“Ozemoya is from across the Niger, sister Bukky is a Yoruba from Abeokuta, the Okordions are devoted Christians who are not unaware I profess a faith other than theirs but this has never counted against me before them.”
Immediately the phone started ringing, my heart came to my mouth. I have just finished the round one of terrible tears-shedding before I put the call through to that man of nobility and unmatched humily, Ozemoya Okordion. I have told myself I should have, at that moment, been ready to talk to him.
But how I could ask OZ about the sad news Patrick Iredia broke on Sister Bukky became, for me, the worse of nightmares in broad daylight.
Ozemoya is from across the Niger, sister Bukky is a Yoruba from Abeokuta, the Okordions are devoted Christians who are not unaware I profess a faith other than theirs but this has never counted against me before them.
SisterMi, as I called Sister Bukky, took me as her relative and I was, through this, privy to the love she and OZ profess for each other. She called me BuodaMi and OZ, in return, refers to me as AnaMi (my in-law). How then could I be able to ask OZ about the veracity of the news that his beloved wife is no more? How? Be strong for OZ, I remembered I said this to myself.
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Then the phone kept ringing and, at some points, I was in-between dropping the call or praying it rings out without a response. But, an “Helloooo” sounded from the other end, and my tongue was spontenously tied to my teeth. I muttered an “he-helloo, sir,” a version worse than that of an incurable stammer-er.
“AnaMi” “My In-Law,” OZ began. His voice was enveloped by a heavy tone. I immediately started crying at the sound of those two words and what they meant to the three of us. By then, my mouth, profusely soaked by the heavy rains of tears from my eyes, could do next to nothing again.
“She was ill” I hear OZ say as he continued to narrate how it happened. I hung the phone with a promise to call him “again later.” OZ has, in a twist of happenstance, began to console me (somebody who has earlier called him to do same). Of course, I apologised and prayed before I ended the call but uptill now tears that flow intermittently have not stopped.
May God repose the beautiful soul of SisterMi. May He, the I Am that I Am, heal the wound her demise has terribly inflicted on the heart of her Husband and the children. Amen.
Which human can love OZ unconditionally like Sister Bukky? Who will be there for those young innocent children?
How can someone say this goodbye to this good heart. What kind of bye-bye can one say to Sister Bukky?
Ha!
Olorun o!!
Adeola Yusuf, Team Lead, Platforms Africa, writes this tribute from Lagos, Nigeria’s commercial capital
