Otaki Oyigbenu, a father sorely missed…
I find myself spontaneously attending funerals more than I attend weddings or parties where one doesn’t remember to remind themselves about the vicissitude and nothingness of life. Yet though, I remember its just one life so it would be wise to do things that will be pleasant before God and also do things that will […]
I find myself spontaneously attending funerals more than I attend weddings or parties where one doesn’t remember to remind themselves about the vicissitude and nothingness of life. Yet though, I remember its just one life so it would be wise to do things that will be pleasant before God and also do things that will make me happy because when you are gone, you are gone. Suddenly, for me every second counts. I indulge myself more than ever before and whenever I feel like. Everyday has become a special occasion day for me. I no longer spare certain apparels or accessories for particular occasions except if I can’t help it. I wear them whenever I like because the next moment is not assured on me. That special occasion I may be saving them for might just be death. I remember in the University, some of my friends referred to you as my boyfriend because you were always coming around to visit, sometimes impromptu.
On a “special” Sunday in church, the Reverend asked widows, and those who had lost either or both parents to come forward for special prayers. When i found myself get up for that prayer, i once again was challenged by the power of life. Astonished as to how life could change your status (either for good or for bad) within the twinkle of an eye. I must salute “your wife” (as we fondly addressed our mum before you) for having such great taste in men. A man so intelligent, handsome, forthright, amiable yet cautious in his dealings with people, God fearing, to mention but a few. Sometimes, family members mock me about imbibing my dad’s characteristic of not being too patient with people who do not use their common sense to which I always replied “what do you expect? Am I not his daughter?”
So much has happened behind you but we often ask ourselves “if you were around who knows what would have happened by now?
We’ve lived our lives in a way that if you came back, we would not scamper into hiding.
All the morals and strength of character you nurtured us with are still intact. Honestly baba, nothing has changed except that you are not with us. You instilled so much discipline in us that it will be difficult for us to choose to live recklessly just because your’re gone. I’ve broadened my culinary skills but sadly, only after you were gone. I remember weekends or when you travelled abroad you would ask me to make “Ora” soup for you because I could give an igbo woman a run for her money. One day mum said, “so because baba is no more we won’t eat ora soup in this house” to which I replied “Baba always requested for it but you haven’t.”
I am grateful for the goodwill that comes with the mention of your name. I know a couple of persons who wouldn’t divulge the name of their father just so the “sins” of their fathers’ are not visited on them. That to me is more than enough. I am always excited each day you visited me in my dreams. I try to recall every encounter before I rise up to face the day. Baba, you may not be with us physically but I know you’re in a better place. Memories sure give us the strength we need to move on. We love you and we would always do. And until we meet to part no more, I say remain blessed. God knows best.
Maureen is the daughter of the late Otaki, a former Permanent Secretary, Ministry of Agriculture, who died two years ago.