The triumph of the water lily
Nkem's Final Respite and Odyssey
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| Nkem's Final Respite and Odyssey
We finally arrived in Nigeria at 8.00 am. (Nigeria time) the following
My limbs felt stiff and cramped, when I got up. Julian came awake at that moment crying; he wanted his father to hold him and the moment Odili picked him up, he stopped crying. Odili was the first to alight from the plane and was closely followed by Jaiyesie's mother. Jaiyesie herself, held on to my arm, as we alighted from the aircraft. I was spellbound by the number of people, who were waiting for us on the secluded tarmac, where the plane landed. Several of Odili's associates were there and so was the Chairman of the Nigerian Airways (who was a personal friend of Nkem and Odili). My parents were there too; so was Sister Vanessa and some members of Nkem's 'charismatic' group (I understood they had been in constant touch with Odili, all the time Nkem had been ill; they had prayed unceasingly for her recovery). Their concern and gesture of love was indeed heart warming. It was interesting to note how death or tragic circumstances could bring out both the best and the worst in people. Mama Asaba and several of Odili's uncles and relations were waiting on our arrival that day. As I surveyed the small waiting crowd of people, I wondered at the rapidity with which bad news travelled. A mini-bus with the official crest of Odili's firm of architects, stood on the tarmac a short distance away from the aircraft, waiting to receive the coffin, bearing Nkem's remains. Fresh crying broke out from the women, as the coffin was loaded onto the bus. I simply held on tightly to my mum, as I came off the plane. My father moved over to where Odili was standing to express his condolences. Several other men had gathered around Odili to do the same. Sister Vanessa came over to where I was to say hello. She was neither in tears nor agitated. She simply wanted to know, if Nkem had been in pain or not. She also wanted to know, if she had had the privilege of seeing a priest before she died. I assured her that the answer to both 199 questions was, Yes. She seemed relieved and stood talking with my mother and I, until it was time for us to leave. The bus, bearing Nkem's body, sped off in the direction of the Apapa Mortuary. My parents and I, joined the convoy of cars, heading towards Nkem and Odili's home at Victoria Island. I could still hear Mama Asaba's repeated wailing, that it was indeed true that Nkem was no more! The way she sang and bemoaned Nkem's death, did funny things to my head. I kept feeling it had grown to twice its size. Jaiyesie's mother began weeping softly in all that charged atmosphere at the airport. One woman (whom I later gathered was Dorcas and Onyeisi's maternal aunt), simply yanked off her head gear, threw herself into the air and let it slump, as it hit the ground. Several men held her down and prevented her from repeating the action. As the woman bitterly wailed, that the one good person she could trust and had depended on, had been cruelly snatched away from her by death, I wondered if death considered the plight of such individuals when he visited his victims. Since God was too omnipotent to be questioned about his actions, death, which is often considered as originating from an evil source outside the personality of a merciful God, is often given character, and blamed for the cruel loss of one's dear ones. Several chairs had been arranged, both within and outside Nkem and Odili's home, at Victoria Island. All of the doors and windows on the ground floor had been thrown open. Several sympathisers were already seated when we arrived. My parents joined those in the sitting room, whilst I went on to the back of the house. Snacks were laid out on the kitchen table. I guess they had been brought by friends and relations, who desired to give concrete comfort and support to the family. Two women supported Mama Asaba on either side, as they helped her to the back of the house. She was by this time hoarse, but still continued to sing Nkem's praises in a tearful and cracked voice. She sang the praises of Nkem's lineage and ancestral stock, saying she was of a noble stock and had been more of a daughter than a wife to the family. She begged that Nkem should forgive any wrong or misdemeanour she might have suffered from any of their hands, because Nkem was the gracious and kind-hearted one. She was also to rest in perfect peace, in her heavenly abode. I grinned bitterly, as I listened to all that. It was a shame that it often had to take a drastic and final circumstance as death, to help us realise the infinite worth of those around us, whom we often scorn or take 200 for granted, whilst they're alive. At least, Mama Asaba had the candour and humility to admit, that she had failed to fully appreciate Nkem's worth, whilst she was alive, and was asking to be forgiven. Another