”

We begin by talking about books. We both like Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I’d read Half a Yellow Sun. He told me about Purple Hibiscus. Here’s what he had to say about that book. “Purple Hibiscus is a wonderful story. Adichie did a marvelous job there from the first person pov. Kambili’s account is so real and reflects the life of a rich, caged Igbo child-woman during one of the military regimes in Nigeria.”  We’re both anxious to read Americanah.

Uzo says, “I’m a no-good writer. I’m just a wannabe like you guys call it.” On the contrary, Uzo is a powerful writer. Here’s a sample.

Although the Liberian war is now over, I cannot wish away the memories. There are nights in my sleep when I still find myself dressed in army uniform, AK-47 ready. On these nights I hear the voices of parents calling their children; others joking, shouting: “Where’s your bunker?” The air cracks and I hear the sounds of diving jets and stuttering LMGs. Fire, blood, bullets and bodies everywhere. Things soon simmer to normal as danger passes. People fill the streets, young boys and girls going on various errands. Then he appears in a blood-stained enemy uniform. His oily dark face is teased with abandon. He’s about to aim his rifle at me. In my dreams, he dies in different ways. I’m his killer. Something tells me that he is my son. But I’m too afraid to believe it.

I’m not a professional editor, but I’ve offered to help Uzo with his English as he’d be drained if he had to pay an editor, so files are sent back and forth. I’m careful not to tamper with the uniqueness of his voice.

Only the eyes that moved swiftly would see the legs that desperately sprinted across the farms and pathways. Thereafter thoughts would arise if the runner was after something, or rather, was the prey.

Beautiful, right? And yes, my life, as a person and as a writer, is richer for having met him. That’s the beauty of the Internet…

To see the rest of this article and learn more about Uzo and  Darlene Jones, visit the ECS blog.

Thank you for taking the time to read this post. If you like it let me know and share it with others. See you next time, Toi Thomas. #thetoiboxofwords

Categories
Author Insights

Author Insights 04

authorinsightWell is been a while since I’ve just made a statement, but I feel that now is the time.

I love to write, I enjoying posting to my blogs, and I like social networking, but these things are quite difficult to do when you’re sick all the time. Even though I fight to get over my ailments, sometimes they get the better of me. I will make every effort I can to be as consistent as possible with this blog, but don’t be too surprised if I go M.I.A. again.

I promise, I will always come back and start just where I left off.