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Uncle Charlie... by yuzedo: 1:00pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
GOODBYES REALLY ARE THE WORST For a long time, I have put off writing an eulogy for a man I regarded as my father and friend. I cannot tell if my unwillingness is the result of grief, or rather, questions about the legitimacy of my grief in relation to that of his two sons, my bosom friends and brothers, Dumebi and Nomso, for you see, if the death of their biological father can hurt me so much, even till tomorrow, how much more is the sorrow they feel and will continue to bear till their last days, and what right do I have to claim to feel anything akin to their pain when mine can be at best described as a secondary pain? LOVE, RESPECT AND THE PRECIOUS NOSTALGIA OF BLESSED MEMORIES My earliest consciousness of life and family involved our sole neighbors, the Ochugbuas’. Growing up and sharing experiences, it was not hard to tell that they were a trusted extension of our family, for in an age where we were admonished not to eat or receive gifts from outsiders, no such caution extended to them. I remember a lot of kind deeds by Uncle Charles, or Papa Nomso as he was fondly called, and for the life of me, cannot recall any instance of ill-will or characteristic adult malevolence on his part. Personally, many fond memories exist of his good-natured and accommodating personae. Perhaps, my favorite two include: - His alarmed reproach of me trying to set off what looked like a stick of dynamite in their apartment - The occasion of delivering my elaborately wrapped birthday present to Nomso that turned out to be a lone potato. Every rascally antic of mine was ultimately brushed aside with a hearty, elongated bout of laughter on his part. He called me a rascal a lot; with much fondness, perhaps a tinge of trepidation too, but always tempered with an appreciation for my juvenile tomfoolery, trusting I meant no harm and would grow out of it eventually, as I rightly did. I remember fondly, occasions of his temporary adoption of me, including our trip to Kankon, on the outskirts of Lagos to visit Dumebi in Boarding School. I was always welcomed for sleepovers at their Ojodu home when they finally moved in the 2000s from the building we shared for two decades, and there were the sincere invites to Asaba which I had hoped to honor as soon as feasible. You can imagine my sadness at arriving Asaba earlier in the year to participate in his utterly unanticipated funeral, rather than spend quality time enjoying his wonderful company and hospitality. Life indeed throws the cruelest curve-balls! THE ESOTERIC ONE Papa Nomso had an excellent appreciation of the arts. His sense of music was second to none, and I particularly loved his extensive Jazz collection. His paintings and other mundane memorabilia collected over his years of travel, including a very fascinating sheathed sword, intrigued me to no end, and growing up we could not resist the temptation of regularly utilizing this wonderful article in our dexterous simulations of valiant warriors and swordsmen on glorious quests. Papa Nomso held his own in the kitchen. It was his forte, and he relished the daily opportunity to whip up ever-perfect magic for his boys and guests. I remember the utter embarrassment and total lack of fidelity on my part on account of my understandable preference for his cooking to that of my home. You must understand at this point that it was only natural that exposure to his Michelin-quality meals would turn anyone against his kin. We often talked about the possibility of commencing a small restaurant or food-service business which I was convinced beyond doubt would be an instant hit. Uncle Charlie’s Kitchen never happened. Alas. TRANSITION We last spoke when I called him as is customary on his November 14 birthday. He was gone in a month. I never got the opportunity to send yuletide felicitations, or to express the depth and profundity of my appreciation and respect for exposing me to such high standards of fatherhood as he had done. He knew, no doubt, and the feeling was mutual, but voicing it over and again would have been the validation which while admittedly redundant, should undeniably have offered some heartwarming value, regardless. In hindsight, I think that this is my only regret; that I never asked him how he did it; how he achieved a perfect score at fatherhood, because that was the basis for my unflinching esteem of him - his absolute and infinite devotion to his sons. I make bold to say that I never met any father who did a better job considering the circumstances. Most would take for granted the near impossibility of a man being able to simultaneously function as a father AND friend. He raised his sons SINGLE-HANDEDLY from the ages of eight and ten years respectively. He won at fatherhood. It was with the greatest honor that I read the third and final lesson at his Service of Songs, alongside his other sons. The burial saw me say the most painful goodbye I have ever said in my life, complete with all the choking, blurry emotions that come with the cheerless experience. And I realize going forward that even the unshakable conviction of his heaven-dwelling status is barely enough mitigation against the ubiquitous pain and sense of loss that will perpetually remain in our hearts at his untimely departure from this world of fleeting pleasures and interminable strife. We pretended to be strong at your funeral. But it was the hardest day of our lives, our faux-strength only necessary to fulfill the final rite of honoring you with anguished goodbyes. There were several testaments to your goodness and blessed impact in the lives of old and young, just as members of your club turned up en-masse to pay you full honors, as you so rightly deserved. BY GOD, WE MISS YOU VERY MUCH. Love, ALWAYS. 103 Likes 2 Shares |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Dyt(f): 1:01pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by yuzedo: 1:07pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
