Dorcas

She was twenty years old when I was born. She was also my first cousin on my mother’s side.

I don’t recall my early years. My mother passed when I was two. My father maintained the relationship with my mother’s family for the next eleven years until he passed away. The tradition that I recall was to turn up there on the first of January and spend the day with them. After his passing I tried my best to maintain the tradition.

With time I was gradually able to recognize some of my relatives and tell them apart.

With time I came to learn that my father’s siblings were fond of Dorcas. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they had a sister that shared the same name.

I eventually grew older and moved a thousand kilometers away. I lost contact with Dorcas.

When I eventually returned eight years ago, we were reunited through my father’s uncle who was a co-worker of hers.

The next year, I was to get married and Dorcas was over the moon with joy when she heard the news. When I got to Plateau to introduce the intended to family members there, she took it upon herself to take us places we did not know and introduce us to people we could not remember.

My maternal family are quite the hospitalbe type, and Dorcas was no exception.

My maternal family are also quite into books. Dorcas was no exception. She even got her Ph.D. just a month ago.

I visited Plateau in December, with plans of seeing her on my way back to Kaduna. I was thus overjoyed when I heard that she was in Plateau for the Christmas holiday. I was able to pay her a visit along with my wife, a friend, and the kids who would neither eat nor settle down.

The following night, I received news that my paternal grandmother had passed. I tried reaching Dorcas and my aunt to convey the message but I was unable to reach them. I was able to speak with them later that day. I made a brief stop to ascertain the situation before leaving for Kaduna to drop my daughter off and then return for the funeral in two days’ time.

The next day, I got a call that Dorcas had arrived with her mother. I can’t say I was surprised, it was after all in her nature to be there for everyone.

Dorcas came back with nearly the entire extended family for the funeral.

A week later, she got her doctor of philosophy. I was quite happy when I found out.

On the first of February she sent me an incomplete message. I sent back a message asking for the complete information. She sent that on the second, at 10am.

On the third, I was on my computer trying to complete a telecoms configuration that I had been on for a few days. It was proving difficult. My phone rang. It was my aunt, my mom’s younger sister. I picked up the call.

We are in Kaduna, have you heard what happened?

My brain stopped. Nobody likes being asked that question. It is an ill wind that blows no good.

I answered in the negative.

Dorcas is dead.

No, that can’t be right, I thought. I will be there, I said. No point having a phone conversation when we were in the same city.

I hung up and immediately decided that driving was not the best thing to do under the circumstances. I have myself an hour to gather my wits about me.

I set out an hour later, driving as slowly as I could. No point passing out while driving.

I got to the house and there were people alright. Her mom was there, as were her siblings. My grandmother was there. They all appeared calm. I was relieved, I didn’t know how I would handle myself if I had found anyone crying.

I stayed for two hours and then left to go home. I immediately fell into a state of depression. The next three hours found me lying on a couch, oblivious to my surroundings.

It’s been a week. Every time I ask how she died, my brain corrects me by asking: how did she live.

I supposed she lived well, because when I remember her it’s with a smile on my face.

That’s how I remember her, and that is how I will always remember her.

Come morning, we will set out to bid Dorcas farewell. At this point I am lost for words, just as everyone I know has been. All I can say is I am glad to have been related to her.

In loving memory of Dorcas Ibrahim Sako, March 1962 to February 2018.