60th anniversary: Did I act improperly that day 20 years ago?, By Yusuph Olaniyonu

Glory be to Almighty Allah (SWT) that the situation ended well. If the lady who delivered the baby and wrote her exams at the same time gets to read this, I say congratulations! If any of the dramatis personae in this incident get to read this article, they should feel free to contact me. Once again, Glory be to Almighty Allah (SWT). That actually is the phrase that this 60th birthday anniversary of mine deserves.

It is always my tradition to share certain past stories in my life during landmark birthdays. The stories come from my stocktaking on my experiences over the years, and the journey that has taken me to my present station.

As my 60th birthday approached, I had been wondering whether I acted properly on an occasion that happened shortly after my 40th birthday. That was in 2006. The recent Call-to-Bar ceremonies for new lawyers in Abuja earlier this month also made the 20-year-old incident ceaselessly tug at my conscience.

It happened in August 2006 at the Nigerian Law School campus on Victoria Island, Lagos, the place where some old lawyers call ‘the original Law School.’ This is because it is the oldest of the law school campuses. I was one of the about three or four thousand Bar aspirants writing that year’s examinations. I remember vividly that it was the night before we were to write the Civil Law Procedure paper. Those familiar with the Law School syllabus will agree with me that the most extensive of the courses then was the Civil Law Procedure.

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It was already close to midnight and I was inside one of the reading rooms on the campus, ensconced in my books and notes, struggling to cover as much as possible before returning to my hotel room in Victoria Island. I did not get accommodation on campus. So, I lodged in a hotel opposite Bar Beach. My friend and brother, Senator Tokunbo Afikuyomi arranged the accommodation for me as his contribution to my success in the examinations. May Almighty Allah (SWT) bless him.

So, I was struggling with memorising the different rules and orders provided for every legal issue by the procedural laws of Lagos, Kano, and Abuja when this young man suddenly appeared beside me and greeted me. The gentle intruder asked politely if I was the owner and driver of the Hyundai Sonata vehicle parked outside the gate. After I answered in the affirmative, he said: “Sir, one of our mates is in labour and we need you to help us get her to the hospital.” I stared emptily at him. It was the only reaction I could give, as I was just confused about what his demand was. It was when he added that it was an emergency that I got jolted out of my reverie. I quietly packed my books and papers and asked where the lady was.

He told me to go and get the car ready while they brought the lady. As if I was hypnotised, I got behind the wheel and waited for the expectant mother and her handlers. They got in and I started driving before asking which hospital was our destination. They said we should go to the Military Hospital at the beginning of Awolowo Road in Ikoyi. It was as if I was under a spell. I asked no further questions. I just drove on. It was already past midnight.

I did not even look at who my passengers were. Up till today, I have no name or face recognition of the lady who was in labour or who her colleagues were. On our way, I remembered that around the Falomo Flyover area, there was a suggestion to put a phone call through to the mother of the lady and the question of who had enough call credit on the phone came up. Again, as if on cue like a robot, I volunteered my phone. They put a call through to the mother who said she was far away in Ikorodu. The older woman informed them that it was too late for her to make any move and that in the morning, she would come over to where the expectant mother was.

We drove to the hospital and my other passengers managed to get the pregnant lady in labour out of the car and through the stairs to the first floor where the nurses’ station was. I took time to park the vehicle in a way that would make our movement out of the car park easy for me.

When I joined the party upstairs, I was surprised by what I heard. As a father of three kids myself, I had some understanding of ante-natal preparations by an expectant mother. I had seen lists of prenatal items that mothers-to-be should get ready before the delivery date. I also knew about the weekly ante-natal clinic appointments and checks that must be adhered to before the delivery date. I had not only paid for those items in my own case, but also indirectly participated in the ante-natal clinic sessions as a consort. So, I knew that during labour, the pregnant mother would be taken to the hospital where she had been undergoing ante-natal clinic sessions. This is because only that clinic would have her up-to-date medical record as a reference for consultation on the delivery date. She is also expected to report to the hospital with the items listed for use on her delivery date.

As I joined our colleagues who had taken the expectant mother to the first floor, I started hearing disturbing stories. The hospital staff, I was told, refused to attend to her. Why? She did not previously register for ante-natal care in that hospital. Also, she did not bring the items needed for her delivery. The lady probably miscalculated the Delivery Date and did not think it would meet her while she was still in school. So, what do we do?

The students started pleading that the medical team should disregard all protocols and placed emphasis on the urgency of the situation. I obviously did not know how to intervene in this matter. I only managed to also add my voice that the hospital should just do whatever could best be done in the present circumstance.

