By I had planned to hurry to Ogbomoso to bring Dide back home immediately after her last paper on Tuesday, 26 November 2024. It was her first term in SS2. The Christmas holiday would only come on 11 December 2024, two weeks after her last paper.
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About a week before that fateful Tuesday, I had told her mum—my wife—about my intention to bring her home after her last paper. This was unusual for us. I had called and informed the school authorities that she would need to behold her mum, albeit for the last time, before her ultimate exit. They obliged!
Princess Denise Yetunde Adurokiya
So, that Tuesday morning, after the usual house chores and errands for my dear wife—who, by then, was already vegetative, absolutely at the mercy of God and the available human support—I needed to refuel the car and fix a few things for the journey I had, within me, postponed to the following day, Wednesday, 27 November 2024.
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I returned home in no time after buying some bare necessities from Richbam Supermarket, opposite UI. One of the items was a specially packaged unsweetened yoghurt which, strangely, was the very last earthly food that entered her mouth! Tears roll…
I also stopped over at Jaja Clinic in UI to collect my broken medicated glasses, which I had taken there for repairs. The woman I met resonated with my name, “Adurokiya,” saying she knew one Mrs Adurokiya working at the Postgraduate College. I affirmed I was her husband, and she exclaimed, “What a nice and beautiful woman you have as a wife.” I smiled and appreciated the kind compliment, but deep inside me, I was sobbing. She wasn’t aware that the person she was speaking so glowingly about was at the departure lounge (apologies to the late E. K. Clark).
Back home, Sister Ope had come around. It was past midday. The atmosphere was charged and thick. Some days earlier, from nowhere, a couple of pussy cats had been ululating some mournful lines that only they could interpret behind our window. We lived upstairs in a three-bedroom block of two flats. Those creatures were nature’s voice of a recall—the recall of the Great One on high! But Denise was just four months shy of 52! Pretty soul. Ageless baby face with not a single strand of grey hair; energetic warhorse; resilient bulwark; jungle dismantler!
Princess Denise Yetunde Adurokiya
There she was, flattened on a spot, on the bed—bedridden. A monster had taken hold of her chest—her lymph nodes—a monster that wouldn’t yield to medicine, orthodox or traditional. Prayers went flat, from different denominations—virtual, actual…
Nurse Odion had come to do the usual palliative care—agile and beautiful Ekpoma babe, herself going through her marital ordeal; the two boys must eat—they must live. I attempted to see how Odion was faring with her in the room. My wife had become too weak to respond. Her mouth had been perpetually agape for the last seven days—breathing had become heavier… she could barely see… Feeding was out of the question completely… my darling wife had become a complete shadow of the princess I brought to our home 18 years ago… Unable to bear her looks, a subtle scream erupted from me as I dashed to the living room in rage, yelling and calling on Jehovah to do His worst—or was it best? I just said something…
What followed was Nathaniel Bassey’s Yahweh Sabaoth warfare song on that hot afternoon. It almost attracted the neighbours, who, after Baba had His way, later confessed that they heard me, unusually that afternoon, raising the warfare song and blasting in tongues amid sobs… They were not aware of the criticality of the situation.
Sis. Ope, moved with genuine compassion, seeing her benefactor in such a dire state, burst into Yahweh Sabaoth amid tears and prayers. Odion returned home. She knew the hour was near but, for professional reasons, wouldn’t give a hint.
Mummy Victoria came around—I guess she was coming directly from work, as she usually did. She joined in the last moments—the fears and tears therein. Prof. Oyinloye called. I told him the hour was fast ticking. That “the day may not break!” Earlier, I had called Foluke, my wife’s younger sister, urging her to rush over from Ikere to see her sister alive for the last time, if she could. Anxiety wouldn’t let her embark on the urgent trip.
Mummy Victoria sat beside my wife, as usual—praying, caring, encouraging—believing she could sip something. I brought the special yoghurt I had bought earlier. It was thick, so we mixed a portion of it with some water and drained it down the throat of my dying darling. She was gulping it, but with much difficulty. A hungry body that could no longer ingest food—not even her favourite meal. Fatigue wouldn’t let her move her hands to indicate her desire. But we deduced that she wanted no more.
Mummy Victoria was apprehensive. She didn’t want to return home that night. It was already 8:00 p.m. How would the boys at home cope with preparing for school the following morning, Wednesday, 27 November 2024? I encouraged her to leave. She did so reluctantly. I couldn’t see her off. I was editing a video job on my phone for some pay. I remained on the balcony to conclude the editing.
At about 8:40 p.m., I stood up swiftly and headed to the room to be with my wife. It was as if she was waiting for me to come in before she embarked on her night flight. My wife—a lover of buying and selling, very acquainted with the nooks and crannies of marketplaces in Lagos—hardly returned from her buying trips during the day. Genuine reasons were always handy for her to return home very late to Ibadan. If I was in Ibadan, she could call me at 1:00 a.m. to come and open the gate for her. Be sure that whatever she was carrying as luggage from Lagos was enormous! You would wonder how she managed to convince transporters to help her convey such loads to Ibadan and her house! That woman had inner strength!
By her bedside, as I dashed into the room nervously, I placed my left palm on her emaciated forehead. Her hair was still black. Chemo had lost its grip! She was still breathing heavily through her mouth. By 8:48–8:50 p.m., I noticed her breath slowing down. Time was ticking in seconds. The angels were already in the house! I was worshipping, singing, praying—all at once, amid despondency! Fagged out! Faithless! Weak! Confused! Bracing for the reality of a loved one, my half, my better half, ebbing and swirling away into the air.
Then the very second came. The breathing stopped. I shook her head gently and called:
“Dee” (for Denise), “talk to me. Don’t leave me here, please. Lord, help me! Please, help me.”
Curiously, “Up NEPA” was up and doing. But my wife was slipping away… I wanted to scream… but I detest raising an alarm to disturb others’ peace. I picked up my phone—this was around 9:00 p.m.—and dropped a WhatsApp message to Bro Goodness, a very close neighbour who’s now more than a blood brother, saying:
“Mummy has gone to rest!”
Today, this night, now, is still February 26, 2025, exactly three months my wife parted ways with this earth, albeit, physically. By this time three months ago, we were on our way to the mogue to preserve her remains….
To be continued…
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