Wild West of the Heart

Initially called the Vitullo Evidence Collection Kit, the rape kit is a package of items used by medical personnel for gathering and preserving evidence, usually after a sexual assault incident.

It is one of first things they order once you report to the hospital abroad these days, emphasis on abroad, and these days. In 2001, there was no such luxury as the rape kit in Nigeria. Normally, the invasive procedure started out by photographing the victim's naked body by a trained healthcare professional-

this step is to have the gruesome evidence of the sores and bruises usually on the body of the victim. Then the swabs, into the rectum, and around the genitals, this for dna.

Occasionally, a dye is applied to show injured tissue. And then the clothes are collected for further testing. There, you'd be handed blue scrubs while being directed to a forensic examiner.

"Can you please recount what exactly happened?" They'd ask, trying to polite and less invasive, the opposite of what the rape kit seemed to be. And as if the trauma of having to rethink of the incidence isn't overwhelming enough, you have to start the narration all over. Not once, not twice. Over and over to the examiner, then the police, then whoever.

It's supposed to be therapeutic but it's really not.

You'd leave the hospital with the usual pills. One for the pain, and another to prevent any stds and maybe an unwanted pregnancy.

You'd leave after care's been given and with your permission, the rape kit is sealed and sent to the local law enforcement. And one of two things are going to happen there. Either it's going to rot on the back of their shelves there without further testing, which was the infamous backlog problem.

Or it will be sent to a crime lab for analysis. That i hope. And the forensic scientists work to develop a dna profile of the assailant based on the records collected. Within ten days to a month, you should hear word back if the kit doesn't end up being destroyed. It's vile to think such, but it's the times we live in now. And honestly, one couldn't tell if it was such better times than before.

Then in Nigeria, like i said, there was no such luxury as a rape kit, not that Fiyin even needed it. She maybe just needed care, which they would try their best, but the judgmental stares usually gave it away. That usually came before questions like—

"What were you wearing?"

"Did you scream for help?"

They asked the obvious, and the stupid like if you came unto the assailant. Maybe some mixed signal shit. All of these as excuses they'd rather believe than the mere truth of what actually happened.

For Fiyin, she was in a school uniform which truth be told, was by law beyond her knees. And an ugly shirt with the tiny prints of the school logo. There was nothing open, or seductive about what she wore or how she behaved. And yet, there she was-

there, it happened. People tend to base such events on asinine reasons like dressing and approach and mixed signals, when the actual problem of rape is the perpetrator.

The truth was, maybe if Fiyin had undergone a rape kit, her chances would be more than slim. At least even if it was just a case sitting in the back of the police station, it still meant that her truth was out there. That the truth was out there, after all, she did know her assailant, and that was why she might not have needed a kit. She knew him-

-Collins McPhersons, of Hillway High, and she'd say it any day, not just aloud. Never.

She was still deeply overcome with fear. Having settled for just a pill for the pain and a bottle of water that quivered in her hands. At least she was better, thanks to Ola who had rushed her in the nearby pharmacy. They couldn't do much, but then she refused to go to the hospital.

"I'm fine" She said, as if she hadn't just battled for her life that evening. And if not for Ola, she would have lost that battle. She knew, yet she still lied.

"I'm actually fine" Clenching her thighs, she threw her neck back to swallow the tablet. And she gasped, looking directly at the pharmacist. "I am."

-

Olamide's palms slipped through his thighs. The way that one does when you're in the hospital waiting room while your loved one is inside the ward. The way that one does to calm his anxieties.

His heart was racing, having just paced around the corridor several times, almost yelling at the nurse each second. He needed to see Fiyin, to know that she was okay. Afterall, he had gone to her house with the most naive mind, maybe a little

concern-

all to find her almost dead. The sort of death that progresses from a trance, or that moment when you lose touch with your body. Dissociative.

It happens in steps, your brain can't give the simplest instructions, to move, and then eventually to breathe. Your body begins to shut down, and there you are, dead. "Where is she?" He asked, yet again. The receptionist, already being tired by his per minute questions. Who could blame him, if was just a friend worried about a loved one?

Was that what she was?

A loved one.

His hands went into his hair, not as much as the fro on Obi's. But it was something. Tall enough that his fingers almost went through. The last time he had barbed it was the day after he arrived, and his hair always grew fast. In that moment, it was a mess. It wasn't combed, neither was his little beard.

And his uniform was scathed now, from all the running he did to get a cab. His tie hung loosely around his neck, anything but a knot. And soon, all he heard were the ticks and tocks from the clock.

