Before she was Dada, she was Auntie Mary. In fact, I first heard my aunt referred to as Dada long after the dictator with the same moniker had been deposed and I must have had a puzzled expression on my face as she was the furthest thing from dictatorial.
Over time, as her siblings including my mother passed away, and as there were fewer and fewer people around who had visceral knowledge of the family, Dada and I became closer. We had never really engaged in small talk. I was either making her laugh with my bad humor or she was telling me that it was time to eat. If there was a matter to be resolved, we dispatched it in no time. I’m not certain why, but we had a measure of understanding that did not need words and may have been the result of shared joy and pain over a long period of time. But I psychoanalyze.
It is said that a man marries a woman and hopes that she never changes while a woman marries a man and hopes that he changes. I can state that I mostly knew what to expect from Dada as she did not change with the season. Unlike marriage, I did not have a say on who my aunt was, however when we meet again, I would have done well were she to declare “Ollie, you dun change for the better”.
Dada, I will be forever thankful for your steady hand and wisdom.
Personal tribute to Dada on behalf of the Ndimbie’s
Oliver Kimka Ndimbie, M.D., Flower Mound, TX, May 5, 2021