loud wailing of a mournful dirge announced the arrival of a fresh car load of Asaba people. This time, they were Nkem's relatives. Jaiyesie's mother, leapt out of the room, where she and Jaiyesie, with Julian and his nurse, had been resting on hearing a particular voice; I understood the voice belonged to Nkem's great aunt. "Asabaeeeeeeee! Our ancestors!! What shall I tell you!! What should I say!! Death has snatched my suckling baby from its mother's bosom!! My people!! Asaba!!" she kept wailing over and over again, in that heart- rending way. Several people went up to salute her respectfully, with her titled greeting. She was one of the most aged persons in Asaba and a titled one at that. She had remained healthy and well-cared for, thanks to Nkem's and Odili's love and attention. She had been spared the pain of a blind old age, thanks to Nkem's insistent persuasion that she came down to Lagos two years earlier, to have her eye-cataracts removed. I remembered that period. Nkem's treasured great aunt had received the finest attentions from Odili's doctor and had returned to Asaba, fully recovered and slightly overwhelmed by all that had been done for her. I stood by the staircase leading up to the bedroom apartments and watched Odili, as he went around the room, acknowledging the sympathy and condolences of friends. He appeared to be drained of all emotions and strength, but with a determination of will, he mustered the strength to do what he had to do with remarkable grace and calm. A two-day-old stubble had grown on his chin and his eyes had become bloodshot for lack of sleep. He nonetheless, was in perfect control of himself. His tight rein on his emotions made his apparent grief all the more heart rending. His long-time friend and one-time room-mate, at the Ahmadu Bello University, was with him. Anwal was his name and had been a bosom friend of Odili's for several years. In spite of his supportive presence beside Odili; Odili still seemed sadly alone and estranged from everyone else around him. Nkem's aged aunt was the last person Odili stopped to greet. Mama Asaba had only just taken her turn to salute the aged woman and left, when Odili went up to her. He stooped in front of her and affectionately, 201 took both her hands in his own. He knew how much Nkem had meant to the old woman and remained silent, as he gazed into her eyes. The woman broke down and wept bitterly at that point. Odili affectionately, held her close, as he consoled her. He soon helped her upstairs, to one of the rooms to lie down. The moment he returned downstairs, Odili beckoned on me to come with him. Moving swiftly, Anwal and I hurried after him in the direction of his private study downstairs. He was already sprawled out on a settee in the room, when we got there. His shirt was unbuttoned and he looked completely exhausted. Anwal quickly threw the windows open to let in some fresh air. Suddenly, Odili began to laugh. I didn't know what to make of it and was very startled. I looked on helplessly, as Anwal went to sit beside him. "Nkem is the dead one and yet I'm the one in hell, isn't it ironic and absurd?" he asked, in an empty voice. "Listen old boy! Why don't you let me get you some food, a drink or something?" Anwal asked anxiously, with a sigh. "No, Anwal, but thanks all the same. I don't need any food and a drink would only worsen my headache. Effua, the funeral is on Saturday," he said to me, as he sat up in the chair, holding his hands against his throbbing temples. He looked as if he had lost half his weight within those last forty-eight hours. "I've already asked Sister Vanessa to inform the priest, the catechist and the parish-choir. Would you kindly find out if there is anything else she would be wanting. She and the Reverend Sisters have also taken on the responsibility of arranging the altar and ensuring that everything is alright at the service on Saturday. Sister Vanessa has also helped secure the portion of the church's graveyard, where Nkem's body will be buried. I have already given her the money for it. Nkem's parish have been so kind and helpful. The municipal council has also promised to send me a writ, permitting me to bury her. It's simply amazing the amount of bureaucracy and protocol, society makes you go through even in death. Effua, kindly keep me informed, if there is anything she'll be needing," he repeated, in a tired voice. I quickly assured him that I would liaise with Vanessa very closely. Anwal emerged from the adjoining bathroom suite, with a glass of water and some aspirins. "No, I have something stronger," Odili said to him and winced 202 with pain, as he got off the settee, to reach into his drawer for some tranquilisers and stronger pain-killers. He swallowed the lot down in one gulp, with the glass of water Anwal held out to him. I watched with sad eyes, as Odili laid back against the settee. I felt completely inept and incapable of helping him. I had been through that