Tomorrow, Saturday 15, will be two weeks since we unveiled a tombstone to mark the first anniversary of my father’s passing. Nii Osabu Ani died aged 76, on February 26. We had to wait until two weeks ago because the family advised we do a joint ceremony for him and the rest of his siblings, who departed before him. My father was the last of his siblings to die.
One never fully recovers from the passing of a dear one – the pain is always there; it is the good times that keep one going. Like my mom, I thought my dad was going to be here for many more years but the last time I saw him at the hospital, I knew he was struggling for breath, and I hated it.
Sadly, I was powerless to do anything for him, except to just help clean him up and puts on his clothes for him. My dad had battled adversity during his lifetime and won them all, albeit a scar that served as a reminder of a near death experience at the workplace. He was never the same again and lost everything, but not his selflessness.
My dad was selfless to a fault, and never once did I ever see him disrespect anyone. He was never consumed by the unbridled obsession to be wealthy at all costs. My mother was the same. My mother will question you for everything and anything she saw you with. I got beaten for a few. And though they are both gone, their values are helping me build my life and impact my boys with them.
On our way to the cemetery for the brief but important custom, I reflected deeply about the significance and the impact for both the dead and the living. I was calm. My uncle handed me a sheet of paper and I wrote down the names of all my father’s siblings. It was at the cemetery that I got to know their names, and who came before my father.
We performed about three Methodist hymns and prayed. The priest said some few things and sounded out the names of the departed. We proceeded to lay flowers on the headstone, and we took turns to spray it. My wife also did. We later took a group photograph and called it a day.
From the cemetery, we headed to the family house, Samantua We, where some elders and children from my father’s siblings had gathered. The meeting was to enable all the children go through the personal items of our parents and share them among the children and the elders present. It was my first time being present for such a beautiful tradition.
I do not remember being present for my mother’s but I remember being given some of her cloths, which I used to sew a shirt. I wore the shirt for the morning of the 2012 CNN African Journalist Awards ceremony in Lusaka, Zambia. The nominees were given a tour around the venue, and I thought it appropriate to style in that outfit.
I was asked to sit next to one of my elders. The Okyeame or linguist performed the libation ceremony, blessed the day and evoked the presence of the departed to guide us go through the things. We were all sat side by side, and a mat was placed in the middle. The first personal effect to be looked into was that of my father’s younger brother. His bags were emptied by one of my aunties. His older daughter was first called to pick, followed by the rest of us.
We followed the same process until it got to my father. I got a white shirt and a white trouser. I want to use part of the items to sew a travelling hat for the boys. We wrapped up the day with fish and kenkey, took photos and said our goodbyes.
At that moment, it dawned on me that I have become an adult and would be required to actively participate in family meetings and events. I would also be required to take part in gatherings that my parents used to participate in. And there are also the customs and traditions that I need to embrace and know at my fingertips. I must also not struggle to know the family tree. It is important not only for myself, but my children, who bear blood allegiance to the heritage of their mother.
Before heading to bed that night, I said to myself: “My dad can finally rest”.
