Images from home, part deux

Contemplations

King of the roost

Garden at dusk

Gentle laughter

Hospital scenes

Images of home

No. 23 Wase Close--the wall around our home

Mummy, my sister's cat next to a picture of our mommy...

the view outside my window

Remains of a time long past

lafiya "it is well"

The front view of our home in Jos

We've spent most of the day running around, greeting family friends and relatives. I'm taking a brief pit stop here but I'll upload a few pictures of the city we live in a little later on. It's so beautiful during the rainy season. I'll try to also provide some more commentary on our trip by Saturday.

...life, love, death, beginnings and the aftermath

(I've broken this blog into the dates of each day the events occurred since I couldn't access the net each day to post entries)

8.4.07

The day of our mother's funeral rushed by in a whirlwind of events. We landed at the airport in Abuja at 5 a.m., rushed to a family friend's place nearby to take quick showers, and then drove two and a half hours to our hometown, Chori, getting there just in time for the beginning of the service. It was raining as we arrived and even it may sound cliched, it did truly feel as if nature itself was weeping for Momsi.

There well over two thousand people who either showed up for her wake the day before, or the funeral the next day. It was astounding. I would never have dreamed my mom had touched so many peoples lives. The procession of cars winding through towards the church that morning stretched as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking, humbling and slightly unnerving to take it all in and to realize that this was for someone I knew, someone I loved, someone whom I was part of.

The service was overwhelming, to say the least. It started at 11 and ended about four hours later. Why? Because of the numerous testimonies so many people got up to share about our mother. I can honestly say I never realized the extent to which my mother's life here on earth had impacted so many. It seemed that everyone had a story to share, everyone a tale to tell of how she had helped to enrich their lives in some way. My mother was mother to so many--at work, at the organizations she was a part of, and in the lives of those she befriended. As we sat there listening to testimony after testimony about our mother, the extent of who she was began to seep into my dazed consciousness. Isn't amazing how you think you know someone your whole life and it isn't until after they've died that your begin to realize that you really only knew a part of who they were. It's sad in a way but it seems to be at funerals that you finally begin to get most of the pieces of a person's life and they begin to come together in a rushed jumble that slowly forms into what, at least in my mother's case, becomes a beautiful mosaic, one that shows their myriad abilities, passions, cares, faults, triumphs, failures, joys, desires, pursuits--essentially all their complexities that made them unerringly and achingly human.

To say Momsi was loved is like saying the sun shines warmly in the Sahara. Momsi was CHERISHED by most who knew her. She gave of herself completely to everyone--her husband, her children, her school, her friends, her activities, her God. As themes emerged from testimonies pouring forth like a rushing river, one rose to the top: Momsi gave so much of herself that her heart could do nothing but give out. She thought so much of others that she rarely stopped to take care of herself, even when she was admonished to do so by those closest to her.

I could go on and on about her life, about the details of her life that I learned starting from early childhood to the last few years of her life up until the last ten minutes of her life. It was incredible to hear and left me filled with pride but also a profound sadness that I had not been apart of so many of the experiences being shared others. Like I said, I could go on and on, but I won't. At least not now. I need to introspect my feelings and thoughts for sometime and perhaps even watch parts of the service again before doing so.

We laid Momsi to rest next to our family home in the village, with Mt. Chori serving as a backdrop. Before finally lowering the casket into the tomb the family got to view her remains for the last time. My mother's body was just that, a body. It looked like her but I could immediately tell it wasn't her anymore. The flame that had fueled this passionate woman had fled, the love that had enabled her to embrace me tightly within her arms was gone, the will that had empowered her to raise her voice up for those who could not was no more. I was glad when they lowered the lid of the casket that final time so that we could lower the casket into the ground. My mother as I have known her is no more. When we next meet, we will be as we should be and we will be reunited to part no more.

08.05.07-08.06.07

We spent the next two days in the village receiving people who came from near and far to pay their last respects to Momsi and to extend their condolences to the family, especially my father. It's times like this that reinforce my love for the culture I'm from; the sacrifices people made disregarding personal inconvenience and gathering around to surround the bereaved family in their time of need for as long as it takes was and has been astounding. Everyone becomes family, everyone seems to want to do whatever they can to help.