road before and I understood that the pain and grief, he was going through, was something utterly private. "Effua, kindly thank your parents for me; tell them I'm grateful for their kind concern," he said, in a muffled voice, as his eyelids became heavier and began to close. "Nkem! Oh! Nkem!" Odili mumbled tiredly, before succumbing to sleep. I turned and found Anwal gazing into the distance, as he leaned against the frame of a window, his thoughts, obviously sad and bitter. "Why did this have to happen just when everything seemed to be going well for them at last?" "I don't know Anwal," I answered. "I've also asked myself the same question. When I asked Nkem, she told me her life had run its course and she had accomplished her purpose. She felt there was no need for her to stay on. She said, just knowing Odili and bearing his son was enough. He had fulfilled her as a woman and God had fulfilled her as his creation. It had all been short and very brief, but she told me she had been fulfilled and was happy to go." Anwal continued to stare into the distance, but I knew he had heard all I had said. "Please make sure no one disturbs him," I said. "I will," he promised and took the phone in the room off its hook.
I went up to the nursery to see how Julian was doing and found him strapped behind a red and swollen-eyed Dorcas. She and her brother simply ran up to hold on to me for a moment. My heart went out to them and I swallowed hard, as I prayed for God to see them through the period. They were like orphans and obviously frightened of what might become of them now that Nkem was gone. I was convinced that God, in his miraculous way, would make sure they didn't become destitute. However, life would never be the same for them again. 203 I said goodnight to Jaiyesie and her mother, who were also in the room. I assured them I would be back again the following day. The two women accompanied me downstairs to say good-bye and thank you to my parents. I had never been happier to arrive at my parents' home at Surulere, as I was that day. Within the privacy of the walls of my parents' home, I could, for at least a short while, shut out the grief, which had assailed me in those last three days. Nkem's funeral, was one of the nicest I'd ever attended. The sun shone benignly on that crisp, harmattan day. The entire church was awash with the natural flower wreaths, friends and relations had brought with them. Several adorned the altar and the aisle. It was as though the profusion of those brightly coloured flowers, was an outright defiance of the sombre attire of some guests, who were clad in black. The nuns of the parish, had kindly taken on the responsibility of arranging the service and decorating the altar and my goodness!, they certainly did a superb job. Several candle lights lit up the entire altar, particularly around the area where Nkem's platinum coffin lay. There was also a lovely profusion of flowers around the coffin, giving the entire setting an ethereal essence. The church was full to overflowing and as the Charismatic choir burst into the entrance hymn: 'Oh! Lord my God! When I in awesome wonder! Then sings my soul my saviour God to thee! How great thou art! How great thou art!" The mood of the entire congregation was instantaneously changed,
Norman and I sat three pews away from Odili and Julian. From where I sat, I watched closely. Jaiyesie, her mother, Mama Asaba and two of Odili's uncles, all sat with Odili on that front pew. I watched Odili, as he stood tall and erect, as the service began. He was clean-shaven and had on a new grey suit. He had lost so much weight in those last few months/ 204 weeks and so had needed to buy a new suit. Besides, Nkem had warned him not to wear anything black or sombre at her funeral. She had been joking at the time, but had actually meant what she had been saying. She had in fact, promised to give him a thump on the head, right there at the funeral, if he wore a black tie. Odili had consequently, got himself the grey suit with a sky blue shirt and a blue, pin-striped, tie to go with it. He nonetheless had a tiny black ribbon, pinned to the lapel of his suit. Julian too had the same thing done to the comfortable baby-clothing he had on. The little boy appeared to be equally subdued and very intrigued by what was going on around him, from the safety of his father's arms. He had been in a bad mood and had refused to allow anybody, but his father, to hold him. Odili took the first reading of the service. He had in fact chosen it. It was a passage taken from the First Letter of Saint Paul to the Corinthians. It had been one of Nkem's favourite passages in those last few weeks, preceding her death. The passage spoke eloquently of the inevitability of death. It began by speaking of the promise of the endless joy and immortality, which death held for those who believed and trusted in Christ as the son of God. In those passages, Saint Paul had successfully