Aunty Ayo: When a sister says goodbye too soon
Umma Salma Nimrod, or ‘Aunty Ayo’ as we all called her, was many things to many people. But to me, she was an extra sister I was lucky to have had. Speaking of which, anyone who had the privilege of having her in their lives, were indeed lucky. She was a beautiful soul, inside out, […]
Umma Salma Nimrod, or ‘Aunty Ayo’ as we all called her, was many things to many people. But to me, she was an extra sister I was lucky to have had. Speaking of which, anyone who had the privilege of having her in their lives, were indeed lucky. She was a beautiful soul, inside out, who immediately lights up any room she enters, with her sharp wit, bright smile, happy voice, and large heart. And that’s the fact, confirmable by anyone who ever knew her, that you dared not be sad in her presence, as she would effortlessly see to it that you’re back in a good mood.
Now, I’m not related to Aunty Ayo by blood, but she has become part of my family. Both our families are very good friends, and have been for a long, long time. It’s not uncommon for many people to assume we’re actually related: She’s one of my eldest sister Adama’s closest friends, one of my mum’s most-loved daughters, one my niece Mariam’s most-cherished aunties, and to me and my brothers, one of our dearest sisters. She was always there for everyone, no matter why or when. She was also a great listener, who would lend an nonjudgmental listening ear at all times, even if she would offer advice when you’re done talking.
Aunty Ayo had the most infectious laugh, and this is no exaggeration. She had the funniest jokes, and the most thoughtful anecdotes to share, all of which she did generously. My sister Adama, tearfully on the phone, told me that she is yet to come to terms with her death, saying through a mixture of tears and laughter, that she half-expects Aunty Ayo to burst out of the next room, exclaiming ‘Ha-ha, suckers, got you! So you really do love me?’ Wishful thinking, yes, but totally in line with her stress-free approach to life. And that’s just the way she is: A thoughtful, caring, beautiful soul who wants nothing more than to make others happy, even if it cost her a smile, or three.
Aunty Ayo was among the first to call me on the phone on my birthday, and she would sing to me the entire ‘Happy Birthday’ song as if I was some kind of baby. In retrospect, she did take me as her baby brother. And I took her as my big sister. She would hug me anytime we saw each other, and even if the last time we saw was a month ago, a minute of catch-up would remedy that and we’ll be perfectly updated. And that’s because she cared, genuinely, about what all those dearest to her are going through.
If you watch TV in Kaduna, especially the state-owned KSTV, then you would have been lucky to have experienced her bright smile. She anchored the young people-centered ‘Youth Circle’, the wellness-focused ‘Health is Wealth’, and read the news while elevating it to an art delivered by a master. She presented her shows with equal measures of energy, sass, honesty, and stainless steel wit. Whenever she had guests over, whether top personalities, showbiz types, or average Joes, she would give them the same type of attention, making them the centre of her programme, while giving the viewer an unforgettable time.
Because of Aunty Ayo’s charisma, many years back, when I was part of the writers room of the award-winning BBC TV show ‘Wetin Dey’, I wrote a character specifically with her in mind. We had a big episode planned, wherein a huge wedding was part of the story, and she was superstar actor Ali Nuhu’s onscreen mother. As we slowly fleshed out the character, I pictured Aunty Ayo bringing her to life on screen. I called one of the directors (I can’t immediately recall if it’s Mak ‘Kusare or Kenneth Gyang), and pitched in for her. The very next day, she was invited to Abuja for an audition that saw her become cast – almost on the spot – as Hajiya. And she knocked the role out of the park, dazzling audiences with her charming personality.
There is so much to remember about Aunty Ayo. I will probably need far more than a page to express how I feel about this great loss, especially having lost a couple of people in the past two months, including my father, may Allah forgive him. But I will console myself with the memories that I have of them all, of the places they occupied in our lives, and not the voids left by their departures. I write this without being able to zero in on one memory, as there are so, so many.
While she died battling that dreaded killer, fibroid, she actually fought a brave fight against it. Giving up after complications arose post-surgery, it most certainly didn’t mean she was weak, or didn’t receive adequate care. It was simple, Kwana Ya Kare, which in Hausa means her days are done, of course as decreed by Almighty Allah. She passed on at the age of 51, and would have been 52 on the 26th of June this year.
The clouds of her absence have covered the sunshine she brought into our lives, but we are consoled knowing that she lived an exemplary life, showing love, and being loved. Yes, we’re poorer that she’s left us, but paradoxically richer having had the luxury of her being in our lives. I pray to Almighty Allah to grant her family – and friends – the fortitude to bear the loss. While we would all want here with us for a long, long time, He knows best. And this is a prayer that Almighty Allah forgives her shortcomings, and grants her Aljannah Firdaus. Goodbye, Aunty Ayo. You were loved by many, and will be missed by many.