Tribute to my loving father, Gimba

It is with a great sense of nostalgia and reluctance that I write you this letter. I’m still grappling with the fact that you have passed on and I find it difficult to believe that you are gone forever. When you were alive, the need to write you was unnecessary because of the ease in […]

It is with a great sense of nostalgia and reluctance that I write you this letter. I’m still grappling with the fact that you have passed on and I find it difficult to believe that you are gone forever. When you were alive, the need to write you was unnecessary because of the ease in communication. Now, I can only write. Not because there is a postal or email service to your present abode but because writing to you  soothes my aching heart. Though you are no longer in our midst, we still feel your touch in every day of our lives. It has been over 365 days since you departed this ephemeral existence but wonderful memories of your life on mother earth continue to reverberate in our hearts.
 I remember quite vividly your last days, a very trying moment for you and the entire family. Regardless of the trauma we went through, to me those were the best we had together. It put to test the strength of our faith, but Alhamdulillah, we weathered the storm.  The vacuum created by your demise is too wide to fill but we take solace in the exemplary life and lessons we learnt from you.
I can recall the last time I saw you alive in the hospital, lying on that sick bed. As much as I tried to suppress the emotions welling up in me, I couldn’t. I cried seeing that you could hardly recognize the people around you. It was apparent that the end was near, though its actual hour was concealed from us. I must confess that the enormity of the anxiety that gripped my mind was terrifying. The sad news of your expiration hit me like a thunderbolt, causing a huge confusion. Looking back, I feel Allah spared me the pain of witnessing your passing away by making me ill at that time. On that fateful day, I was woken from a very deep sleep to receive the news of your death. How can I ever forget that day?
The period you were ill was a turning point for the family and a learning point for me. It brought us closer to you more than ever to tap from your wisdom and life experiences. I learned a lot even though I wasn’t always around.  The spirituality, patience and perseverance you effused was amazing and heart touching. I was moved to tears on the very day you recited the glorious Qur’an to my ears on your sick bed. Your voice was sound and lively just like the times you led us in Salah.
The hearty family conversations we had when you were in high spirit and the excruciating pains you experienced? Those moments? I can never forget them. Sometimes I just smile to myself when I fondly recall the story you told us about how you learned to drive your first car in Sokoto, back in the days of the North Western state. Your secondary school experiences, including how you had to ride on a bicycle from the village to Lapai in other to await a lorry headed for Keffi. In fact some of these stories made me realize that your entire life was that of struggle, hard work and sacrifice.
 I still recollect the troubles you went through in trying to fulfill your obligations to The Creator and the family. With difficulty you prepared for the five daily Salah and with more difficulty you said the prayers, but that didn’t deter you from performing them. Physically, you were weak but in spirit more committed than any one of us in the fulfillment of your responsibility to the family. You were our pillar! How can I ever forget the times we had together when a part of you literally lives in me.
I know you were worried about our fate on your death bed after you are gone, particularly the future of my younger ones. Our uncles often recap your last moments and they attest to that, but Alhamdulillah very little has changed in the running of the house; except for the sudden drop in the number of visitors that used to throng the house. Nonetheless, your friends have kept the flame of friendship burning. Sadly, one of them whom I admired so much passed away in Saudi Arabia, while performing the pilgrimage. I know you cannot forget Mallam Shehu, the tall, dark-skinned white bearded gentle man. He was a true friend who always visited us. We will surely miss him.
I feel overwhelmed by strong emotions every time thoughts of you cross my mind and  whenever I pass by your resting place along Minna western bye-pass. I see your resting space right from a vantage position when I pass by. I guess you wanted to make it easier for us to visit and remember you always, that’s why you made it one of your last wishes to be interred in Minna. I realized the underlying wisdom of this recently. The same goes with the ‘little things’ you always counseled us on. Things that carried no physical weight like patience, perseverance, endurance and general character. Now I know that these are the recipes for a successful life.
Though you are no longer with us, I feel your touch in every facet of my life and we miss you dearly.
Alhassan Gimba is the son of the late Alhaji Abubakar Gimba