I chuckled 'Lose' that's a thing we've both seen with naked eyes and fought with all we had so far, but sometimes, it finds its way into the fenced territory we made in a hurry to save the life in quest for, but many times, we win so hard it goes off with shame.
"But God is good, bro." David looked up to me. "He didn't die, but I pray he doesn't go for the rest of his life because he was hit in the most useful part of his brain."
Most useful? He alone can explain that, because I can't tell if any part of the body is more useful than the other. I shrugged him aside, playfully and opened the door to my office, while he waited by the side.
I swaggered into the office and made for the seat behind my desk, while he followed me in and shut the door. we don't sleep in our offices.
We are not allowed to, because we are meant to leave the hospital and head for the doctors' quarters when we are done with our shift.
David advised me to get myself an apartment outside the hospital, though I was offered a free apartment in the doctors' quarters. He claimed I wouldn't enjoy Abidjan if all I came for was work all day long.
"So, did you see the Nigerian nurse I spoke of?" he took a seat and sighed.
"She is as beautiful as you said," I replied and sat down.
"And you are already vying for her, right?" he raised his brows. "Look, you can't be of Italian descent, and an American by nationality, and come down to Africa, stay six months, and not take up some African big ass."
I laughed. He was right. People think of nothing other than romance and perversion whenever they look me in the eyes and sense, I am Italian. Those Sicilian eyes, they call my eyes when they speak of them, and that Sicilian smile cannot be for fancy.
Here in Africa, I am sure I've had a few admirers, including the lady who was in the hospital a few days ago, the one with a mild leg injury. She is rather a very different version of the Nigerian lady, she is tall but slim, and she is beautiful, too, just like the Nigerian lady.
She was more like the Ethiopian ladies who won the hearts of some Italian soldiers during the Italo-Ethiopian war and made the men screw the war in their way.
No one would agree to that, no one did until the uprisings of Italian fathers and Ethiopian mothers rose like yam tendrils at the countryside farms.
"The lady you speak of is married." I retorted.
"Engaged, not married." He snapped.
"Whatever, she belongs to another man and she made me know that by raising her fingers so I would see her ring and keep off." My voice was bold and challenging.
"You don't have to chicken out." David relaxed on the seat. "Her man isn't black, so, you shouldn't fear she is being nailed to the edge of the bed by some long fat black dick bigger than your little Sicilian dick."
I laughed. His words were quite mockery but I laughed. Of course, people assume the dicks of Italian men are small, because of the sculptures of artists like Ronaldo Da Vinci and co, who give their male sculptures little flaccid dicks.
And the porn industry should be blamed for that as well; they are good at selecting fellows with a small dick when they wish to choose Italian scenes in porn videos.
"My dick isn't small, David, though it's not bigger than yours." I dished out a funny response after laughing. "But I still have no interest in grabbing an ass with a ring on the finger."
David took a deep breath. Maybe he was done talking to me about the Nigerian nurse.
Maybe he was no longer up for an argument on why I had to let the Nigerian lady go, but maybe, he was cooking more words up in his head.
I packed a few things on my desk, it was time to scurry off to the doctor's quarters and slip into my room for a night's rest.
"I worked her into your ward," David said. "Just imagine her sitting on your waist and riding you like a horse. Isn't that a wonderful thought?"
I smiled. I was done with such conversations and he knew. I watched him back off from my office.
Who knows if he would call the Nigerian nurse over and talk her into spending the night with him? Whatever it may be, I once heard that Nigerian ladies are stubborn and faithful to their men.
I won't be the one to check it out and know if that was true or false.
I slipped the pieces of stuff I packed into my bag and made for the door, but opening the door, I saw Nancy standing by the door.
She had taken off her nurse outfit and was ready to go home.
"Ready to go home?" she asked.
"Sure." I smiled. "The doctor's quarters are waiting."
"No, not there, Alessandro." She shook her head.
I narrowed my eyes. She just sounded like herself, stern and not disciplined enough to recognize me as a senior colleague in the health sector.
I know you had a stressful day already, and a tough time in the operation room, but I want you and a few friends at my place tonight." She added to her words.
"Why?"
"Just a brief party."
"Okay then."
***
"What was your first turn-off when you arrived in Abidjan?" Nancy asked as we walked side-by-side to the parking lot.
Her car was parked at the far end of the park. I haven't gotten myself a car yet, because I don't know the way about it in Abidjan. I prefer taxis and Uber.
"The fact that not everyone here speaks English, and those of them who spoke English to me were more of anglophone Africans who reside in Abidjan.
Mostly Nigerians who are fluent in both French and English." I had the knack to talk too long and give details when I was off from work.
"And that was a turn-off for you because you are nothing other than a spoiled American." She was teasing me of course, not mocking the fact that I was Italo-American, because she, too, is American.
I laughed at those ugly words. Americans, they say, are the most spoiled and most less informed around the world. I mean, people outside our borders believe we only harken to the mainstream media and nothing else. They say, the mainstream media show us nothing other than crap about others, just to keep sweeping our tax money off from our reserve and sharing them amongst corrupt high-class fellows, who claim to help the world with too much unnecessary funding.