Tag Archives: died

The Cycle of Life Part 2

Mamie, my late grandmother, was from Mubi and Ribadu. Mubi is a large town in Adamawa State, even in the old days a thriving commercial town with good links to many other towns (that is until Boko Haram decided to move in). I understand that Mamie’s father was one of the successful merchants there and her home in Michika only came about long after her father died because Grannie, her mother was from Michika. Anyway, through one of her parents, she is partly from Ribadu too. My memory of Ribadu is of a little diversion on the road to nowhere, little more than a collection of huts that we got to by using dusty dirt roads off the main highways. Most Nigerians will recognise the name though because of the famous Nuhu Ribadu, arguable Ribadu’s most successful son. He was EFCC’s first executive chairman – Nigeria’s anti-corruption agency and suffice it to say, he went about his business fearlessly, bringing those previously seen as untouchable to account. He was loved by the masses and detested by the ‘elite’ who had enjoyed incredible daylight lootery for so long in Nigeria. He had to go on exile when he left office because of fears for his life. I digress, Nuhu Ribadu is a relative. Of course he is I hear the Nigerians cry. Everyone in Ribadu is related so therefore, he is definitely a cousin of some sort. My point is that before Nuhu Ribadu, Ribadu would have been a name no one except its indigenes noticed on the map of Nigeria. Now it is one of the household names in the country and no Nigerian should wonder about its origins.

The girl I want to write about was called Aishatu Mohammadu Ribadu. We called her A’i for short (pronounced Ah-ee). I don’t know how the arrangement came about but I remember vividly when she moved in with us. She was about to start secondary school. I suspect my mother offered to bring her cousin to Yola where there were more education opportunities. She was the oldest girl and named after Mamie so who better? She was as you would expect a little village girl to be at first. Timid and as quiet as a mouse. Pretty Fulani girl with her long curly natural hair. She was soon enrolled into GGSS Yola (Girls Government Secondary School) and on the first day, we lugged all the usual paraphernalia to the boarding school to check her in. I remember us walking around the dorms trying to find her allocated one. We did and when we had her things moved in, we said our goodbyes and left. I was in primary school then so it didn’t occur to me how hard it would have been for her. Not only to leave the shelter of her little village and move in with us but to then go straight into boarding school with girls from all corners of the State. She never complained about it.

She remained quiet for the first year or so and then by JS2, she came into herself. She joined the cultural club in JS3 or SS1 and flourished more with it. She came back after the first term of being part of the group and started to sing us their songs in her lovely voice. One chorus went:

Sai mu ‘yan Hausa cultural,

Daga makarantar Geeeee Geeeee (GG).

Mun zo ne muyi maku wasa,

Wasan mu ta Hausa.

Mun zo ne muyi maku wasa,

Wasan mu ta Hausa.’

(Translates roughly into: We are the Hausa cultural girls from the school of GG. We are here to entertain you, in the Hausa cultural way).

We particularly loved the bit where they introduced themselves and when she got to Aisha Mohammed (the Hausa-nised version of her actual name), we would grin out loud. Over the next year or 2, we learnt many of her songs (some by Sa’adu Bori, very X-rated for our age but who knew?). In the evenings when there was no electricity, we would lie on mats out under the stars and moon. She’d tell us stories about boarding school and we’d sing her songs. Her love for music grew and the first album she absolutely loved was Brandy’s Never Say Never in 1998. We all loved it to be fair but she learnt the words to the songs ‘Never Say Never’ and ‘Have You Ever’ early and would sing those songs so hauntingly that I can’t hear now even today without thinking about A’i. Just hearing someone utter the words ‘never say never’ evokes memories of A’i to me. I suspect looking back she was going through puberty and probably was in love for the first time. Being a shy Fulani girl, we never heard or saw the object of her affections. In fact, in all of her time, I only knew of one ‘boyfriend’ before she met the man who would be her husband. I cannot for the life of me remember him but I know she suddenly relaxed her hair, started to wear makeup and took extra care when getting dressed to go out.

When she graduated, she met Hamma Z (his nickname) and we all knew this was different. She would light up when his name was mentioned and although she was shy about it, she never hid that she liked him. I barely knew him then because I was in boarding school in Lagos myself and he wasn’t resident in Yola but visited periodically. I heard she was getting married shortly before the event and as it was the middle of school term and we had moved to London then, I could not be there. I spoke to her though and she told me how excited she was. She sounded it. After the wedding, they moved to Ashaka where her husband worked. It is a little removed so it wasn’t on the road to anywhere we would normally go when we visited. I never made it to her marital home (this I am still sad about). One summer holiday, I contacted her to say I was coming. She promised we would see each other as she was planning a visit to Yola and Ribadu in that summer.