taken the sting and doom out of death. I had heard that passage so many times before at many funerals, but the message of the passage had never come home to me as poignantly as it did on that day. I listened, enthralled, as Odili's voice, clear and firm read: Christ has been, raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by one man came death, by one man too has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die; so in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ first; then at his coming, those who belong to Christ. For not all flesh is alike (Odili emphasised as he carried on reading). There is a kind of flesh for man and another for animals. There are celestial bodies and there are terrestrial bodies; but the glory of the celestial is one and the glory of the terrestrial is another. So is it with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown in death is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. The body is sown in 205 dishonour; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a physical body; it is raised a spiritual body If there is a physical body, then there is a spiritual body. And when the perishable puts on the imperishable, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: 'Death is swallowed up in victory!' 0! death, where is thy victory? 0! death, where is thy sting? Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ The reading ended. The Irish-American Nun-Sister Marie-Terez, the same one who had
She spoke of the nobility of Nkem's character. She also told of the remarkable way Nkem was able to touch the lives of those around her, with so much grace and joy, that one wanted to continue to know her, so as to continue to bask in the charm and profound goodness, which was so much a part of Nkem. However, the Nun pointed out that, that which is often rare or pleasurable gets taken away from us soonest. Nevertheless, our treasured memories can never be stolen or taken away from us. She urged each and every one of us, particularly Odili, who ached with the pain of losing Nkem, to glory in the joy and success, which Nkem's short, but remarkable life had been. Nkem's spirit was well, happy and alive with us that day! You could almost feel the joyful essence of her soul, smiling and present with us in the congregation; especially when Sister Vanessa's rich, South Georgian- African-American voice, broke into Nkem's favourite black gospel music. We all watched, totally enthralled, as she walked up to the altar to sing the song and backed by the powerful and melodious voices of the charismatic choir. I was overwhelmed with emotions and tears stung the back of my eyes, as the singing rose to a crescendo: "Lord! Now the night has come And the land is dark! 206 and the moon is the only light we see! NO! I won't be afraid! No! I won't be Afraid! Just as long as you stand by me! Stand by me! Stand by me! Stand by me! Stand by me! Oh! Lord! Stand by me! The wind, which rustled the leaves on the shrubbery plants in the church's beautiful grave-yard, made it seem as if the very trees themselves were responding in time to the music. I continued to gaze into the distance and the beauty of that mild January afternoon, seemed to sharpen the sense of loss and nostalgia, which swept over me in those few moments. Virtually everyone joined in singing that popular gospel number, Amazing Grace, as we all filed out of the church and accompanied the coffin to the grave yard, at the end of the service. The ceremony at the grave yard was remarkably brief, at least in comparison to the service. The two priests, who had officiated, went over to Odili to express their condolences when it was over. Several others went up to him to do the same. Many of them he knew, but a few others he didn't. They had been people, who had been helped or blessed by Nkem's goodness. They had wanted to be there that day, to say farewell to her and to urge Odili to take heart. Many wanted him to know that they shared in his loss. Odili gave Norman and I a faint smile, as it came to our turn to shake hands with him. "How was it?" he asked me, in a subdued and quiet voice. I knew he was referring to the service and I responded promptly: "Marvellous! It was just as she would have wanted it." He smiled wanly, but I knew he was both pleased and relieved to have done this last deed for his beloved, with as much grace and aplomb, as Nkem rightly deserved. If Nkem had been watching that day, I'm sure she would have been touched by it all. Friends came from both far and near to be at the funeral. So many, like Norman, had flown in from abroad the night before, to be present at her grave side on that day. They came, both the rich and the poor, the old and the young, all having been touched by Nkem's gracious life, and grieved by her passing away. For the second time, I wondered why it took occasions like this for 207 us to appreciate fully, the worth and meaning of a person, whose life is