It was late Wednesday morning and I had busied myself with the day’s work when a WhatsApp message propped up on my phone. I didn’t bother to look. Those messages can be tiring. In a moment, however, a call came from Mr. Okey, the editor of Hallmark, nothing strange; he always calls – to ask why I hadn’t done this or to say I should do that:
“Obinna, help us do international.”
“Obinna, we have not gotten your stories,” etc, etc… it’s routine.
But this time around, his voice was calm, a bit more than usual, and I could sense the resignation in it.
“Obinna,” then a pause, “Check your WhatsApp.”
I grudgingly peeped into the phone. What else could it be but a story to work on, or a report to publish? But the words I saw left me transfixed. I didn’t know what to think. A tear or two dropped from my eyes, but even as they did, I could not convince myself that the words were true. It was not possible that you had passed on. To where?
I was aware, of course, that in the proceeding days, you had been in the hospital, and the feedback I got each time I inquired about you was not always encouraging. But somehow I still had this conviction that you would make it out again, stronger and better. You always did. I remember those stories you told me when we were working on your book, Saved For His Praise, about how you literally walked through the shadow of the valley of death, but made it back alive; a feat you never failed, not even for a moment, to attribute to God’s grace.
Today, I picked up that book again, and as I peeped through while fighting back some tears, my eyes glanced through the acknowledgement page again, and I saw the big tribute you paid to my little self for the little contribution I made in the book. I read a few pages all over again, to remind myself of some of those stories. And you know? Looking back now, I’m so glad you told those stories in that book, and I am happy to have been one of those who convinced you to tell them. If not, who knows what wicked falsehood the evil people would have been peddling now that you have decided to take a break from all the stress?
But back to the stories. There was one that happened the last time you were in the UK to see your doctor, I think around 2016? At that time, it was already a matter of life or death. Your doctor, Prof Susan, you recalled, had examined you severally, but found nothing medically wrong with you, yet she could confirm that your system had so broken down that your being alive was an oddity.
As you told me, the Prof who had mistaken your 52-year-old body for an aged grandfather, and had assumed that you were your dear wife, Mrs. Betty’s dad, on account of how gaunt you now looked, had advised her against flying you back to Nigeria because she was convinced you wouldn’t make it back alive, even as she couldn’t offer any help, but of course, you came back and not only did you make it back alive, you gradually grew stronger and agile. You are indeed a great fighter. OK you are expecting me to say you were? No, you cannot be in the past, you will always be here with us, in the spirit, in our hearts and our minds. You are alive and well, and you have only gone to rest, quite a bit. You know, it’s been a long time you’ve been working so hard, even when it took a lot of effort to catch a breath.
That brings me to the oxygen cylinders. The last time I was there at your house, prior to Wednesday, there were lots of them, and you had those tubes strapped to your nose; the oxygen tubes that had been your source of air, if I remember correctly, since that 2016 when you returned from the UK.
You know, I remember that brief moment that I took that air from you. You had asked me to come closer so you could show me some lines to correct on a manuscript we were working on, and I inadvertently stood on the tube. You noticed soon afterwards because you couldn’t breathe any longer, yet you didn’t scream at me. You only called your boy, Micah, to come and fix it, and only became agitated when he couldn’t come on time. I expected you to even ask me to be more careful, but you didn’t.
Ah! And now I remember again. About a day or two prior to that incident, you told me that you were healed; that God had healed you, and that it was only a matter of time before you got rid of the oxygen tubes and all the cylinders. I believed you, for even in my little faith, I knew that God could do it. Your faith in Him really wowed me, even against all odds, you held into Him so strongly and vowed never to seek the face of any other God.
So, when I heard about the so called passing of yours, I knew that they didn’t know what they were saying. Well, I came to your house as usual, but strangely, the oxygen cylinders were gone and the tube was nowhere to be found. You were not on your ‘sick bed,’ too, and you did not call me as you often did, with that piercing voice of yours. Evidently, you had gotten rid of the oxygen cylinders as you said you would do soon. They were no longer needed because you could breathe well now, and you did not also call me because you had no more work to do, you had laboured enough, and the Almighty, whom you hung onto so tightly, had asked you to come over for your reward.
But as I sat there at your house, I couldn’t help but remember how far we have come. I remembered that day in December 2014 when I walked into your office as a young job seeker who had passed the initial interview and was now qualified to meet with the boss himself, and I remember being quite nervous but I didn’t show it. Well, little did I know it was the beginning of a journey…
To be continued…
By OBINNA EZUGWU