I had two grandmothers growing up. My ‘Village Grandma’, my Ikwerre grandma, was vivacious and excitable. She’d celebrate the arrival of my sisters and I in the village with a jump that belied her age. Over much laughter as she sang and hugged and prodded all five of us at the same time, she would comment on who was losing too much weight and who was growing too tall. Her love was evident.

My ‘City Grandma’ on the other hand or my ‘Kalabari Grandma’, the one for whom I write this tribute, was quieter. She didn’t shout over us when we visited. She smiled quietly, fussed gently and yet I never felt less loved in her presence. Her quiet, almost shy smile as my sisters and I poured into her house in Rumola bathed us with a certain warmth, a radiance that made us feel special, tall, valuable. At Grandma’s, you could eat anything, stay up longer than at home, play louder…with the only punishment being her indulgent, “Leave them alone”. Grandma knew I loved Okro and would allow me finish my meal…then proceed to finish hers, even cutting her fufu into the tiny balls my little mouth could swallow, to facilitate the process. She was the only one who conversed in fluent Kalabari with me, ignoring daddy’s plea to speak English to the children. Even as a little child, I always thought she looked at me with a wink of mischief in her lively eyes, like only the two of us shared a joke no one else knew.

There are many things that appeared clear to me over the few years grandma lived in our home, when she fell sick. Her character in her able years ensured that even until her very last days on earth, she was belaboured with eager visitors. It is through these many shifting visits that I began to build a profile of my grandmother. Her startling generosity became obvious, her purity of spirit, that strength of character so evident in her daughters, her acumen, that silent but sure enthusiasm for life, the sheer breath and incomprehensible depth of her love for her children, and the selfless way in which she continually laid down her own hopes and dreams for the happiness of others are a few things I learnt about my Grandma.

I learnt at her funeral, that her husband never referred to her as, “Dear” or “Darling” or the much loved, “Babe”. My grandfather called my grandmother, “Partner” always; because she truly was his Lieutenant in Life.

Grandma you are gone but never forgotten, because to live forever in the hearts of those you love is to never die. Rest in Perfection Mama.