One day, there she was. I think this was in 2002. She looked beautiful. She was always pretty but she was glowing that visit. When she spoke of her marriage and her new home, her eyes shone. I was very happy. I wondered if she was pregnant and asked her the question. A little bit of the light dimmed. She clearly wanted a baby and it had been over a year. She was worried. I remember telling her not to worry. ‘These things are written,’ I said. Her baby would come when it was meant. She smiled and said ‘You are so grown up Diya’ in Fulani. I hugged her and we sat by the car parking bays at home in Yola, sharing a private moment. Once again, the two Aishas reunited under the stars and moonlight. Before she left, she told me about how quiet it was in Ashaka but that she had made a few friends. She told me about her small business venture and how she was now making some money for herself and her plans to make it more than a hobby. She told me about her husband and how he was kind and worked very hard for them. When she left, I promised when I came next time, I would make the trip to Ashaka especially.

That next visit never came. I saw her when she came for Mamie’s death. Then I got a call from A’i a few months later excitedly telling me that she was pregnant and to tell my mother. Her voice was exuberant and I was ecstatic for her. We rejoiced briefly before she had to go. Call charges to the UK in those days were astronomical but she clearly wanted us to know because she was over the moon. It was very un-Fulani of her to call and talk about her pregnancy so early. Traditionally, Fulani girls would normally never say a word until their pregnancy was obvious to everyone. I guess she knew with us being abroad, we had to be told to know. It was the last time we ever spoke on the phone. We texted from time to time and she let me know everything was progressing fine. She said she had never been happier.

One morning, I got a call from my mama who had moved back to Yola. She said ‘A’i has a son’. Her voice sounded sombre so I immediately asked ‘and how is A’i?’ Mamie had died the year before and since then, we had lost a few other people. I suspected the worst as soon as my mama began to speak. She said Hamma Z had been informed that A’i was taking a little longer than expected to recover from her general anaesthetic. You see, she had had complications which meant they had taken her into an emergency caesarean section. Although my heart was still heavy, I was a little relieved. I was a medical student then so I looked it all up and was a little reassured. Chances of dying from a general anaesthetic are slim in a healthy young woman. Looking back, I think she had pre-eclampsia or something like that but as usual, in the Nigerian healthcare system, information is restricted so all we heard was that she hadn’t quite woken up. My mama promised to call when there was news.

I sat by my phone and waited. When the call came, it was what I didn’t want to hear. She had died. We found out later that actually she had died pretty much straight after the baby was born but that was kept from her family. In a panic, they pretended she was still alive but unconscious. I was in the UK and she was buried according to Islamic rites so I never got to see her. My mama went for the ‘funeral’ and reported Hamma Z was devastated but their son was healthy and beautiful. When the next summer came, I went to Yola and asked to be taken to him. He was living with his grandmother then and was nearly 18 months I think. He was beautiful, like my mama had told me. Quiet like A’i was at first. His aunties and cousins told me how he didn’t talk much or take to strangers. He came to me and sat by my side all visit, leaning into me when I wrapped one arm around him, despite not saying a word to me. They looked at me in wonder and said ‘he must know his blood’. I smiled and agreed. Yes, he must. I felt an intense love for him at that moment and I wanted to steal him away. I also wanted to burst into tears. I knew how proud his mum would have been of her little boy and was devastated she never got to meet him.

His father remarried after many years and A’i’s son was reunited with his father for good. Although I have only seen him a few times over the years because they do not live where I go on my short visits to Nigeria, his father and I keep in touch and I am told he is happy. He is an adolescent now and he is so much his mother’s son. I looked at the most recent picture of him I have and saw his smile. A’i’s smile. He has her eyes, her nose and her mouth. His colouring and demeanour is very reminiscent of her. I still well up at the thought he will never know her just as she never got to meet him but I am comforted by the fact that she lives on in him. If I ever get a chance when he is older, I will tell him his mother wanted nothing more than to bring him into this world. That I have never seen her so happy than when she was with his father. Nor heard her so excited than when she announced he was in the making. That he would have been the centre of her world. That she would have done anything for him. That he would have been the most loved little boy, the apple of her eye. I hope I get the chance to tell him all that. Life!

