Chidi’s chemotherapy treatment continued throughout the WASSCE period. As the drugs took their toll his calls became less frequent. I was busy with the exams so I did not mind. On the night of my last paper he called. It was a whatsapp video call and I was thrilled to see the video icon when the call came through.

“Hi,” I said and tried but failed to keep my face neutral. The change in his appearance was too drastic.

“I told you it would be bad.”

His face looked gaunt. All his hair was gone even his eyebrows but his eyes hadn’t lost their honey-brown colour. He was on a hospital bed.

“Why are you in hospital?”

“Transfusion.”

“Oh.”

“How were the exams?”

I told him I’d done my best but he didn’t seem to be listening.

“What’s wrong?”

“I finished chemo two weeks ago.”

“Yes I know. That’s great right?”

“They did a bone marrow test. We got the results last week.”

My heart dropped into my stomach and my mouth went dry. I got a firmer grip on the phone. Why hadn’t he told me the results then?

“And . . .”

He sighed and said in a small voice. “I didn’t respond to the treatment.”

“What does that mean?” I whispered.

“The cancer cells are still there.”

We stared at each other in silence. After what seemed to be an eternity I asked, “What do the doctors say?”

“They want to do another round with different drugs.”

“That’s good right?”

He shrugged and lowered his head.

“Chidi, that’s good right?” I was beginning to panic.

“The thing is those drugs might not work either.”

“Then we’ll try different drugs. We’ll keep trying until the right ones work or until you get a donor for the transplant.”

He smiled but it was a sad smile. “Sure.”

“Chidi, don’t give up. You can’t give up.”

He closed his eyes. I continued talking.

“How about your faith? We could get my Dad and some of the elders to fast and pray for you. The Bible says all you need is faith as small as a mustard seed. It says by His stripes we are healed. You just have to believe.”

“Gyikua what if the answer to the prayer is ‘No’?”

I was shaking my head before he even finished talking.

“You can’t talk like that. You can’t just give up. You have to have faith, you have to believe. The woman with the issue of blood, Jesus said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has made you well.’ You can’t just give up. And Lazarus, when Jesus heard he was sick, he said ‘This sickness will not end in death.’ You can’t just accept it.”

“Gyikua, remember Job? Who dares question God? Remember Paul, remember Trophimus, remember Christ Himself. Sometimes God’s answer is a ‘No’.”

“So you’re just ready to die?” I blurted.

“No. I’m ready to start the second round of chemotherapy.”

“How can you be so calm about everything? How can you not be angry with God?”

“What would be the point? It’s a choice, Gyikua, and I choose to still worship Him. I choose to believe death is only a door to a better life and I’m at peace with that. And in a way, if I die, He is healing me. It might not be the way I want but He’s setting me free from leukaemia forever.”

I began to cry. I didn’t understand how he could be so composed when he was speaking about his own death.

“But the drugs might work and you might still get a donor.”

“But the flip side is that they might not work and I might not get a donor.”

“How can you just give up? How can you not want to fight it?” I said becoming angry.

He got angry too, “Do you think I like being sick? Do you think I’m enjoying this? How do I fight? How exactly do I fight to win this once and for all? What more can I do Gyikua? I start the second round of chemotherapy tomorrow. What else do you want me to do? Tell me and I’ll do it!”

He must have flung the phone against the wall because all I saw was a blur of the ceiling and then the screen went dark and the call dropped.

I cried even harder.

I sat there looking at my blank phone, expecting him to call back but he didn’t.