The pain of not being fully relieved of grief.... Of an inability to let it all out. Of thinking everyday of the faithful departed, but more, of those left behind, without "adequate" comfort... Some crosses are heavy. ..... Peace to all those mourning, amen. 30 Likes 2 Shares |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Aspireahead(m): 1:08pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
oga Yuzedo. make i book space before i read. no vex |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by vjsmiles: 1:11pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
BET MY XጸX 99.1/2% OF NAIRALANDERS WONT READ ALL THAT 15 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nobody: 1:18pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
Accept my sincere condolences. Death be not proud. 5 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Vivly(f): 1:46pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
vjsmiles:And it's this 99% that is giving the rest a bad name Abi? |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by bellong: 1:46pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
Uncle Charles was indeed a great man and a great father. For being a great mentor to you and his children, it is a testimony to the fact that there are many wonderful fathers out there. Op, please accept this heartfelt condolence and May his soul rest in peace.... He touched a life in you and I believe he touched many others... 4 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Royver(m): 1:55pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
Sorry for your loss. It beats my imagination why I haven't read a story from you in the literature section. 17 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Atk01(f): 2:16pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
I'm sorry for your loss, Rip to Uncle Charlie... |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nobody: 2:24pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by vjsmiles: 2:30pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by ichidodo: 2:38pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
We all must go someday....Our condolensces....R.I.P Mr Charlie.. 2 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by yuzedo: 2:39pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
The usual evening conversation between my mother and I while she cooked was interrupted at 7 o’clock. Opening the door to our flat, I let in an extremely downcast Nomso, who upon greeting my mom, asked for my presence in their home on his dad’s request. I was perturbed! As the official neighborhood rascal and serial mischief-maker, I could hardly keep track of which debauchery committed was responsible for my summoning, and Nomso’s stoic countenance and reticence was not helping my frantic recollection efforts. We arrived their downstairs apartment in less than a minute, and my heart thumped as Papa Nomso welcomed me with a forced cheeriness, his pseudo-joviality being an attempt at keeping me relaxed. I knew from painful experience that it was most definitely the usual grown person trick to lull me into a false sense of security and so kept my guard up, even as my brain stayed churning plausible excuses and alibis to utilize in the inevitable eventuality of whatever accusation(s) being thrown at me. Dumebi, the second son and my playmate stood morose in a corner, devoid of his customary liveliness. I knew this was big. “Dimma, how was school today?” Papa Nomso asked. “Fine?” I responded tentatively. School was NEVER fine, after all, and surely, I was not there to discuss the goodness of education. Or was I? As if reading my thoughts, Papa Nomso continued, “I know you are busy helping your mom upstairs and I don’t want to keep you for long. You see, your friends and I are reviewing their homework and can’t get past a particular math question. Want to know if you can help?” Simultaneous feelings of relief at not being called out to answer war crime charges, and amplified anxiety at the strong possibility of failing whatever Rocket Science that my friends could not answer immediately took hold of me. However, I knew I was not being given a choice as to whether I wanted to answer on not; I was there to either console or fuel the anger of Papa Nomso on account of his sons’ temporary lack of wit, and probably give him reason to tear at the falling academic standards characterized by our collective obtuseness. I nodded my readiness to attempt this great, perhaps cancer-curing equation I would be required to solve. I didn’t feel very optimistic. “What is a quarter of one hundr………. If a boy has a hundred kobo and is asked to divide it amongst four friends, how much would each person get?” For a second I stared in confusion. Confused, not at difficulty of the question, but the utter simplicity. My rapidly gaping mouth and expression of ridiculous confoundment must have given my friends a false sense of hope as they silently willed me to fail the question, even as their dad looked on in that second that lasted