The morning mist clung to the retreat grounds like it, too, was uncertain of what would come next.
By sunrise, the final eight candidates had gathered around the main hall entrance. No one had slept well. Even the luxurious linens and soft lighting of their private rooms couldn't silence the tension that buzzed between them like static.
Adunni appeared at precisely 6:45 a.m., dressed in all white simple, elegant, almost ceremonial. She didn't smile.
"This is the official beginning of your evaluation," she said, her voice low and even. "For the next several days, you will participate in exercises, interviews, and simulations designed to test not just your skill, but your soul."
Remi exchanged a quick glance with Joy. Baba Kareem tightened his jaw.
"You are not here to impress us," Adunni continued. "You are here to reveal yourselves. The one who proves most aligned with the spirit of service Mama Iroko needs not just competent, but committed will be chosen."
She turned slightly. A wooden door behind her creaked open.
"Follow me."
The First Task – A Day in Miniature
They were led to a wing of the estate most hadn't seen converted into a caregiving simulation ward. Inside: two large mock patient rooms, complete with hospital beds, side drawers, medical props, and life-like dummies rigged to respond like real patients.
Each candidate was given a colored band on their wrist:
Green: Full autonomy.
Yellow: Limited access.
Red: Emergency mode.
A woman in a lab coat, introduced as Dr. Halima Esan, stepped forward. She was Mama Iroko's personal physician, sharp-eyed and notoriously unreadable.
"This is not a medical test," she said. "It's a test of instinct, observation, and calm under pressure. Each of you will be assigned a 'patient' scenario. You may ask for help only once. You may not leave the room unless instructed. Everything will be recorded."
A buzzer sounded. Screens lit up.
And the countdown began.
Joy's Test: The Shivering Patient
Joy entered her simulation room and found the dummy an elderly woman trembling violently under light bedsheets. The temperature was set deliberately cold. A soft, repeated moan echoed.
She paused. Took a deep breath. Then, instead of reaching for medicine or fussing over the IV line, she pulled up an extra blanket, turned off the fan, and sat beside the bed.
"It's okay, Mama," she whispered. "I'm here."
She rubbed the dummy's hands as if they were real. She hummed. A simple Yoruba lullaby. It wasn't medical care. It was something older. Gentler.
When the timer ended, Joy stood silently and bowed her head.
In the control room, Mama Iroko watched the footage. She didn't speak.
But she smiled.
Remi's Test: The Collapsing Patient
His dummy collapsed during routine stretching, crashing to the floor. The body simulation responded with jerky spasms seizure mimicking.
Remi froze for only two seconds.
Then: "Clear the space. Head turned. Cushion the fall."
He stabilized the body, counted quietly, then called out for assistance his one help allowance.
When the timer ended, Dr. Esan simply nodded. "Your basics are sharp."
Remi exhaled.
But he wasn't sure if it was enough.
Titi's Test: The Forgetful Patient
Her dummy cried out for a daughter that didn't exist. Kept repeating, "Where is Abeni? She said she'd bring bread."
Titi didn't correct her. She didn't argue.
She sat down and said, "Tell me about Abeni. What was her favorite bread?"
The dummy responded: "The one with crust… soft inside."
Titi smiled. "Let's imagine we're sharing it now."
She acted out the memory with care, brushing the dummy's hair, laughing softly at its jokes. She never broke character. Never forced logic.
In the control room, Adunni said quietly, "She's not trained in dementia care, yet… look."
Mama Iroko's eyes didn't leave the screen.
"She understands presence," she whispered.
Baba Kareem's Test: The Angry Patient
His dummy yelled obscenities, throwing simulated food on the floor. "I'm not a baby! I don't need help!"
Baba stood his ground. "And I'm not your enemy."
The dummy continued to lash out.
"I'll sit here," Baba said calmly. "You don't have to like me. But I'm not walking out. Not until you remember you're more than your rage."
The timer ended. The dummy slumped.
Silence followed.
Cynthia's Test: The Panic
The dummy screamed suddenly an anxiety attack simulation. Fast breathing, repeated questions, wild gestures.
Cynthia hesitated, then stepped in. "Match my breathing. In… out. Look at me. You're not alone."
The dummy responded well. But her hands trembled.
Afterward, she asked Dr. Esan privately, "Was I too slow?"
Dr. Esan didn't answer.
Instead, she asked, "What did you learn?"
"That I don't breathe enough for myself."
Dr. Esan just nodded.
Farouk's Test: The Silent Patient
The dummy had no voice. But it blinked erratically and gestured to its chest.
Farouk tried speech first. Then touch. He placed a stethoscope. Then placed his hand over the chest.
"Two taps if it hurts. One tap if not."
Eventually, he deciphered the signs and calmed the patient. Quiet. Effective. No panic.
He exited and said nothing.
But in the control room, Kenny said, "He didn't try to impress. He just adapted."
Mama simply said, "Not everyone needs to speak loudly to be heard."
Chika's Test: The Neglected Patient
The dummy was placed in a room with dim lighting, a spilled tray on the floor, and ignored call buttons blinking red.
Chika walked in and stopped.
Then she turned on every light, cleaned the mess, and said, "This room is an insult."
She talked to the dummy like it was her aunt. She reset the bedding, brushed imaginary crumbs off its gown, and muttered, "If they can't treat you with dignity, I will."
In the review room, Tunde leaned forward.
"She's fiery."
"She's broken," Mama said. "But not beyond redemption."
Idowu's Test: The Pain Threshold
His dummy flinched at every touch, signaling chronic pain. Every adjustment was a wince. Every silence a signal.
Idowu didn't speak much.
But he waited. Asked before every touch. Gave the dummy a warm towel compress and gently placed it over its joints.
At the end, he whispered, "We'll figure it out one day. But until then, I'll carry your pain if I have to."
In the control room, no one spoke.
Then Kenny said, "That one… he's seen war."
Mama nodded slowly.
"And yet he chooses peace."
Back at the Retreat Lounge
After the simulation trials, the group gathered in silence. No scores were shared. No rankings. Just tea, bread, and unspoken questions.
No one knew how they did.
But they had begun to see each other differently. Not as competitors but as mirrors.
Titi helped Baba carry a tray. Remi complimented Cynthia's breathing technique. Farouk sat beside Joy without needing words.
Chika sat apart, eyes distant.
Then she asked, not loudly, "What happens if we give our best and it's not enough?"
No one answered.
But in a locked room upstairs, the observers were making their notes.
The Loyalty Game had begun.
And by now, it was no longer a game at all.