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Thus, where do I begin? Perhaps I should start by transporting you back to the time when the first symptoms of the disease started to surface. It was in 1996 and at the time, my family was living in Nigeria. My mother and father were both academicians at the Ungwa Polytechnic and my elder sister (we are just two) was working at our alma mater, Zama International School. An honor roll student, she was much respected there and being at home, I always used to look forward to going to pick her up because I knew there were treats in store!
My parents did not have a stable marriage as my father drank a lot right since my early childhood. He was abusive, picked quarrels and it made us very unhappy. Still, my sister, mum and I tried to go on so - you can imagine their despair when on Christmas Eve, 1996, they found me pacing up and down the corridor of our house, muttering to myself. They tried to shrug it off as some sort of prank I was playing but soon I was walking along the road, thinking I was hearing the voice of God, and that He was guiding me to wherever He wanted to take me.
Mystified and anxious, my sister and mum were at their wits' end but when I started rapping on the doors of our neighbors, asking them why their children were insulting me, my family knew some decisive action had to be taken. At this point, I was hearing voices most of the time and I'd began wandering the streets of the city, trekking for long distances which made it hard for my parents to find me. It must have left them shaken and until today, my sister still tells me, she can't fathom just what happened in Nigeria.
I was taken to a hospital, administered three injections and the doctors advised my parents and sister that I should be cuffed on my arms and legs to restrain me from going off on one of my long 'walks'. The medical experts also advised my parents that I should be admitted into the hospital for some time but my mum would have none of it. She lambasted the doctors and my father (who concurred with the experts) and convinced them that she could take much better care of me than all the doctors and nurses in any hospital. I'll always be grateful to her for that.
After the first two weeks of a daily dosage of stelazine, chlopromazine and phenegan, I began to show signs of improvement. Only with this came a distinct sense of utter alienation, like I was not human at all. I remember feeling very ashamed and it didn't help any when the voices returned with a vengeance. It was terrible. They were the first sounds I woke up to in the morning and they lasted throughout the entire day.
With the entire family praying for my recovery, God must have heard them because gradually the voices started diminishing and eventually I stopped hearing them. We left Dad in Nigeria, moved to Dar es Salaam and I got excited because we began to discuss the prospects of me going to college. Since I was feeling so well, I stopped taking medicine and for a time, things were moving smoothly until I experienced déjá vu as the voices returned. They taunted and mocked me, and even though they didn't interfere with my normal functioning as a human being, many times, I wept in trepidation and frustration as I wanted to be free of them once and for all.
But then I saw a little glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel when we met this amazing, resilient, and kind Irish psychiatrist, Dr. Margaret Hogan. An Irish Catholic sister, Dr. Hogan was the most incredible person I'd ever come across and she convinced me that one day I would finally make a total recovery. I doubted her faith but it was good enough for my mum and together we held onto that dream.
I soon discovered that not only was she kind; she was also dedicated and committed to her patients who came in droves to see her. Her counseling, perspective and honesty totally changed my outlook on life and knowing her continues to enrich me in so many ways. Despite the old fears that I'd not be able to fit in, and that I'd be the resident weirdo on campus, I began to look forward to the experience and steeled myself for the problems I would encounter. After all, I told myself, I'm in it for the long haul.
When the whole process of admission and enrollment was finally through, I went into college to discover to my relief that I had stopped hearing the voices and haven't heard them since. My sister went to the States to pursue her studies and I felt like everything was finally falling into place: my good health, the blessing of an unfaltering family and the pursuit of higher education. Things sometimes got rough but my mum saw me through it as did my sister.
However, two years into the course, I decided to discontinue my studies and search for a means to major in journalism. That didn't come to fruition immediately and so I jumped into the trenches and began work as a journalist, for I was considered good enough to make the cut. I felt great pride over this until I was diagnosed as having a form of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) which I felt at the time sort of clipped my wings.
Nevertheless, Dr. Hogan assured me that despite my condition, my intellect had not been affected. On rare occasions, it's hard to believe that. Still, here I am, engaged in the craft I love and it is my dream to write a story that will knock people's socks off. With God's help, maybe that dream will be realized one day.
Peace of mind is my one true quest, allied of course to the other things like success, marriage and the like. i dearly hope i find it! My e-mail address is: nnyaka@ hotmail.com" This is his first article for The World's Magazine.
DAR ES SALAAM, TANZANIA - Hello. My name is Baba and I'm a Tanzanian living in Dar es Salaam. I'm a journalist by profession, am 25 years old and I have mental illness. I wanted to write this piece for a few reasons. The first is I guess I wanted to connect with the outside world as I get really lonely at times and another is that in some vague way, I thought it could help heal the emotional wounds that I have sustained from this disease.
BABA says of himself: "I'm 25, Tanzanian and a journalist. I have mental illness, it's the pits at times but i'm trying to soldier on. i love words; chinua achebe, agatha christie and the venerable sir arthur conan doyle are some of my favourite authors.Although i read the latter largely when i was growing up.
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