Late Prince Okechukwu Eze.
By Collins Ugwu
What birth gave to us in great joy, death has taken away with a wicked arrow of finality. Oh my dear Prince, a rare breed of God’s fine art, made in the morning of His creation, an original architect of awesome humility. A light of warmth, loved by friends and respected by enemies. The one that calls me Cee-Jay, and the one I call my brother from another mother.
How can death be this shameless and so unforgiving? How can your liveliness, stubborn energy, the charm of your arresting simplicity, and boldness of your laughter, be reconciled to this cold stillness and stiffness? I have endured the ice on my soul, that drove a nail on my courage, since that chilly morning of Thursday September 14. Yet no respite, cometh any comfort.
Prince, you were supposed to go with me to the burial of my Boss, Sen Annie Okonkwo in Ojoto. You were ready and looking forward to us bidding goodbye to him together, as a dear friend of us. You could not come at the last minute, for good reasons you shared with deep regrets, which I accepted with heavy resignation. I was eagerly looking forward to share with you every detail of what transpired there, in our usual consensus of mind and heart banters. How can I get home to Nsukka, to regain vitality from pressures of Ojoto, adjust to the reality that my boss is gone forever, only to get that shattering call from George the next day morning? Oh no now, that was unmitigated sword of double tragedy, a most uncharitable denial of healing, that I know, can only come from the unholy pit of darkness.
Here I have been, unwilling and unable to take calls from George to discuss you in the past tense, torn between personal grief and disappearing hope that what was, could become new again. My faith is shaken by this fatal reality that I won’t see you again, hear you again, and never got a chance to feel your last battle. My hurt spills out in lamentations, gutted by frustrations, because the heart is still poisoned by the vinegar of helplessness, that truly you are gone and lost. The conspiracies of the elements, no one can predict, it’s treachery no one can fathom. It is now certain, our Prince has fallen, and the glitters of our shared commonalities bruised and rubbished. Where lies the succour to your wife and children? What becomes of your father role to your siblings who are hooked to your umbrella of courage, and radiance of pride? Who will rub oil to the sterling steel in George, spark the humanity in Alfred, and above all, massage hope to your dear wife and adorable kids? Just who will do it Prince, the way you are gifted to handle best, with so much beauty in abundance of humour and honour. Hmmmm, Nnaa, Ihe melu.
As I summon the energy to say goodbye to you, aware that your soul liveth now in the bosom of our Maker, I pray that you receive mercy, peace, and the grace of His forgiveness. You have made your exit through the door that awaits every human, strong or weak, rich or poor, kind or wicked. The curtain may be drawn for now, but I know in time, we will all be united again, through that same of death, the inevitable furnace for all eternal triumphal. May the soil of Ugbene Ani village, in Alor Uno, from where the journey began, receive you back in the final bow of honour and pride. Joy may be absent, but comfort is available in the life you lived, the battles you gave your best, and the memories that will linger. Here goes my friend and brother, a Prince of the humble family of late Pa Abraham, wealthy in character and rich in attitudes. Heaven has taken his provenance, and a sinful world has lost a true gem. I pray that everyone who has been under the afflictions of your surreal demise, find strength to say decent prayers for your repose. Nwokeoma, biko jee nkeoma. Dike obiocha, naa nu udo.
Adieu, Prince Okechukwu Eze
.