In these two days I have begun to understand even more the legacy my mother has left behind and started to ponder over how I will play my part in not only keeping it going buy building upon it. I do not feel equipped to meet such a task but I have to believe that it can be done. I must believe that.

The two hour trip back to the city we live in, Jos, was eventful--the car's engine we were driving in "knocked" half way into the trip; apparently after it had been serviced, the engine oil was not refilled. Another car was sent to pick us up which took an hour and on our way we ran into protest being held by semi-truck drivers who decided to park their vehicles across both lanes of the highway to prevent cars from getting by. In the end our two hour trip turned into six. The funny thing was that none of us in the car seemed to mind. After the weekend such events seemed trivial and not worth getting mad over.

Strangely enough it wasn't until we finally arrived and walked into our home that I have finally begun to truly feel the loss of my mother. Something is clearly missing; it seems colder, less personal, not quite complete. My brother Jireh said it best, "I wanted to turn around and walk out of the house and go somewhere, anywhere but here." It was necessary though, and now I think the process of grieving is finally starting for me. We will see where it leads.

08.07.07

Today has been one filled with running errands, visiting people we haven't seen in months (some in years), receiving more well wishers, checking my email (and being so touched by the messages of condolences I've received there); basically trying to squeeze in as much as we can in the next few days we have before we fly out early Saturday morning. We've been downtown to exchange money, met with old classmates and family friends, been to the old compound we first lived on when we moved back to Nigeria in 1980 and hung out at some of the old joints we used to go to.

Hopefully I'll be able to post pictures of some of these places and other sights for everyone who wants to to see over the next couple of days. If I can't get to it they'll definitely be up a few days after we get back this weekend.

Dearest Momsi...I miss you so much

Our mother passed away very suddenly a few days ago, on the 30th of July to be exact. My brother and I are on our way to Nigeria right now, and I decided to post this while we're in the midst of a ten hour layover in Heathrow. We wouldn't be here if wasn't for the amazing generosity and love displayed by our friends who are in every family to us. Thank you all so much for everything all of you have done to enable us to fly back to be with our family in Nigeria. My family and I will never be able to fully express our full gratitude. So many of you sacrificed time and money to help us and, most importantly, your prayers have been what has borne us through this time of shock, sorrow and sadness. Thank you and we love all of you.

I wish all of you would have been able to meet our mother while she was still with us, but I'm comforted in the knowledge that one day you will. I'm sharing a few words I wrote to be placed in the program for my mother's funeral this Saturday below. For once, words did not flow as I wish they would but I still hope what you read will give you an inkling of what an amazing mother Rifkatu Patience Kore was and is.

If I'm able to provide updates here while we're in Nigeria I will. If not we look forward to seeing most of you after we return, Lord willing, on the 11th.

She sleeps. My mother sleeps. She sleeps the sleep of the righteous; she sleeps the sleep of one beloved by God. My mother was the epitome of the woman described in Proverbs 31—we had full confidence in her, she brought good to those who knew her, her hands were always diligent, her heart warm, her table covered with delicious food, her smile welcoming, her mind engaging, her laugh infectious, her compassion astounding.

My mother sleeps. She sleeps the sleep of a daughter at peace in the arms of her Father; she sleeps the content sleep of one who has finished a race run well. Our mother rejoices with those who have gone before her, reunited with so many she loves. This beautiful woman, this wondrous wife and magnificent mother, has been ushered into the presence of her Maker and now abides in the place of perfect Peace, unconditional Love and unsurpassed Joy.

I miss you mother, I miss you so much but I take comfort in the knowledge that you live on in our hearts; that your love for us was the fierce love of a mother who wishes for nothing but success for her children; that your passion for life and for others continues to shine before us as a beacon to light our way; that your desire to know Jesus each day has become an example for all of us to live by.

So mother, we bid you farewell with hearts heavy with sorrow and yet filled with the hope of a Joy we will one day feel when time has tempered pain and we can once again can laugh as we reminisce over the days we were privileged to have you in our midst. Rest assured when we remember you we will always echo these words found in Proverbs:

Her children arise and call her blessed;
Her husband also, and he praises her:
“Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all.”

We will meet again one day but until then may my path, indeed, may the path of all of us who have been touched by you, be a testimony to how you lived your life on earth—to bring glory to our Savior.

I love you Mama.

Your son,
Weykyoi Victor