The death came in the middle of the night and snatched him away from us. That night, he had come home with a loaf of bread and a tin of peak milk. We ran to him before he could step into the house, we searched him thoroughly and stripped him of every penny he came back with. This was a norm.
At that time, I was in my SS1; 24th May, 2004. Exactly fourteen years back.
When dinner was over, Aninze Chiamaka Loveth had gone to bed. Father loved us equally, but we knew that he had this inexplicable soul to soul attachment to Chiamaka; perhaps, she was the last born or he believed that she was an incarnate of his late mother. It's no wonder he fondly called her MAMA.
That night, he was in the mood to tell us a story. He had the penchant of telling Biafra story, from his own perspective though. My father was a good story teller. When he tells stories, you would be so enthralled that you could be trapped in the world he had created with his words. That night, he had decided to recount the Biafra story. When the story became too scary, I ran to him, fall into his arms and lay prone on his laps. The breath of his mouth and nose which fell on my body were comforting, as they tickled me. I would pluck on some hairs I found in any part of his body. My father was very hairy like Esau; very chubby, bald haired, fair complexioned, average height, intelligent and handsome.
Late in the night, he rose up from sleep, with a scream. I left the book I was reading in the parlor and rushed into the room. I saw father in a bad state. He was choking. He could not breath well. He laboured to breath. I held him closer, dumbstruck. When he was not getting any better, he had to tap mother to wake. When she opened her eyes, starring back at her was father, his palms grabbing his neck firmly, which gave an impression that he was chocking. Mother scrambled down the bed frenzily, brought water for him, but he could not bring himself to take anything as he still laboured to breath. He entered into a coughing fit, which then woke Okechukwu Aninze and Chioma Ogbu. The cough was unproductive. When the situation was getting worse, mother and my elder sister; Chioma, raised an alarm. Neighbors gathered. Immediately father was carried into a car and they zoomed off to a hospital.
Since that night, father never came back again. We never saw him again. We never sat down to listen to his sweet stories. The news of his death knocked off something from us; something brilliant, courageous, friendly, beautiful and lovable. After that night, his good memories could only live on with us. I have missed you so much, Dad. You were a father to me like no other.
Continue resting, father, until we meet again to part no more.
Adieu Omegbeoji!
Adieu China!!
Adieu Okechukwu Philip Aninze!!!
Adieu Papa!!!!
Adieu grand Pa!!!!
©Aninze Harrison