All Is Well, Mama.

All Is Well, Mama.
by Kunle Ojeleye

26 August 2008.
We set out at about 630 am for the daily commute into London. I intended to drop my wife off in Catford and make my way to Kent to view some properties. With Wanwa’s death a year earlier, the house became empty and too big, and we had decided to downgrade to a 3-bedroom house.

We had driven about 5 minutes and had hit the A120 when I remembered that the day was my Mum’s weekly hospital appointment. I had left the second phone with my Lebara sim card at home. It was the phone I use to call Nigeria directly as it was far cheaper (10p a minute) than my O2 line which was almost £1.50p a minute.
I was not eager to make a detour back home. It would mean 30 minutes before circling back to the same point, apart from ending up in the thick of an unpredictable rush hour traffic within London that usually meant doing two-thirds of a 53-mile journey in 35 minutes, while the remaining one-third could take anything from an hour upwards. So, I kept the course for London.

I dropped off my missus at work and headed towards Kent. I had driven about 10 minutes from Catford when my O2 line rang. I checked the screen and saw it was my Dad. I picked up the phone to tell him that I had forgotten the Lebara line at home, if they needed anything to reach out to Uncle Sola and I would call him back later in the day.

I greeted him saying Daddy, but before I could utter any more words, his voice crackled and all I heard was “I am calling to let you know my wife passed away a few minutes ago” and the line went off.

I swung the car into the next available left turn and parked somewhere quiet. The costliness of O2 was no longer an issue. I called my Dad back immediately, asking him what he meant.

My parents had both woken up early that morning to get ready for Mum’s hospital appointment in Ife when Mum told Dad that she would not be going to Ife that day. She asked Dad to call all their prayer partners to come to the house. When those that Dad could reach arrived, Mum went into the room I shared with my brother, Leke and laid on one of the beds as the others joined her. They began to pray.

Suddenly, Dad could no longer hear the ‘Amen’ response from Mum and opened his eyes to check her. She was gone. At peace. He called me shortly after, in shock.

Mum had phoned me two days before. She was her pre-ill-health cheerful self. We spoke at length following which my wife and I remarked how well she sounded compared to some weeks before. We thanked God for her recovery, unaware she had called us to bid farewell.

I phoned my wife and told her I was on my way back to her office and she would have to leave for the day. She wanted to know why, and I had no alternative but to let her know my mother had passed on to glory. She burst out crying in the middle of her office and had to be comforted by colleagues, with some escorting her downstairs to the car park to await my arrival.
Once she was in the car, I now had the job of visiting my brother in his Pharmacy, pretending all was well, getting him to escort me to the car park, before breaking the news of Mum’s transition.

Mama your transition fourteen years ago is as fresh as if it happened yesterday.
All is well.

N.B
One of my Mum’s favourite hymns is Redemption Hymnal 385. Verse 4 says:
Nko mo ‘hun to le de, nko mo, Bi nki yio ti se wa l’aini, Jesu lo mo, y’o si pese (I know not what may soon betide, Or how my wants shall be supplied, But Jesus knows, and will provide).

When Mum died, only my wife and my brother had the knowledge I was many months in between jobs.
The morning of her death, my wife and I had just scrapped every penny in the house to pay the mortgage. I had put the car on the road trusting its reliability and the full tank of fuel it had. We were completely broke. Not a single farthing was in my wallet.
When Dad later requested that Mum should be buried within two weeks, my wife became inconsolable wondering how we would meet the financial obligations of the funeral of a woman at which not less than 1,500 guests were anticipated.

Beyond our expectations, God met us at the point of our needs. Oblivious of our financial situation, many people rallied around us, eager to show us love while some felt it was an opportunity to say thank you for things we felt were insignificant and had even forgotten we did.

For all the acts of kindness my brother, Leke and I received then, without mentioning names, I am eternally grateful.

Facebook Post: 2022-08-25 T22:25:19