A Trip Down Memory Lane: Gone, Not Forgotten

It was customary for my family to spend New Year’s Day with my uncle and his family, even though they lived about 10 minutes away from where we lived at the time. I remember the Year when I was about 7 or 8 years old, when it was time to go home and I didn’t want to leave. So, I went into the restaurant that my Aunt owned, which was situated in front of the house where my Uncle and his family lived. I enjoyed spending time with my uncle and cousins, especially the two who loved me extra special because we were almost birthday mates, so I didn’t want to go home yet.

My Uncle was sitting by the entrance of the restaurant when I ran in there to hide, because I didn’t want to go home yet. When my dad or mom, can’t remember who, came to ask him if he had seen me, I heard him say he hadn’t seen me from my position under one of the tables in the restaurant. He told the parent who had come for me to go home that when I come back from wherever I had gone to play, he’d send one of his sons to come drop me off.

I think it was my dad because I heard him say, “Alright!”, gathered the rest of my siblings and went home.

You guys, I was elated!!!

That’s how a one day visit, turned to week long holiday for me o.

When I came out of my hiding spot and walked to where my Uncle was still sitting by the entrance of the restaurant, I caught a glint in his eye so I hugged him so tight because I knew he say me run in but he also wanted me to stay with his family. 

“Aba” as we fondly called him means “Father” in my dialect and I would always wonder why I called my father “Daddy” yet called my uncle “Aba”.

But in retrospect, I received so many hugs, gifts, free passes and loads of love from my uncle. He always listened to whatever I had to say, laughing at my jokes and teasing me endlessly with funny stories about things that I can’t remember anymore.

In my eyes, Aba was like Father Christmas who only brought good tidings, lots of excitement and just great vibes. His children loved me too and treated me like their youngest sibling because I was younger than Aba’s youngest child by at least 5 years.

So during this period, I basked in the attention and protection of my amazing cousins and Uncle. I don’t remember spending much time with my Aunt, his wife, maybe because she was always busy taking care of the family and running her business too.

That New Year’s celebration is the most memorable one I can remember having till date. I had so much fun playing hide and seek with children in the house, playing dress up with my cousin Hannah’s clothes and learning how to bake for the first time by watching my older cousin, Aunt Omoye, bake a cake using stove and pots.

That was before everything began to change.

Aba had an injury in his leg or something like that so he couldn’t move around as much as he used to so after a while, he had to move to the village with his wife. When he moved, the children found their place in a marriage, jobs and hustle.

The next time I saw Aba was when I was ten years old, he had come to visit Lagos from the village so he dropped by our house. I remember standing by his chair with my hand around his shoulder for most of that visit; which seemed very short for all the time I had spent not seeing my favorite man at the time.

Then it happened!!!

One night, my mom told me to lock the door and not open for anybody except her because she had to go and meet my dad somewhere and they’d be home very late. In this era, there were no phones yet. Although, I was about 11 or 12 years old at this time, I couldn’t sleep because I was scared to be sleep off and not hear my parents knocking when they got back from wherever they’d gone to.

In the middle of the night, my mom came back without my dad, she packed up some things in a bag and told me to go to sleep because she would stay home till morning. When she mentioned that she had to leave very early so I should make sure my siblings took their baths and other instructions about food, money or whatever else we would need, I asked her what was going on.

My mom sighed deeply and said, “Don’t cry o and don’t tell your daddy that I told you. Aba has died!”

I don’t remember crying or reacting in anyway; all I know was that I went to lay down and slept.

Maybe it was because I never really understood what it meant to die or why Aba had to be the one who died. I was more confused than sad, so I tucked the information into a corner of my heart and slept off.

Fast forward to about two or three months later, my dad gave me a handkerchief to wash for him. While I was washing it, I noticed an inscription on the corner of the hanky so I read it.

It was a souvenir shared at the burial of a man whose nickname was “Emperor” who had lived to be less than 70 years but had learned how to treat children like they matter.

A man who held me in his lap just for the sake of it, feeding me pieces of meat from his plate and giving me hugs because he wanted to make sure I knew that he loved me.

That day, I mourned my “Aba”.

I cried to the utmost surprise and confusion of my parents who didn’t understand why I was crying months after I learned of my uncle’s passing. I also don’t know why I hadn’t cried before but I know that day, reading the words off that handkerchief sort of cemented the fact in my heart. The sad truth that I would never again, not on this earth, hug or laugh with or tease my Aba.

He wouldn’t ask me about school, be there when I graduated secondary school or worry me now about why I wasn’t married yet.

But more than that, I wonder if he knew – knew that I carried these memories of him in my heart, if he knew that I loved him as though he was my father, if he knew that he mattered to my young heart.

When I get to heaven, I would ask him if he remembers too.

I’d ask him if he saw my little face flash before his eyes before he went to be with the Lord; I would want to know if he prayed for me, if he was there guiding me as I navigated through life.

I would want to know what my Aba thought about all the decisions I’ve made since he left this earth.

Was he proud when I decided to study engineering? What does he think of my interest in aviation? My ability to put my thoughts on paper?

All the milestones I have accomplished, my many failures and great challenges, was he aware?

Did he really leave me and his kids all alone?

Or were we always carrying him in our hearts?

It’s over a decade since Aba went to be with the Lord but like when I was 8, including the years before or after that, I secretly hoped that I would get an opportunity to ask the man with the beautiful laughter, the tinkling eyes and the teasing voice if he knew that even if he wasn’t there with me, I would never forget how he made me feel.

Continue to rest in peace, Aba!