A LETTER TO MY OTHER FATHER
Thirty years ago, after my biological father (your friend) transited, you took upon yourself the role of husband to my mother, father to my siblings and I, and later on as grandfather to our kids. You did this effortlessly, meticulously with love, joy and compassion. A friend indeed you were! Oh daddy Enyih Atogho, can I ever thank you enough? Daddy you made sure I went into ENS after my first degree, then paid for my wedding dress when I was getting married, walked my junior sister Ngum down the aisles, accompanied Chi to ask for his wife's hand in marriage, Made sure Bih had her visa to travel, helped Awah out of Russia to greener pastures, advised late Ade and Ndeh on life's choices and the list is endless. Yet, you were only a friend. I called you husband to widows and father to orphans. We were many under that canopy at home with you. Thank you daddy, thank you!
Daddy, your sudden departure has callously plunged me into a feeling of sorrow I cannot articulate. I am utterly lost! My acceptance of this nightmare is drenched in disbelief. How can it be? Are you really gone too? Oh life!
My loving, kind, funny, empathetic, quick-witted cheerleader, unconditional supporter, orator, mentor and father is gone! Oh how art the mighty fallen?
Saying I will miss your jokes, laughter, warmth, friendship, stories told and retold over and over again, and most of all your easy companionship is an understatement. Yours was a life of love, simplicity, humility, reaching out and sharing. You were Mr minister; the only uncle who went straight on to meet my mother in her firewood kitchen when you visited; not waiting for a ceremonial welcome! One in a thousand!
Daddy, please tell me, why I should still be so immersed in grief, barely trying to breathe after dramatically losing my siblings, and be hit again by such pain. Tell me, how many times over I am supposed to have this kind of heartbreak. Daddy, has this world not given me my fair share of sorrow for now?
Daddy, everything appears so hazy and unclear to me. I might just be sinking! Your departure has made me discover there is an emotion more hollow than sorrow.
Oh how I wish I could turn back the hands of time, if only to see you again for one minute and let you effortlessly and lovingly hold my hand and walk me around the compound, as you so often did, only to tell me how much you love me. Oh daddy! Oh death, you are wicked, but "be not proud.. for you too shall die".
I thank God for the opportunity to have spent some of your very last moments with you. I KNOW that is what you would have wanted. I thank God I could tell you how much I love you too, to ask for forgiveness from you for all my shortcomings, to pray for and with you. These moments of intimacy as you lay helpless on your hospital bed will never go away; above all, the love you showered me all through my life is what I will hold on to.
Your grandkids too will miss you! No more afternoons with grand pa in Bastos! The cliché of my heart is heavy has brutally come alive in my life. It hurts, it sucks, just thinking that you too are gone! Visiting Bastos will never be the same because there will be no one to shout out my name immediately the gate is opened, no one to laugh with, no one to converse with, no one to call me the best daughter and most of all no one to encourage my educational pursuits! No one, no one, no one, no one to turn to! I leave it to God!
Good night my, father, uncle, hero and superstar friend to my late father Barrister Ade Moma! I will never forget you! Sleep well!
Your adopted daughter,
Swiri Moma Anyangwe (Ma)