dear to us.... Two weeks after the funeral, Odili left Nigeria for Germany. He owned substantial financial assets there and explained to me over the phone that he wanted to be there, so as to be distanced from the memory of Nkem and purge his mind of the pain of losing her. He told me he desperately wanted to pull the pieces of his life back again, but that it was so difficult and life would never be the same again, now that she had gone. "Pray for me Effua!" he said to me, fervently. "I've never been through anything like this before." My heart went out to Odili, as I identified with the anguish he was going through. "I'll pray for you Odili." I answered, softly. "God will see you through this one too." "And there is no ache or pain which time will not dull." I added and I was in a position to know, because the one thing that Odibe's death taught me, was that time was the one sure balm for a broken heart. Time often heals all aches and wounds, in so far as there was no decaying debris of malice or hate to interfer with the grief in our hearts. 208 Sixteen My Harvest of Fulfilment and Joy Changes also occurred in my life after Nkem's death. For one thing I became more appreciative of the here and now. Nkem's passing away brought home to me more poignantly than ever, that it was only the present that really mattered. The past could never be retrieved and the future was as uncertain as a mirage and totally devoid of any certainty or concrete reality. I consequently decided to grasp the present in my hands and make the fullest use of whatever joy or comfort it had to offer. Norman had come to mean a lot to me, and in those weeks, when it seemed as if I had lost him, I came to realise, beyond a shadow of doubt, that he was the one man, who could make me truly happy and find complete fulfilment. That was more than most people could ask for in a lifetime. Grief and pain could help people to grow and mature in a way they least expect it to. In my case, Nkem's death stripped me of my stubborn pride and I acquired the humility and common sense, to acknowledge the fact that I needed a man in my life. One, who could help me realise my fullest potential as a woman, so that I could feel rounded. I finally, finally, admitted to myself, that what I had shared with Odibe had indeed been special, but to shut every other man out of my life and deem them unworthy of taking Odibe's place, was not only foolish, but also tantamount to condemning myself to a life of loneliness and bitter strife. I shared all these with Norman, as we sat by Kuramo waters, just a few days before he returned to New York. I not only apologised for all that had gone before, but also made him realise that he was the one man, whose strength and love had reached into the recess of my being and freed me from the icy arms of pain and ancient fears. Most important of all; I fervently thanked him for lovingly winning my respect and saving me from myself and my obdurate pride! Norman listened in total silence, as I bared my soul to him and as he took me in his arms at the end of it all, I knew Nkem was smiling with joy and approval. Norman's cheeks were wet with tears, as he kissed me 209 and for the first time, I fully appreciated how much I had come to mean to him and what terrible strain I had put him through. As I hugged him tightly to my bosom, I vowed I would make it up to him and give the very best I could, not just at a physical level, but with my very soul. Our parents were overjoyed at the news that we were to be married in the last week of April, in that same year that Nkem died. The wedding itself was everything Norman and I, wanted it to be: quiet and without any form of elaborate pageantry, with only our close friends and family in attendance. There were about a hundred and sixty guests in all. The ceremony took place in Port-Harcourt and had been totally at Norman's father's expense (the old fellow would have it no other way). His delight at meeting my father again and being bonded to him through our wedlock, he claimed, gave him new joy and purpose; a joy which he thought had eluded him forever, when Norman's mother had died. The wedding also afforded me the chance to see several of my close friends again, before I left for New York with Norman. Laide, who was heavily pregnant, was there with Dale. Yele flew in from Ibadan, just a couple of hours before the ceremony began. Wanita was there and so was my Editor. The Church Service took place in a delightful, little chapel, just about a minute's drive from Norman's father's estate. We all returned to the estate, soon after the service, for a sumptuous wedding meal in the beautiful grounds of Norman's home. Several friends sent us monetary gifts and presents, before the wedding day and many more gifts kept pouring in on the wedding day itself. Odili, in his typically thoughtful and generous fashion, sent us two crates of Russian Champagne. He also sent us a cheque for the