My father died today December 31.

![697557_M.jpg](https://res.cloudinary.com/hpiynhbhq/image/upload/v1514706132/wrmpthgwnd9nceewchw3.jpg)
[Source](pixabay.com)

He was staring at the ceiling as I walked into the room. For six months he has been suffering from stroke. He can barely see anything these days and that's why he called on me to hand him a cup of water which was sitting just in front of him.

I came in and greeted him. I picked up the cup in my hands and then as if he could see me, he turned to me and called me by my first name; "Toritseju!" "Yes sir", I replied. He turned again, this time staring at the fan which was hanging from the ceiling and he said the following words to me: **"Don't trust anyone, your best friend could be your worse enemy"**. I couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks after he spoke those words.  I tried to be very quiet because I'm supposed to be the man. My father taught me not to show any sign of weakness and I was not going to disappoint him with some girly tears. Why am I crying anyway I said to myself, my Dad is not going anywhere. We are still together. 

That was the last time I saw my father alive. I was 11 years old. Those were the very last words I can remember from him. Those words hunt me and guide me till this day. The picture of him staring at the fan is clearer to me than any other picture in this world. The picture of him coming home from work that day (six months before he died)  with no gifts, nothing but the inability to move one part of his body. The pain that was in his face as Doctors attended to him one day. I felt that pain too as they took us away from his room. Those pictures are very clear to me.

![3031259_M.jpg](https://res.cloudinary.com/hpiynhbhq/image/upload/v1514707583/n0dswxtp9mrwyy7nr0lf.jpg)
[Source](pixabay.com)


There are some memories of my Dad that I would always cherish. My father was a very generous man. My father would buy gifts for everyone in our neighborhood when he came back home from work trip. He would send us with cartons of biscuits and wine to our cousins and uncles. He worked offshore, he spent one month away and two weeks with us. Sometimes I wonder if our next door neighbors anticipated his coming as much as we did. During Christmas my father shared gifts too much. My mother would complain that he gave too much but I that was my Dad.

My father used to "bribe" us to make us eat "eba" , I don't remember how old we were(me and my younger brother) but we were very little and we didn't like to eat "eba". He would tell us that if we could finish a portion of "eba" that he would buy us coka cola and toys. We hated eba. He would sit in the dining and make us sit on top of the table. We would all eat from the same plate. He would use his hand to divide the bowl of "eba" into three portions. If we could finish our portions, he would buy us coke and a toy. My mother didn't do that. She would beat us if we refused to eat.


![images (11).jpeg](https://res.cloudinary.com/hpiynhbhq/image/upload/v1514706915/epoi0dlkwp4stoimqwmd.jpg)
[*Eba and ogbono soup*](https://www.google.com.ng/search?client=ms-android-tecno&biw=360&bih=275&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=hZZIWsWuMsHAgAbIlouwBw&q=bowl+of+eba+and+egusi&oq=bowl+of+eba+and+egusi&gs_l=mobile-gws-img.3...81488.86682.0.87418.11.8.0.0.0.0.2544.8978.8-1j3.4.0....0...1c.1j4.64.mobile-gws-img..7.0.0....828.VNJmp8Nf7S8#imgdii=zvWAMMJtc-f-TM:&imgrc=VB0ofIis5KkRZM:&isa=y)


I remember one night Daddy came home from Ghana, he has been away for three months. He is usually away for one month and then he would spend about two weeks with us before travelling again. That night I woke up to the sound of Phil Collins, the smell of wine and "suya"(roasted meat). I didn't have to guess, I knew with utmost certainty that my father was back. I jumped out of my bed and ran with full force towards his bedroom totally ignoring the new pair of shoes he left by my bed while I slept. My action had caused a lot of noise and woken up my siblings. We busted into his room and jumped on him. We had "suya" and wine that night. We danced and laughed, totally ignoring our mother would rather not have us awake having fun and eating at night because we would have to go to school in the morning. 

My father never spoke badly about anyone. My father was a good man. He was the kind of man you would want for a neighbor. He would **always** use his own money to fix whatever was faulty in our compound and street. Whenever I traveled home, a lot of people were very nice to me because of my Dad. They would call me by my father's name **"Ninioritse"** and rant about how I copied all his facial features. There was a time that one old lady asked who my father was and she was told I'm my father's son. She just kept hugging me. It felt weird. She gave me gifts. My father was a good man. He left a good legacy.   

I heard that he was poisoned at work because he was next in line for a big promotion. But why would anyone do that?  I never really discussed the cause of his illness with my Mum.  There was a lot of paranoia during the six months that he was sick. Those six months shook us financially and socially. 


My mother suffered a lot during his prolonged illness and after his death. At one point when we had spent all the money and sold some property but his health didn't improve my mother took him to all the places that she could. She told me of one night that all she had was a piece of wrapper and her skin to protect her from the cold and she had to lend her wrapper to cover my Dad. The hospital service was very poor and she couldn't afford anything more because all the money was gone.

After he died, everything changed. We had to stop going to school for a while because there was no money for school fees and then we had to enroll in another school with cheaper fees. As a teenager I would imagine that my father would come back. That he was just away for one of those long trips.

My mother was a strong woman but she had very little formal education. She went the extra mile with her trade to put food on our bellies and clothes on our back. She was a supermom. At first, she got some support from family and friends but at a point, we realized that we were truly alone. I had to man up really early in life. I had no time for the things that appealed to the average teenager because I had to work to support myself aand myfamily. Growing up without a father sucks. We suddenly became beneficiaries from people that Dad usese to help. My mother didn't beg, she never begged. She held up her head in pride and worked hard in her trade. She worked, we managed, sometimes the basic necessities of life were luxuries to us but we survived. Now we thrive.

Every time I hear a song by Phil Collins I remember my Dad. Every time its Christmas I remember that one Christmas where everything changed. Every 31st of December, I remember the day my father died. 
>Every step I take
Every move I make
Every single day
Every time I pray
I'll be missing you

>Thinking of the day
When you went away
What a life to take 
What a bond to break
I'll be missing you
*Puff Daddy*

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Happy New year's eve. 
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