Can You Miss What You Don’t Know or Have?

This one is a hard topic for me. If you have been following my posts, you will know by now that my mama was a single mother for a large part of my life. I also had a step-dad for a good chunk of my childhood. I do not know if I have mentioned my biological father at all. I probably haven’t because there isn’t much to say. I can summarise what there is to say about him. He was my mother’s boyfriend in University and despite a lot of reservation from third parties, my mother married him soon after graduation. He is from Malumfashi in Katsina State (Nigeria) and is academically gifted. His family has royal links (small fry I understand). He is still alive and working in Katsina. He is tall and considered good-looking. He is married with several children.

That last point is the one thing of all that does bother me a little. Because of the way I was brought up and my closeness with my immediate family, I sometimes feel sad that I have siblings that I could be supporting but do not. I have siblings (majority female I hear) who I could be a role model to. I could make a difference to their lives but I am unable to because I do not exist to them. I do wonder if they even know about my sister and me. If they do, do they care?

My mama got a divorce when she was 5 months pregnant with me so I was born outside of that relationship. I have no strong feelings over him. I have met him. Twice in my life. First when I was 4 or 5 and then again when I was 7 years old. I also met a couple of his brothers when I was 8 or 9 years old. To be honest, I remember more what we ate when we had lunch with him and where that meeting took place. I remember feeling somewhat conflicted and wondering how I was meant to feel. I also worried that if I liked him, would I be disloyal to my mama who was the love of my life? My mama, amazing woman that she is, hid her upset quite well but with hindsight, I know she was upset that it took him so long to turn up and that he was putting us through emotional turmoil. I recall her sitting my sister and me down after he had turned up unannounced the first time and confirming that he was indeed our biological father. She gave us a choice about going to spend the afternoon with him and said we could decide to go or not.

My sister had a vague recollection of him and was excited to see him so I didn’t object. Off we trundled to Yola International Hotel to his suite. We each had a chapman (love that drink, bright red fizzy non-alcoholic cocktail still popular in Nigeria) and I think I had a meat-pie because they made them nice and I was a fan. He must have tried to talk to us but I really don’t remember what was said. I remember saying that ‘everyone at home calls me Diya not Aisha’ when he kept calling me Aisha. I think he felt rebuffed. My sister and I soon got bored and we went off to play with the lifts and got up to mischief. He left the next day and life returned to normal. The only evidence was that he gave us some money which we promptly deposited into our savings accounts and forgot about.

The second visit was only slightly less awkward and I remember thinking ‘what does this all mean anyway?’ I mean, after the first visit, he made no effort to promote any kind of relationship. I firmly believe he would never have visited again if he had no business bringing him to Yola. Since then, I have not seen or heard from him. My sister got a couple more visits to her boarding school and then nothing since. It has been over 20 years since I have heard a peep out of him. I do not think I ever met my grandmother but we did hear that she was still alive about a decade ago. A friend of my sister’s sister-in-law last week got word to my sister through the sister-in-law to say that our grandmother had died. Our reaction was lackadaisical to say the least. First, we thought ‘erm yes our grandma died about 12 years ago in two days’ (October 6th). Then we clarified that this was our paternal grandma. We mentioned it to each other in passing and no more was said. We went to sleep that night without a second thought and honestly, I can’t say I feel like I have lost anything.

This brings me to the question I wanted to address here. When we were little, and some people still say this, we were told that despite not knowing our father and his relatives, we would regret it if we let him die without trying to get to know him. Apparently (somewhat mystically) we would feel his death and be deeply saddened. Well, my grandma has just died and it made not a dent on my life. I felt the same as I would for any of my patient’s relatives dying. Sad for a moment then life goes on.

So will I be sad if my father dies today and I have no relationship with him? I suspect not. Would I be sad if my siblings died and I know nothing of them? Probably a little. Would I be sad if I found out that they are oppressed and in need of assistance I could provide? Yes quite sad. Would I be sad if I could save them from some desperate need like donate bone marrow or a kidney to save a life and I did not because no one thought to approach me? Yes definitely. Of course I wish I could be a sister to my sisters and brother. I wish things had worked out differently and that my mama’s love had not been misplaced. I wish she had seen through her loyalty and love and chosen a different man who would have treated her and her child better. I wish she had never fallen in love with this particular man but she did. It would be a waste of my time to dwell on what ifs on behalf of my mama. She has moved on. So will I. Such is life.