sum of two thousand dollars. Norman and I were immensely touched by the gesture. He wished us all the luck and happiness in the world and told us how beautifully Julian had settled down to life in Germany. The child, had instantly taken to Anwal's lovely German girlfriend and appeared to be happy and contented in the photographs his father had sent us. Several other telegram messages and letters were received by us that day. We also received a lot of verbal advice. My father urged us to grow together in the love of God, for God, he said, was the best match-maker of all times and the greatest and most reliable confidant of married 210 couples. The other most memorable advice we got on that day came from an elderly man, whom I didn't know (he was from Norman's side of the family). He urged us to be kind and to cherish good friends, but he prayed that we would never have cause to need their help. The guests at our wedding were indeed a homogenous group. They blended beautifully and Norman and I enjoyed the cheer and goodwill the occasion generated. Norman had been slightly overawed at the end of the church ceremony and had shed one or two tears of joy and relief, which had escaped the attention of most of the people around. I had however caught him flicking tears away from his eyes, as he smiled and responded to the cheers and greetings of friends, when the service was over. I had remained dry-eyed and serene, but equally as happy as Norman was. I waited with a secret thrill, for our honeymoon to begin... Our honeymoon was spent in the sun-filled town of Yamous Soukrou on the Ivory Coast. It was eight glorious days that we spent in that expensive, but fascinating golden-beached town, tucked away in the rich recess of West Africa. I am certain that it was there that our baby was conceived. In Norman's arms, I came to know what physical pleasure and profound love was all about. Norman possessed a remarkable male strength, which was proud, strong and sure of itself. Yet, it was deeply respectful of the female form. It was a strength, which I wanted to surrender to, because it was masterful, wholesome and deeply considerate! It filled me with joy! Norman, best of all, possessed a rare gentility, that transcended gender All I could do was just to offer up a prayer of gratitude to God, for letting so much joy come my way. I honestly do not know if I would have been able to give myself to Norman or to any other man for that matter, with the same joy and abandon, if he had not first won my love and respect and then taken me in wedlock. It was rather startling to discover that, in spite of my exposure and cosmopolitan culture, I was still 'old- fashioned'. However, that was me! And there in Yamous Soukrou, I was glad I had kept myself, and waited until I was convinced he was the one I had been waiting for and was indeed worthy of everything I had to give. Parenthood, or rather its anticipation did something wonderful to 211 Norman and I. The child I bore in me had been borne out of love, and we wanted to give it the best that we could not just in monetary terms, but in terms of the right social and moral values. We turned to the pages of the Bible for help and guidance, as to how we could be good parents and found within the Bible, a rich store of knowledge about human life, human frailty, human strength and hope. It was so startling to realise that the Bible wasn't some staid and outmoded literary text, but rather, a literary classic, which touched all aspects of human life or social endeavour and spoke about one of the most charismatic and remarkable men, who ever trod upon this earth - Jesus Christ. Some of the gospels portrayed in a vivid manner, the compelling and arresting personality that Jesus was; whilst the book of Proverbs exhibited a knowledge of decorum and what can be described as acceptable behaviour. For instance, the book advocated restraint and modesty in all that one does, for as it rightly points out, in as much as honey is sweet and desirable, the greedy, who consumes it voraciously will only get sick and regurgitate all that he had hitherto ingested It was in New York that I decided to write this book, as a tribute to Nkem's memory. Our baby had kicked for the first time and I couldn't wait for Norman to come home, so I could share the joy and news with him. As I waited, I looked out into the cold winter night, and the book began to take shape in my mind. We travelled home to Nigeria for Christmas that same year, a few months before our baby was born. Both our parents were thrilled to see us and revelled in the delightful anticipation of a new grandchild. Nneka was simply out of her mind with joy at the thought of having a little niece or nephew of her own. Norman's father could scarcely contain his strong emotions, when he took me aside and quietly thanked me for the joy I was bringing into their lives. I was briefly moved to tears, as I watched him speak with emotion in his