He lived with us very briefly
When I was still a child
My father’s elder brother
When we prayed before our meals
And made the sign of the cross
He teased us, Protestants, about having gone Catholic
When he shaved in the morning
He explained to us the mysterious science
Of shaving stick, cream and blade
Other than that he didn’t talk much
A quiet quiet quiet man
Hurt no-one, thoughtfully kept to himself
Very different from the others
Never preached, never argued, never moralised
Never scolded, just silently observed
Three decades have passed
Rarely our paths ever crossed again
A short Hello each time, nothing more
I’m still trying to understand
The pain I’ve felt all morning today
Since I heard of Uncle Joe’s death
It doesn’t make sense
Someone I hardly knew
Just a few childhood memories
Just a few memories
That remind me of a time
Rich in memories and childlike insight
And a few memories
Of a quiet adult who never found a voice
In a culture of big egos, loud voices and aggression
His silence was louder, calmer, more lasting
So deep that only his death
Would open the deep wound of memory in my heart
His middle name was Ahamefula
Meaning “May my name not get lost” –
No, dear Uncle, it will not.
In loving memory of
Joseph Ahamefula Chukwumerije
1935 – 2013
– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.
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