After both sides remained unyielding and the medical staff started talking about the need for the lady to be removed from the premises by those who brought her, one of my passengers drew close to me. In very well-delivered whispers, she said the medical staff were insisting on not attending to the pregnant lady in labour because they could see that we, her colleagues, were also around to soak in the pressure. I asked them what their solution was. They replied that we should all gradually and without being noticed withdraw from the hospital premises. By their reasoning, if we all left without being noticed, the hospital would have no option but to attend to the lady in labour. In other words, if we ‘abandoned her at the hospital’, the medical staff would be compelled to attend to her. And diligently too.

This time again, I had no viewpoint. I simply bought into the plan. This could be because I was eager to get back to my study or because the entire scenario was becoming more confusing to me. By the details of the exit plan, I would be the first to leave the reception area and go downstairs to get the car ready for quick movement. I did and as I waited behind the wheels the other people came into the car. On instruction, I zoomed off. We had technically abandoned the lady. However, I convinced myself that she was not abandoned to her fate. She was left in good hands.

By the time we left the hospital, it was already early in the morning of the examination day. That afternoon, we eventually concluded writing the civil procedure examination. I went into my car to check my phone which I had left there before going into the hall. A particular number had called twice earlier. Then, it called the third time as I was scrolling through the messages. This time I answered the call. The voice on the other end was that of a woman. She introduced herself as the mother of the lady whom we took to the hospital the previous night and wanted to know if we had concluded our examination for the day. My mind skipped when I realised who she was.

However, I became relaxed when I quickly assessed the voice and saw that there was no anxiety or any sign of danger in it. The mother told me that she had been trying to get across to her daughter to know if she had concluded the examination and was on her way back to the hospital. Apparently, the lady successfully and safely delivered her baby early that morning. She felt strong and determined enough after her mother arrived at the hospital. She then left the hours-old baby with the mother to come and write the Civil Procedure Law paper that afternoon.

When the mother could not get her daughter at a time she believed the examination ought to have been concluded, she remembered the phone number with which her colleagues called while she was in Ikorodu the previous night. She decided to try the number to see if she could get an explanation. I assured her that the examination had just ended a few minutes before and that the lady was probably just about to access her phone. Then, I muttered a congratulatory message and wished her well.

For a few minutes after that phone conversation, I felt relieved. At the same time, I thought about the event of the previous night. Then, I remembered I had another examination paper to write the following day and needed to refocus my attention on the challenge at hand.

The funny thing to me is how I have no clue about who the lady that we took to the hospital is, and what the identity of any of the other fellow students who knew her and got me into the arrangement of driving her to the hospital is. By now, the baby that was delivered then should be about 20 years old.

Also, I have continued to think about the strength, determination and perseverance of a lady who went through that excruciating, exhausting, and stressful baby delivery process, left the hospital delivery room, freshened up, and headed to the examination hall to write one of the most difficult papers of the examination. She must have been a very strong and strong-willed person.

However, just recently as I thought of my life in the past 20 years, that night at the hospital kept on replaying in my mind. Did the other students and I do anything wrong by leaving her in the hospital as a way of compelling the hospital management to attend to her? Would the hospital staff have attended to her if we were still around, when they had the power to force us to take her out of the health facility? Remember, it was a military hospital. What if our gamble had failed and the hospital still refused to attend to a woman in labour whose history they knew not and who did not bring a delivery kit bag? If anything had happened to her during the baby delivery session or while they refused to attend to her, who would have taken up the responsibility? If this latter scenario had played out, would we be vicariously liable for her plight?

Still, there are many questions. I did many things that night without thinking or taking any precaution. Could I have put myself in danger by not asking questions or trying to protect myself as I obliged the request of those other students throughout the situation? What if the handlers of the pregnant lady in labour were not Law School students as they claimed? How about if the plan was to harm me by luring me into the dark, quiet streets of Lagos with that story of a colleague in labour? Why did I not consider it necessary to get the phone numbers of the person who presented the request for me to drive the party to the hospital or any of our colleagues in that group? Why did I not question the decision to ‘abandon’ the lady at the hospital? How come I did not look at the face of either the lady in labour or any of her friends, so I could identify them if we ever met? Why did I not ask for the expectant mother’s full name and phone number to check up on her later? Why did I not save the lady’s mother’s number on my phone to be able to follow up on whether our colleague who just delivered a baby was okay or not? How come I did not ask the lady’s mother for her daughter’s name? Did I act inappropriately and improperly at any point during this incident?

So many questions. However, I believe the anxiety concerning how suddenly my preparation for the most challenging and exhaustive paper in the examination was interrupted made it difficult for me to reason well and blurred my sense of judgement.

Yusuph Olaniyonu is a journalist and lawyer based in Abuja.