ONUKABA, WHY DID THE ROAD TURN?
I lost a friend the other day. And I guess we all, the literary and media community in particular, lost a priceless jewel in Onukaba’s death.
In events like this, I am always quickened to deconstruct my mind’s obsession with a line or two of a dirge. And that would unbundle my heart. But in this case, days after the news of Dr. Onukaba’s death reached me, I am still not able to find a line of a dirge to console myself; making me think I had never had this type of a loss before. Yes! never so pained and scorched before. But I have found a replication of my grief and fellow-felling in Azuka’s lines. And I will make these lines mine perhaps they will unbundle my heart!
Hey Kaba,
Its been three days since you found another home at Planet Subdivision. Your feet are prints on heaven’s door. You departed sooner, after a gracious appearance at Baba Iyabo’s 80th birthday, Sunday. Early night fall, after meals and fun with friends, you decided it was time to return home to your new wife and children. You remarried two years ago, six years after Rachael’s unexpected but everlasting farewell.
Filled with great meals and good times with old friends and new acquaintances, you and your cousin were driven home by your driver. About 45 minutes into your journey back to your residence in Abuja, precisely along the Akure/Abuja axis, the roads turned. The sky became starless, the bright moon hid in the cloudy night sky: men born, not of women, but of cruelty, recklessly paraded this alley. You were left to secure your life: The system deserted you that night. You were on your own. You must get up, stand up for your safety, in the absence of state, local security and protection, those hours. Kaba, Why did the road turn?
Monday before sunset, Ebira family, people wrapped you in a clean white immaculate sheet and returned you, near naked, just as you came 56 years ago, to where mortals belong. The earth swallowed you, covered by the clay sands of a mourning small town. Kaba, can you still feel the love of strangers of the village, the young and old, sinners of all religion? Do you hear the prayers and cries of the innocent?. Can you see us?. Can you feel the endless affection from beneath the earth? Can you read our expressions of your exit, gone virile in social media? Kaba, I am waiting for you to tell me why did the road turn?.
Since your arrival, have you seen your wife, Rachael, your deepest love that left at the sunrise of early love? Did Rachael welcome you back to her young, loving heart? You longed for her, now you are in her loving arms, I imagine?. Did she clean the wounds from the accident?. Has she unwrapped your white sheets clothing that you travelled with?. Kaba, answer me.. Are you there, yet?.I know I am asking too much, so soon. I understand you just arrived to the Eternal home. But please, tell me: have you seen or spoken to Jerry Agbeyegbe, Fela Anikulapo Kuti, Gani Fawehinmi, Sonny Okosuns?. Kaba, How far do they live from you and Rachael. Oh!, by the way, how did you find Rachael?. What conversations did you have with Jerry. How far is he from your new home?. And Rachael, you missed her the past six years. What did you tell her about the children when you finally felt her?. Did she ask why you left them and us so soon? Was she expecting you..Kaba, why did the road turn?.
On Thursday, I sent you this picture of us dancing at Ace night Club at Ikeja, Lagos, 30 years ago. It was taken during my 25th birthday celebration. See how young, humble, clean dressed and innocent you looked?. I am still waiting for your silly response: I am guessing you would probably respond thus:”Yeye man, so you still dey carry this old picture. You are a true layabalout”. Yesterday, I stared at this picture and tears of sorrow streamed down my eyes: the tears salted the tastes of our past dishes: from the days we hid you from the brutalities of Military junta, as a wanted man by the Babangida administration for co authoring a book on Dele Giwa, BORN TO RUN, to our musings in our small room at Jamaica, Queens, New York. Back then, we did not have the privileges of today’s interruptions: cellphone, social media: between you and Jerry, we had ourselves, Jerry’s Volvo Coupe and your White VW Jetta. The heat was turned on by Babangida and his men. You were man on the run. Your home became an outpost for the hunted. You approached me and wanted occasional hide out at my Mulero Iyana Ipaja flat. You made my bedroom your bed and breakfast some weekends until the heat cooled off. We were young, fearless friends, bonded by our profession and unafraid of the barrels of a corrupt jack booted military thugs. We were genuine and we believed in a country called NIGERIA. Kaba, where did the road turn….
The cold November evening of 1989 was rude to a new comer to New York City. I arrived New York in July. That night, I had settled into a warm night when my phone rang:”Azuka how now. I dey New York and I need a place to stay….
“Kabbaaaaaa… how you get my number na?…”
“Yeye man… na who else go give me your number?. Na Jerry O…I beg I need a place to stay quick quick..”
“ Okay make I talk to my landlady.Give me ten minutes, I go call you back.”. That night. Landlady (Mother), a tall beautiful 69 year old retired widow didn’t care if my “brother” moved in with me. By noon Monday, you had reunited with me. Did you remember?. Can you read this from up there?. Kaba, are you reading this with Rachael sitting beside you?. Or are you alone?. Kaba, please answer my question: Why did the road turn?.
(To Be Continued).
By Kelechi from Abuja
