It is the wedding eve – Friday night and the whole street is buzzing with excitement. Every house is feeling the anticipation of the coming celebration. My dad loves to throw parties and given that he is a people’s person / crowd puller / “man of the people”, ? he almost always goes over board while throwing them.
The house at this point, is already full to the brim and by full I mean, all the bedrooms are occupied with guests, the chairs in both parlors are fully booked like a suite, even my mom’s precious kitchen is not spared for we have had to bring out the compressible beds and mats to host people there. We have also run out of bedsheets, blankets and wrappers to pass around to our guests. There are more than 20 of my mom’s friends and family around, each volunteering one essential skill or the other.
Some of them are skinning the meat, some slicing onions or carrots or condiments. Some have taken it upon themselves to sort out souvenirs while others are holding the usual vigils in the tents ; Vigils where alcohol and music are the holy anointing raining down from the heaven my father has created.
It is also a day of random dancing, where while moving from point A to B, I’d randomly stop halfway and dance to “o baby sawale, Sawa sawa sawale” before I catch myself and move on with whatever I have to do.
Of course, that amount of crowd and activity means one thing for me – endless errands. ??
“Biola, where do you guys keep this”, or “Biola, please get us matches or an extra knife or fuel or salt or tinned tomatoes etc”.
You get the gist.
Every volunteer needs something and I am being constantly tossed up and down the stairs, to and fro the garage and in and out of different storage rooms.
NIGHT
It’s night time, probably around 11 pm and I am exhausted to my bones. I sit up on my mat that I have managed to hustle for myself because yeah, I had to give up my bed too.
I am trying laboriously to fix my own nails myself when I hear the unmistakable footsteps that can only belong to my dad.
Something tells me that his visit is likely errand oriented and specific to me so I lay down and pretend to be asleep. ?? Pardon the sixteen year old crook that I am. (I’m sure you’d have done the same too)
My dad comes into the room, with his special smile that lights up his eyes, my moms world and literally the entire universe, wakes up the “sleeping” me, ( so much for my game of pretense right ??) and tells me he is hungry and needs me to cook his food.
I remember saying “Daddy, there’s food at home. Your sisters prepared pounded yam for you”. This persistent man says, “ I know, I want rice and I would really like to have your special white rice, the one only you can cook”.?
First of all, white rice is not special.?♀️ You literally toss washed rice inside water plus or minus onions and some salt and the rest is history. So why all this hyping of such a mundane food?
Second of all, what is special about my own white rice, what about it can only I cook? There are many people downstairs who would happily cook for him. Why come to bother a visibly exhausted and unwilling me. ?
Thirdly, what typical Ekiti man says no to pounded yam that was made specially for him only to come wake a teenager for white rice? ?♀️
Ko add up fa …
I grumble on the inside and reluctantly stand up, begin the laborious journey down the stairs and all through the while, Oga is hailing me, calling me all my pet names and so excited that I am actually going to cook for him. Like I have a choice? ?♀️
I don’t understand it really. In my head, I’m lamenting the nail polish I have poorly applied on my nails that would definitely get smudged while washing the rice.
I’m also lamenting the time I could be spending relaxing and getting my beauty sleep in.
??
The night passed, the wedding came the next day and by Sunday, my dad died peacefully on my thighs, right in front of my eyes. Read more here.
Selah.
Naturally, a crowd gathered in our house again, not to celebrate this time but to mourn.
As a part of grieving process in a bereaved house, people tend to verbally reminisce on memories of the departed. I remember walking past a gathering of people doing this when I heard the words “I trust Biola to take care of me, she always does.”
Upon hearing my name, My ears prick as expected and I listen super closely.
One of the commentators happen to be my aunt so I call her aside to inquire further what the discuss is about.
She says, “On Friday evening, we offered your dad pounded yam and he rejected it and when we asked him what he was going to eat in place of it, he told us not to worry about it and boasted that his baby doc (which is me, last time I checked) will have something special planned for him as she always does”.
???
Wait! Did I just hear “as she always does”??♀️???
Phew !!!
Thank you Aunt.
Phew again.
Upon hearing this, I run into my room, close the door and cry out a fresh amount of tears.
Why was my father boasting of me taking care of him?
“As she always does”??? — What is that supposed to mean and how am I supposed to feel about that?
Why did he reject that pounded yam and come up for my rice that I had not even yet cooked?
Why did he boast saying I always take care of him, when in essence, what I did in place of that was grumble from my room to the kitchen and back about little things like my nail polish and my being tired?
I’m crying and crying and crying and I realize somethings.
That my dad genuinely knew and actively basked in the knowledge that I loved him, enough that he could boast about it behind my back and especially without having approached me with his request.
And that he loves me wildly – Loves me enough to choose me and my grumbling exhausted company over something “special” made by a stranger,
Loves me enough to stay with me while I cooked the “white rice” and cheer me up,
Loves me enough to have boasted back and forth about little and big things about me.
As these thoughts come to my realization, I start to feel that I have done something right in my short life. And by so doing, I have given myself closure. I have done right by communicating verbally and via my actions to someone I deeply care about.