He knew his anxiety was heightening, this time that the receptionist didn't say a word. Was Fiyin dead?

He hated to feel this way, like his lungs were collapsing and air no longer went through them. The atmosphere was suddenly go beyond humid and beads of sweat will cloud at his forehead.

His vision would then begin to daze, like he was out of his body. And his heart will jackhammer against his chest. It was a growing panic attack, and he recognized that feeling, no matter how terrified he was. "One-"

"One. Two" His lips parted to whisper. He counted each tick of the clock to calm his breathe, to synchronize his heartbeat to the slow sounds of the clock. He learned it abroad, focusing on the littlest things to calm his anxieties. It could be by counting to ten, or twenty on a bad day. Or maybe picturing somewhere calm, like the shores of a beach even though the oceans beyond terrified him. Or he could think of Obi. And the scenes from where they were little, nothing in their underwear as they rolled tyres and played with bubbles. Or dust, and sand.

It usually calmed him, and now it did.

Just that, in one of those scenes was Fiyin. She was always there when they were young. But sometimes she didn't have the chance to play along with them because she had to sell. The one day that she did, she managed to scrape her knee against the tyres.

And there was blood. There was that sharp sting that came when the winds hit an open wound and it caused her to yell. Ola remembered how it made him feel, he hated seeing her in pain. He tore off a cloth and washed it, then he wrapped it round it.

"There" He said, beaming a smile, though he held in the tears that threatened to fall. He wanted to cry because she was crying. It was the type of bond they had. And whenever she injured, or got yelled at by her father when she was six, Ola was there.

Ola was always there, with a clothe or with words. Or just to stand there, comforting her. And it's crazy how he was still here, when she needed him the most-

-when she needed comforting the most. He beat himself up, because he never really saw her pain, until now. Until he had her in his arms, as the piece of paper flashed constantly in his head.

He didn't push to ask who, though he already knew.

He just wanted her to be safe first. He beat himself up for not noticing earlier, but how could he? Not that he'd being around for long. His eyes gazed at the clock once he had calmed and he realized he would have to miss the football tryouts that night.

He wasn't bummed. He just shrugged it off, what's football when your friend's holding on for dear life?

And then suddenly he heard doors eyes approach him, he could recognize that scent from anywhere-

"Obi" He called, once he'd turned around. "Ola, are you okay?" Obi in turn, walked to give him a hug. He shook his head, refusing that question. He wasn't the one that was in that ward.

"Where's she?" Mira followed behind, with keys swinging in her arms. She had on leather pants and a fluffy jacket. And a hat, as usual. She was remarkably different by day, passing as more masc.

Anyways, he stared at her and then pointed to the door. He didn't have anyone else to call, not that he could phone Mary or Akin and tell him he helped a girl that was raped to the clinic. Mira was more -more approachable, you get it.

"She's still in there" Ola muttered, his lips trembling as he let go of Obi. His hands went up to his face in a way that his sleeves covered them.

"What really happened, Ola?" Mira asked, her voice slipping in a whisper and laced in concern.

"I" He begun to stutter, not sure whether to say it aloud or not, the words on the piece of paper. "I don't know" He settled on an answer, maybe the truth because he had such a vague idea of what had happened. Like how, and why where the questions he asked himself. Not that there ought to be a reason for such vile promiscuity. But it was Collins-

though he didn't really know much about him, he couldn't really fathom who could such ti a girl.

They watched as Mira walked to the counter, behind where the rude receptionist was. Rude was maybe not the word, because one could only take so many questions for the amount they paid her. And to be honest, she didn't really look like she earned much. She had on what was clearly a wig that gripped the back of her head, a skull cap or whatever it was called these days. And a rumpled tshirt like it had just been brought out of a packet.

That was all they could see from the counter. She pulled out an earpiece from her left ear as Mira walked closer. "Good morning sir" She stood, it was one of the many times people used that pronoun for Mira. But it was always when she was out, either in a store, or market. Or in a hospital-

-sir, mister, he, him, his.

She didn't know how she felt when that happened, not that it was misgendering or something. It wasn't that much of a big deal honestly. And maybe in another world or time, or country, things might have been different. Maybe she'd have transitioned like how Obi had started out, she didn't know. It was the thing with Mira, she never thought about things like that. She believed in living in the moment and the nows. And now, she might not have been the happiest, but she was content.

Content with the life she had now.

She pushed a lump down her throat, and inched closer to the wooden desk. "I'm here for Oluwafiyinfoluwa Bamidele" He said, looking back at Obi, whether or not he got her full name. To be continued...