It was a Saturday morning. I was gradually wrapping up what started as a lazy workout when the last song on my playlist let all the emotions loose.
This was the same song I heard the day I landed in Aunty Amy’s (not her real name) house in Benin City to begin my undergraduate studies at the University of Benin.
Aunty Amy, who is from my village and a distant relative, welcomed me into her home throughout my clearance days. Her warm hospitality could be summed up in the nostalgic white rice and Titus stew she made while I was there, especially on Sundays.
When I left Lagos for my undergraduate studies, I was clueless and worried about life away from home (Lagos). It was the first time I was leaving the comfort of familiar faces for an unknown place. I was sad and anxious about adjusting to this new environment that would become my home for another four years.
This song, which used to play on repeat in Aunty Amy’s stereo, became my banner of assurance for me. I was intrigued the first time I heard it just as a village girl would be seeing skyscrapers on Lagos Island.
By the time I left her house to live on the campus, the song had become a sound that would later echo in my subconscious—one that reminded me of how those four years passed and why God could always be trusted.
Because, really, I was not prepared for university life when I got my admission yet my experience was nothing short of grace at work. As this song became a personal anthem, I slowly began to lean toward God whom I didn’t feel all that attached to from childhood disappointments. I didn’t know how it happened but there was just a thing about that song that after a decade, still whispered Phil 3:10-11.
“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death; If by any means I might attain unto the resurrection of the dead.”
But that Saturday, as it played, it wasn’t just Philippians or Paul’s heartfelt declaration that crossed my mind. It was something else. I was transported back to that journey, to Aunty Amy’s living room, her goodwill, and God’s faithfulness. All of which seemed like distant dreams. I remembered everything from day one, and instead of dancing, I broke down in tears.
My journey has not been traumatic when I compare it with the trials others face but it’s been quite emotional.
From being born and raised by a single mother, to not knowing how to read ABC in English at age ten, to the secondary school challenges of being too broke to pay my school fees and being berated constantly that I lost my self-esteem, to getting admission before I even wrote my last SSCE exams, to that university experience, then a long decade of wilderness experience, mistakes, and redirection.
When you look at the details of my life, you’ll see that rather than become a statistic, God has led me through silent storms and valleys, bringing out the best in me slowly.
I slightly forgot and became despondent along the way even though my worries were internalized. When I lost my aunt sadly in 2022, I shut down my whole life and allowed myself to wallow in a heartwrenching grieving phase. Panic attacks and many other health challenges took over and at some point, I began to lose faith.
As if God had been watching and waiting for the right moment to humble me, I drowned in this song as he pointed out everything I had forgotten.
That I never fell sick once while in the university (a big healing testimony for a different post). That though I faced challenges with my student files during clearance periods, I graduated with good grades.
Though I had to convert my feeding money to buy books, he sent good people like Ven. Prof. Oyedeji, my chapel chaplain, his wife and family, and all All Saints Youth Fellowship sisters and brothers to be my support.
Though there were times I went hungry and lacked accommodation for a semester, he gave me friends like Esther and Favor to cover my shame.
That though I missed out on some good life needs as a kid and student activities because I was broke, and my mom, a farmer, had to manage to do her best—he has been writing each chapter better than the last.
And even through nearly ten years of wandering through confusion and indecision in search of a stable career, this God was there.
But I forgot, and I suffered for it. I plunged myself into anxiety, and the one thing that broke his heart— I forgot many of those who showed me kindness along the way.
I was clouded by the worries of life and the despondency of adulthood. I committed the same offense that I once loathed in those whom my mom helped—those who forgot her when she needed them.
One of the greatest pains of growing up was watching my mom live like an abandoned soul. Today, someone would come to seek her help, and the next, they’d be out spreading lies about her.
Some lived under her roof and ate from her pot long before my cousins and I came to live with her. But as soon as they found a better life, she became a shadow of their past.
Sometimes, I hoped, like the one leper who returned to give thanks, someone my mom had been kind to would remember her one day. It never happened, so, my mom never made friends.
I like to think her past taught her to learn to be on her own, coupled with losing most of her family members, being an orphan, and shouldering many responsibilities. She never had life on a platter, although she never complained about the hard blows it dealt her.