forever. “Twenty-five kobo.”, I answered with a mixture of assured conviction and lingering doubt as to the true motive of what was surely a trick question. Papa Nomso vibrated with what was undoubtedly a cocktail of emotions including righteous anger, happiness, pride, disappointment and the sweet, sweet feeling of justification for what(ever) course of action he was going to take next. These feelings were so overwhelming, he couldn’t contain himself as he rushed towards me, hands outstretched to shake mine, and concomitantly reaching to hug me. Dumebi and Nomso cursed me in crestfallen despair, surely weeping in their hearts. The next few seconds saw me being hastened out of the house by a man who needed immediate gratification through the expression of a well of emotions. A man who, neither for all the silver in the world, nor all the entreaties of its noblemen would deviate or reconsider his next course of action. His exact feelings needed conveyance, and a second’s delay could not be afforded. I said a prayer for my friends. But even I knew it was futile. I got back upstairs just as the first peal of thunder broke the tranquility of the night. It was as strange as it was ironic, given that the weather remained as clement as paradise is imagined to be. Rapid claps of cannon-sounding, pain-dispensing cane lashes interjected by the anguished cries of two young souls in torture rent the air. It was a deadly day. The thrashing was not the only stiff measure Papa Nomso took against the boys, as their TV and video gaming privileges were withdrawn, as were the daily Mr. Biggs treats. He personally undertook their coaching on an intensive scale. Result of that vehement intervention? Dumebi left me behind the next year when he achieved an effortless double-promotion in a special exam at our school, which I spectacularly bungled. Nomso was admitted on merit to Federal Government College, Warri to commence his secondary education. ME? My backside remained welt-free for the duration of my education, and I went ahead to not only supply the last four digits in Pi, but was also responsible for finally bringing peace to the Middle East. Ya. **insert visuals of my most idiotic, drooling face here** # 65 Likes 12 Shares |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nobody: 3:53pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
Long live Nairaland. Modified: I said Long live S B A N. Which one i come go see nairaland? Modified: Finally. I knew this will make fp one day. 1 Like |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nobody: 8:05pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
yuzedo: Living in a hazy world of uncertainty and authority somewhat defines childhood, we grow to revere the exceptional men who afforded us their time, consideration and understanding during this vulnerable and colourful period of our making. My condolences, your eulogy's beautiful. 5 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Sleekyshuga(f): 9:32pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
My heart felt condolence.. |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by BuddhaPalm(m): 10:10pm On Mar 04, 2015 |
yuzedo: I want to be like you when I grow up... 3 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nmeri17: 12:15am On Mar 05, 2015 |
yuzedo can play with English Language sha 27 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nobody: 12:41am On Mar 05, 2015 |
It is so nice to read such eloquent English. English when used properly paints such a wonderful picture. So sorry for the loss f your wonderful uncle. There are some people who have such good spirits, leave a hole in the lives of everyone when they pass on, my uncle Dolapo being one, sun re o 9 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nobody: 7:59am On Mar 05, 2015 |
So sorry for your loss darling, hugs and kisses. may his beautiful soul rest in peace |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nobody: 10:59am On Mar 05, 2015 |
All I see is beautiful writing sorry for your loss 3 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by UjSizzle(f): 6:13pm On Mar 05, 2015 |
I'm sorry this hurts *hugs* |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Springz(f): 11:18pm On Mar 05, 2015 |
yuzedo: 1 Like |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by cococandy(f): 11:25pm On Mar 05, 2015 |
Sorry about your loss yuzedo. |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by plat0: 11:44pm On Mar 05, 2015 |
Sorry for your loss sir. |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Yeske: 7:48am On Mar 06, 2015 |
Yuzedo, sorry for your loss. May God grant everyone your uncle left behind the fortitude to bear his loss. You are a wonderful writer. 2 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nobody: 10:09am On Mar 06, 2015 |
This writing style gives me the smiles. Sorry 4 ur loss. 3 Likes |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Wendy80(f): 11:23am On Mar 06, 2015 |
Condolence dear n Rip Papa Nonso |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Deejavuu(f): 11:33am On Mar 06, 2015 |
Wow! .RIP to your loss.. Your writing skill is beautiful.you know how to play with words |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Bootybuttchic(f): 3:18pm On Mar 06, 2015 |
Sorry bro,may God reward hm even in the afterlife |
Re: Uncle Charlie... by Nobody: 4:38pm On Mar 06, 2015 |
I just like Yuzedo's online personality.. He could be playful but knows when to draw the line... Sorry for your loss bro.. 5 Likes |
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