By Ikechukwu Amaechi
When I came home on Saturday, August 31, 2024 to meet my wife, Chioma, lying on the bed with bloodshot eyes, I was alarmed. When I asked what the problem was, she retorted, “Check your phone.” She accuses me of bad telephone etiquette – not reading text messages and responding timeously – with a warning that if I don’t change, sooner than later, I would miss out on an information that needed urgent attention. From the tone of her voice, I had a hunch that foretold day may have come.
I quickly checked my phone and froze. “My mother is no more,” was her pithy message at exactly 4.01pm, more than five hours before I came back. I was shocked because we had spoken to the old woman the previous day and she was not only in high spirit but also, typically, prayed for everyone. There was no premonition whatsoever which explains why the news hit me like a thunderbolt, even when we all knew that at her age, she was at life’s departure lounge.
