Grief Began One of the most powerful sermons I ever heard was from that priest who officiated at Daddy’s Burial Mass. He described Daddy as a tall, thin and dignified man. He told the crowd that Daddy did not go to the seminary but he knew the finer points of theology by instincts; that He did own an astute knowledge of God, God’s word and demonstrated a powerful anointing to help people and situations. Even though I was too young to reason, I was nodding in agreement to his accolade to this man that pissed out the things that formed me. I will never forget sitting at the front pew at the requiem mass with all my siblings and my mother dressed in white cloths. Uncle Vincent was there too as the only surviving brother of my father. The ambulance that brought daddy to church was still parked outside waiting for the end of the service. Reverend Okonkwo, an old preacher who knew my father well as his Parish Council Chairman began to lose his solemn composure and broke out in nervous sweat as he dabbed his handkerchief around his brow. Suddenly, I noticed that his face was moist around the eyes as he tried to recount the various contributions Daddy made to the community and in building the church. He said that the position Father held as the community Chairman and the Parish Pastoral Council Chairman compelled him with the obligation to serve. His sermon made my grief more intense. It reaped my happiness and made me come to terms with this man whose corpse laid in the wooden casket- the man whom I had not known so much at the time as my father, but was being snatched away from us by the cold hands of death. The mass ended after eighty minutes or so. Eight members of Chebenwanne-age grade- his mates came forward and carried the corpse to the ambulance outside. My mother followed and my entire siblings filed behind in accordance with age. As we matched, something struck me. Then I heard the voice of my father bellowing out of my past like smoke from the chimney of my memory. How he called my name with ease than any other man I had known on earth. Even now, I occasionally release a whimper and whisper as I remember the twinge that struck me from the tender age when I began to search for the missing part of who I am and what I will inevitably become in the absence of a figure to call father. All the way to our household the ambulance kept blaring honk sounds that died away my fears for such sounds till today. The men and the women, Christian fathers and Christian mothers, friends and business associates from Ebenato, Abagana and beyond kept singing “Laa n’ udo” as they crowded alongside the ambulance, engaged in a form of endurance trek from the church to my father’s compound. Mother occupied a vantage position at the passenger’s seat in front of the ambulance with Daddy’s picture stuck-out with one arm through the car window. NEXT...
Posted on: Thu, 20 Jun 2013 05:03:51 +0000
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