Tribute To My Father

Audu Daniel Abah was my father. Had he lived he would be 68 years old today. He died suddenly, in a leap year, on February 29, 1996 in Lokoja, at his last base, the Nigerian Army record office where he soldiered for Nigeria until his dying day. He was only 48 years old. That was one death too shocking. As a soldier he was a million times better than me: he went from year to year without being sick.
When I heard that he was admitted and discharged from the hospital I couldn’t believe it because –  in all of my life, until then, that had never happened. I visited from Kaduna in January 1996 shortly after I heard. “I am a soldier, you need not  worry about me,” he said. “I need to, you are my father,” I said.
I had found work with a school certificate and asked that he blessed the job and offered him my first salary as cultured people were wont to do but he refused. He managed to collect an insignificant fraction after so much bugging which he threw away by buying a dog with it, I was told. He earned his keep and should do for you instead. So proud, that man! That was the last time I ever saw him. He died a month later and before word could reach me, thanks to the Army and undue haste, they had gone to Agaliga-Efabo my village in Kogi, did the needful and he was interred.
Mysteriously the dog that he bought barked no-end at night, about the same time its master died, to grieve the loss of the master, it disappeared never to be seen again. No day passes by without remembrances of that great man. When I am invited for wedding ceremonies and I see old men give their daughter’s hand to the groom, I go doolally: I wish he lived. Times without number, you know, I just wonder, whoever loves me and believes in me more than my father.
I worry to this day and get scary spasms that life is so short and fleetingly passes on, so much that many have died without living their dreams. I appreciate every day now as a blessing by the Heavenly Being. If I live up to his age, I will be grateful and if I live more than 48 years then that will be a bonus.
Today, I struggle to achieve many things that he did achieve and for reasons that I can’t  explain I just think time is against me.  I am still far away from achieving what he did achieve: he had ten children, but never worried about how to take care of us. He  never fretted openly. I have two children and worry constantly.
My father’s knowledge of the arcane was deep. Many times when some insects began to fly weirdly around him when we were young and on our farms (we had many), he paused and thought deeply, “a relative in the village is dead.” It turned out to be true. How he knew beats me.
His death makes me remember my sense of mortality and impels me on to the realization that what matters in life is the quality of life one lives, not how long one lived. Come to think of it, there are many old rascals, aren’t there?
I try hard daily to be like Audu Daniel Abah who had a very strong memory, so strong that he gave us accounts of our family tree without difficulty. His rapid quips, when I asked about things I didn’t know, his bravura performances as a young man and in the Army are parts of my childhood I will never forget.
With him you can hear something and can take that to the bank. He didn’t have money in the maddening sense of the world today, but he made sure we were never hungry, I can’t remember missing a meal and we had shelter, I could follow the Gulf war (Operation Desert Shield) in 1991  while I tuned in to BBC on our Conion Stereo player with the big wooden speakers) and he bought us ‘Christmas clothes and shoes,’ sometimes from Bata and Lennards and, boy, that was something!
Talk about Christmas, we reared animals, but he bought fat goats which he slaughtered all by himself, without contracting it, you know as most folks do today: call the ‘mallam.’ You would think he was in machismo heaven. How he skinned those animals and knew where the intestines were, the good parts and the bad parts which he discarded was nothing short of amazing.
I have yet to ever slaughter a goat by myself. Once I slaughtered a fowl and it was a struggle. Those goats were never eaten by the Abahs alone for he believed in the power of community. Large slices were cut and given to us to take to folks as presents during festive periods. He belonged to tribal associations and hosted multitudes when it was his turn to do so. Have I ever done that?
I learned from my father how not to insult people’s intelligence as human beings, how to respect people but never to allow people to cross the rubicon by being disrespectful when and however they deem fit. He taught me to see myself as royalty and wished never for any relative to take care of his children.
On occasions when I went into his room to say the customary,”baba olodudu” literal translation Igala meaning,”daddy good morning,”I saw him staring at the ceiling and asked,”is anything the matter?” “Nothing, a man has to reflect and plan the activity of the day because time waits for nobody,” he would say. “Time waits for nobody,” was my father’s favourite quote.
Is there a man that believed in Nigeria as much as my father? It wouldn’t be bogus to say no. I believe strongly that most children end up doing what their parents enjoyed barring experience gotten outside boyhood homes. He was interested enough in and spoke a bit of many languages even if it was passable. From the Zuru language, to Tiv, Idoma, Yoruba etc., etc., and even named my sister Augustina after a lady friend he met in Enugu before the civil war broke.
She had a kind spirit he would say, he never saw her again.
Philemon my boyhood friend once let drop with pride that my father bought him a beret. Hell knew no fury for I galloped all the way to mother to ask her why he should do that, for I had no beret. Father told me that Philemon asked him to buy him one, and he had to look after other people’s children, when necessary, besides us. For sure that didn’t make sense to me then but it did later. Life should never be about us but also about  other people and efforts geared forward to care for people should not be in words only but in action.
Who is prouder of his Igala roots than my father was? It amazes me to see fellow Igala men and women pretend to be Europeans in Nigerian cities.
Friendship was everything, he looked forward to seeing everybody with that ready smile. Desertion of friends and people was never his forte. I have tried to be like him to no avail for in this city, people seem to be for themselves only and you need to watch your back all the time.
Who taught me the importance of common sense? You ought to know now. You can never catch me dead in a place of donnybrook.
While I still remember, in 1982 when I barely knew the importance of newspapers, father brought me one. The only time he ever did. I can’t remember if reading it made any sense then, but like I mentioned earlier, he had a massive knowledge about the arcane. Could that be the reason why I manage to wield a pen now? I appreciate Audu Daniel Abah, who was my father and his successes whilst here, in more ways than he would have ever been of mine.
Abah wrote from Port Harcourt.

Simon Abah