It happened that we came to cherish the four walls of our one-room apartment and being our own company—just mom, me, and my cousins. We sang hymns, played cassettes, and later music DVDs most evenings.
That was how music became a part of me, because my mom had no one to visit, and her two (now one) surviving siblings were thousands of miles away in Enugu.
Hearing Chukwu Kam G’efe by Bro Chika Okpala, whose music was a constant in our house, leveled me because, just like those people, I too had forgotten—because of the cares of life—those who showed me kindness.
There was Uncle Tee (not his real name), the only reason I could attend secondary school and get my first job after university (though it soured our relationship). I forgot him too. Loathed how he treated me and never looked back. Yes, I was justified in my actions but I never really appreciated him for all the kindness he showed me.
There was Aunty Amy, whose marriage sadly packed up years later. But her home gave me the gift of comfort in a strange place and a lifetime song. I forgot her too.
There was Favour, my good friend, who fed me and gave me a bed space in year three when I couldn’t find accommodation and was too broke to afford regular meals. I didn’t forget her but I could do better.
There was Esther, my friend for all time, whose room I often ate in during our final year because things were still hard. Esther paid for my final year class uniform, comforted me during my first heartbreak, and was the elder sister I never had. She was the only friend who gave me a shoulder to cry on and stood with me through the healing process.
There was Venerable Oyedeji, his wife, and family, our chapel priest at All Saints, Ekehuan. Many times, when I didn’t go back to Lagos for holidays due to school events or lack of funds, it was in his house that we found comfort as students—plenty of food, DSTV, and encouraging conversations. I haven’t kept in touch as much as I should have.
There was Aunty Ngozi, of blessed memory. I hate to believe you’ve gone to be with Jesus. It breaks my heart every time I remember how your home was my peace when I came to Ondo State for NYSC and how you stayed in touch until a few years ago, probably when cancer kicked in.
That I never once checked up on you until the sad news of your passing, I ask God for forgiveness once again. Our meeting will be at the end of the age. Keep resting and singing with heaven’s choir.
To my only biological aunt, who loved me before I was born, even though I was what society called a bastard. The one whose prayers over me broke the gates of hell and received my life from the jaws of death throughout the years the enemy pursued my fragile life.
For teaching us what true Christianity is and being our matriarch in faith, I’m sorry that I didn’t keep in touch as much as I should have, especially in your last days. I’ve cried until I fell sick, but you continue to sing with the angels. So, I rest, knowing I will meet you again in heaven.
How could I forget Buchi, for giving me my first laptop, even though there was no sign of me making anything worthwhile as a writer? And for being a great friend who gave me a new family and Chinwe, my friend. I’m always grateful.
Or Segun Oduwole, who kept encouraging me to start a blog and gave me free website hosting for three years, fueling my motivation when I was clueless. Segun, I didn’t forget your kindness, I’ll block you later for that treat.
Or Ms. Ini Akpan, from stranger to an elder sister who has my back. Thank you for everything you’ve done and become to me. You know I’ll always be there for you, come rain or hail.
Reverend Gideon Anuo, for all your support in the beginner years. That 20K you gave me for that training I never went for still haunts me. I’ll always be grateful for your career push.
Dr. Paul Osita Orji, my encourager, though we’re now miles apart, I remember your encouragement to keep writing.
And my sweet, ever-present, and understanding family—especially my mom and Nkem—my second mom, and everyone who believed and encouraged me. If I want to be anything great, it’s to tell the world that broken stars still shine when they have you all. I hope to have enough money to spoil you all in this lifetime.
Why are you reading this? To remind you that in the small details of your life are the seemingly insignificant people who held you, helped you, cheered you, clapped for you, and went to wars for you.
Do you know such people? Have you been in touch? Or are you still offended by that experience that splintered your relationship?
I’m a firm believer in gratitude and giving people their flowers when they can smell them because what’s the use of weeping when they’re no more? If you still don’t get it, this is your sign to search your mind and send gratitude notes to that someone who showed you kindness.
In a world plunging into deeper darkness and hopelessness every day, this is how we tell nature that we are different: when we remember and appreciate kindness.