I have gifted them the “gift of knowing”
Knowing just how much they mean to me.
Click here to see more about how I really felt.
I am in church and I almost had to blink back my tears from smudging my face. Doc this is beautiful. I know your dad is in a better place.
This phrase here was a lightbulb moment for me- “Loves me enough to choose me and my grumbling exhausted company over something “special” made by a stranger.”
Awwwn, I feel so honored hearing that. Thank you many times over Sandra.
….And about that lightbulb ? moment, I get it a lot too?
I did shed a tear?but I am sure dad is smiling and super proud of you,I admire your strength biola and I love you????
Awwwn, thank you Oyin? .
I love you too. Ps: I don’t feel strong on most days.??
I absolutely refuse to cry. I think one thing that makes grieving easier is remembering how we made them proud in their life time, no matter how little what we did was. He remains proud of you forever. Never forget that.
Awwwn, thank you Eyitemi. I absolutely refuse to hold back my tears. ?♀️?♀️
As I read your post, I could feel your strength. It takes a lot of strength to have gone through that and still write about it and then post.
May your strength motivate generations. You’ve got stories in you that’d help a lot of lives ??♀️??♀️??♀️??♀️
Hmmm….thanks for this Biola. It made me reflect on the little things my loved ones request of me that seem like a bother at the time but is just a mirror if the trust and love they have for me. I’m sure your dad is super proud of you .
Thank you Chimeremma,
certainly, I grumble less on errands now and just do all I can. And then I got this habit of making sure I say it to them verbally that I love them. They mostly think I am weird. But I want for them to know and be convinced of it so that when I am not there or when they are not here, I’ll know that we both know. It makes me happy doing that.
In the end, love is a really beautiful thing. ☺️
Thanks Biola, Nicely written…. Baba Ade is and will always be proud of you… I remember the pet names, l miss the parties , he sure knows how to throw a good party. Most of all the fond memories. Thanks for this write up.
Daddy’s dearest “Dede” as he always fondly called you. Thank you. I super miss the parties too, especially in a year like 2020. He would have found a way to spice it up for us. That dude legit threw a party for everything possible. Anyway, me moveeeee. ?
Hi Doc, I remember him so vividly when he carried us to write our exams in bowen. He was so full of life and an amazing father. I remember all those stories you told me about him.
I love how you remember his love for you. The love of a father is irreplaceable. May he continue to rest in peace.
Oh my! Similade, thank you for reminding me that we share that memory together. Maybe I’ll have to write about that too. ???
Precious precious memory ??.
I’ll just take a moment, or a lot of moments to enjoy reminiscing about it…. and I’m laughing here about the strange things we found in the wardrobe in that shady hotel ???
Apparently, I have been a story teller since way back ???
And yes, his love was sweet.
This was quite touching to read. Takes a lot of courage to write this. I’m sure he’s smiling down from heaven knowing that you got the closure which was the love you both shared. Thank you for sharing
Onyinye, welcome to my blog. It’s exciting to have you here ??
I’m glad you were touched.
About the courage bit… maybe not. I waited over a month before I decided to share this. ??
Thank you so much for your comments. It means a lot to me ?
Biola this has my emotions all over the place but first of all I must say I’m sorry for your loss and I’m so glad you’ve found closure in it. I’m glad you made that white rice, that you stayed true to you.
May God continue to strengthen and uphold your family in Jesus’ Name ❤️
My sugar, sugar, super sugar bunny ???
Thank you so much Elizabeth.
And about making that white rice, mehn, I almost feel like it’s the best thing I did in this life. I can’t begin to imagine how much of a wreck I would have felt if I didn’t make the rice and had to hear about his brave boast post-demise. Like how would I have comeback from that.
Hmm. And to think that it’s such a mundane food as white rice. (Shivers)
Thank you for this lovely and thought-provoking piece, Dr B. Our self-absorbed generation needs to learn from this very much. Also, Losing a loved one leaves an avalanche of feelings in its wake and often our grief is often interrupted by regret for all the things that were left unsaid and unfulfilled. Regret is a lot harder to resolve.
I’m certain dad is proud of you and is rooting for you ‘as he always does’. I am also proud of you. Thank you for everything, our favorite classy doc!
I know right! All the things left unsaid and unfulfilled can be a train wreck to process. I’m glad I don’t have words unsaid to him. I’m glad that we shared freely all those “I love yous” and all the pet names he had for me. I’m glad I boasted about him and he about me.
There’s unfulfilled dreams but I’m on the way to fulfilling most of them.
I’m really super thankful that I got a silver-lining with that white rice.
The second paragraph of your comment has fueled a vivid imagination in my brains – One of him making huge boasts and noises about me in heaven making the cloud of witnesses wonder who the heck I am. ?The guy sure knew how to brag about me. ???
Thank you Biola for sharing this. In recent times I have had to stretch my tired self repeatedly for family and friends with or without them knowing how stressed out I am at the time, sleep deprived running errands, making last minute phone calls et.c. I feel encouraged and glad that I tried my best.
Your stories are thoughtful and provoke me to think too.
Thanks for this platform.
Knowing how intentional you are Tobi, I surely appreciate your kind words. Thank you.