Wednesday, 25 May 2016

My baby’s second day in heaven

Dear Oge,
I have been drawn from reality in my thinking of how to mark your second day in heaven. This is given that right now I am at a time and space that tests me. Regardless, you have remained with me.
Can you recall when I wrote ‘Beni Perhaps’ and you told me that I had no business being a lawyer? It still tickles me every time. We never thought that lawyers could be poets, storytellers and bloggers.  Well, I have missed you, madly. And half the time, before I sleep I am curious of how my life would have been had you not left for heaven.
Martins Oge Ibeh
I tried to imagine your response to my corn-rows. Would you have shown me Leviticus or called me privately to laugh? Would you have blocked me or shared my photo on your wall? I also tried to imagine your response to the LGBTI rights path my writing has taken to. Would have withdrawn slowly from me or prayed that I shut up?
In spite of all these,  I think of your law degree and how we both believed that you may never become a 'brilliant lawyer'- because there were more important and worthwhile things to become. And that you would pursue soccer, your dream, immediately after Madonna. Though half the time I believed that you needed something hard to make you realise how perfect your gifts were. You did not know that you were half as beautiful, brave and powerful as you really were- and I saw you to be. You did not see that the world was your playground and that nothing should be taken too seriously. Not people, not the present. You were so scared of hurting people and being hurt. So your shell became paradise and denied you the world.
Yet, I think of how amazing you were while playing soccer. I think of how fierce your love was for the men and women that meant the world to you. I saw in you a hero who could learn to be fearless.
Dear Oge, it’s your second day in heaven, and once more I revisit the things that I love about you. Everything. Your temper, silence and introvercy.
I still maintain that I love you. I love you. I love you.

Rest in Peace Martins, it's two years already. Can you imagine?

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