Goodbye Grandma

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 By Kevin Kogo


Your eulogy was beautifully written, Grandma, in the exact tone and charisma of your most distinguished character: the storyteller.


I have read it many times, in your voice and warmth, and every time, you are still seated in that recliner, with a space heater on, cruising through Nollywood films and calling out for Cherobon to serve us tea.


Memories—how awkward it is to call them that because many times it's 2021 and you are counseling us on the importance of education, or it's 2015 and we are gossiping about Lenard's reckless drinking habit, or 2009 and you are taking me and Lelan for our first swimming lesson. It's too many personalities, too many places, and too much love to compress into one word: memories.


Jeff says upstairs doesn't feel the same anymore. There is no "Karibu/nyoo" voice to welcome you in, there is no Nigerian movie playing on the screen or an unfinished crochet somewhere on the couches. There is no Bobby barking on the balcony or Kass FM playing on the radio, there is no tablet on the stool or "vitu zako" under the stool. It's the same place with the same carpet and curtains but still not the same place. How come? You were upstairs, Gogo; you were the beauty of the paintings and the smell of wood. It was the copper knocker on the door and your soft welcome voice that made upstairs warm, tense, familiar, hot... depending on the mood of the visit or situation.


You were a good mother and an excellent grandmother. You were bold and beautiful (especially in your reading specs). You lived a good life, unapologetically free and independent.


It's been 1 year, 2 hours, and today, I say goodbye, Gogo. It has taken a while to find the words to pen down my affection for you; it always takes long when they are things so dear to my heart.


Your flesh is no longer here, but your love, hard work, luck, blood, and wisdom lives on. It's March again, and your presence is fresh like it's 2024, all over again. We remember you, Esther. We will remember you forever.


Continue resting in peace, Grandmother.

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