Pride and lineage in “The Blood of His Pride.”
Sir Obinna Madueke was a man who believed he was carved from a rarer mold than the rest of humanity. His lineage, he often said, was royal not because of crowns or castles, but because the Maduekes were men of strength, wisdom, and purity. His pride in his ancestry was boundless; he saw his blood not as red like others’, but golden a symbol of nobility.
So when sickness came upon him, fierce and sudden, and his doctors declared he needed a blood transfusion, Obinna refused outright.
“No blood,” he said weakly, his breath shallow but his pride intact. “No one’s blood is worthy of flowing through my veins except that of my own lineage.”
The doctors pleaded, his wife wept, but Obinna’s will was as firm as steel. Miraculously, he recovered after days of agony and sheer stubborn endurance. To him, that survival was proof proof that the blood of a Madueke could not be mixed nor replaced.
From that day, Obinna became obsessed with preserving his health. He ate strictly organic food, exercised with discipline, and went for medical checkups with the devotion of a priest tending to an altar. But one idea consumed him more than any other the idea of keeping his “pure” blood safe.
He began to donate his own blood regularly, instructing the hospital to store every pack in his name. Over time, he managed to fill fifty bags, labeled and sealed, “Madueke Blood Only.” He would often boast, “Even if I fall sick again, I’ll never need another man’s blood. I have myself.”
Years passed. The proud man aged but remained vigorous. Yet fate, as it often does, had its own plans.
One quiet evening, while driving through his hometown, a gunfight broke out between two rival gangs. A stray bullet pierced through the car window and lodged in his chest. He was rushed to the hospital, unconscious and bleeding. The doctors reached for the quickest blood match they could find but it was too late. The man who refused another’s blood never lived to see his own used.
When his will was read, a strange silence filled the room. Among the many declarations of land, wealth, and property, there was one unexpected instruction:
“All the blood I have stored in the city hospital give it to my community. Let it save those whose lives are worth saving.”
And so it was done. The very blood he once claimed was too sacred to mix with others now ran through the veins of men, women, and children in his town saving lives he had once deemed unworthy.
In death, Sir Obinna Madueke’s blood finally found its purpose not in pride, but in giving life.