voice. I hugged him affectionately and told him how delighted I was to be his daughter and to be bringing Norman's child into the world. The second half of our holiday was spent in Lagos, at my parents' home. I was just as pampered and fussed over there, as I had been in Port-Harcourt. Alice wanted to return to New York with me, so she could 212 take care of the baby and myself, when it was born. I naturally told her she couldn't and explained that there would be plenty of time for her to care for the baby, when we returned home to Nigeria finally. I was amazed at how much Alice had blossomed in those few months, following my departure. Elegant female features had replaced her hitherto gawky youthful ones; she had also began to acquire a lovely feminine reserve. Norman and I visited Nkem's grave the day before we returned to New York. That same day also happened to be the anniversary of Nkem's death. We took a remembrance wreath with us and laid it alongside several others, which adorned her grave. A new golden plaque had been attached to her headstone and it read: Nkem, it's now a year since you left me. Darling, I want you to know that your life gave me so much pleasure and your company was for me ... A Treasure! Nkem my love! Painful memories still linger! All my love, Odili. A lump formed in my throat, as I read the message. Norman gently laid down our own wreath with its simple message and walked away. I stood there, lost in thought, as glimpses and memories of the life I'd shared with Nkem fleeted across my mind. After a while, I looked around and read some of the messages on the wreaths that lay on her grave. One, from her friends in the charismatic renewal, read: Sister Nkem, Even in your death you remained triumphant! Continue to rest in peace! The message on our wreath, expressed some of the sentiments of what Nkem's life had meant to me. It read: Nkem, Knowing you, made our lives richer in so many ways. Darling, rest in perfect peace always! Much, much love, from Norman, baby and I. 213 As I stood there beside Nkem's grave, I decided that I too would endeavour to touch the lives of those around me, in as gracious a manner, as this remarkable friend of mine had done! Suddenly, joy, hope and certainty flooded my soul, that this wish would be fulfilled. And why not? For I was carrying within me, a part of the life of the man that I loved, and with Norman there beside me, I knew I could achieve tremendous virtues of courage and decency and become fully, everything that God had created me to be! I smiled with joy and love, as I walked towards Norman, with light feet and he too stood smiling at me, with love and understanding, as he waited for me beside our car. THE END
214 Glossary of African Words and Abbreviations used.
15 16 17 18 19
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23.
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28. Hausa traders - Traders from the ancient city of Kano; often well known for their excellent leather merchandise. I bos (Igbos) - An ethnic group found predominantly in Eastern Nigeria. Jollof Rice - Rice dish cooked with tomatoes, onions, carrots, green peas, chunks of fish, meat or prawns. Lady fish - Fish belonging to the Tilapia family. Moi-moi - Steamed bean pudding cooked with tomatoes, onions, fish, eggs or corned beef. Nnua - Greeting, meaning 'Welcome' in a dialect of Igbo. Ogi-baba - Thick custard-like pap made from maize or guinea- corn. Otogwu - Hand woven, usually cotton fabric, produced by th Ibos on the west bank of the river Niger Delta, with a characteristic design, similar to the Jewish Toga. Pidgin English - Colloquial English, evolved by various African communities and spoken in different parts of Nigeria, Liberia and Sierra Leone. Plantains - A fruit which looks like a giant banana; a member of the banana family. Plantains are eaten throughout West and East Africa when ripened. Plantains are delicious fried, roasted, steamed or boiled. Sister Ejire - Sister to a set of twins. Suya - A kebab, traditional to most West African countries, made essentially with lamb or beef. UCLA - University of California Los Angeles. Voruba - An ethnic group who are predominantly found in Western Nigeria, Brazil, Trinidad. They are believed to be children of Oduduwa - a Nubian Prince from ancient Egypt, who settled in a place called Ile-Ife in Western Nigeria.  Directory: standing standing -> Region III standing regional response team (rrt) meeting williamsburg, Virginia Thursday, January 12, 2012 standing -> Information and Communication Technology (ict) Products and Services available to Victorian schools on a Department preferred supplier basis standing -> Desktop computers standing -> Mobile United Committee Highlights 2014 standing -> The catholic university of america standing -> Episcopal Diocese of Rochester Standing Committee Minutes Download 1.22 Mb. Share with your friends:
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