Follow Us on Google
We sing it all the time, especially, during funerals, that great song in the Methodist hymn book composed from Revelation 14:13: “And I heard a voice from Heaven saying unto me, ‘Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth. Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours; and their works do follow them’.”
This is the pleasure of all the children of God, that at death, their works, yes, their good works, will follow them. It is also the doom of unbelievers, that at death, their evil works will follow them.
It was painful, very painful, when I heard that Mamam Mercy had passed on. I must appreciate Nwanyinna, who took her to Aba, for some years now, so that she would take care of her and nurse her in the same way and manner she cared for other people. Our consolation is from the passage above, that people like her, who devoted their lives to the benefit of others, will rest one day from their labour.
I grew up at Ndi Eziucha, Elugwunta Obayi in Ovim, to know Mamam Mercy as an elderly woman. If we wanted to enjoy Usuza soup in those days, her house was the place to go. Her house was the place most of the time, some of us, males and females, made our sleeping home. It included Egemba and Nwabunma, his sister, from Amakwu. Mamam Mercy’s first attraction to us was her ever-smiling face and her motherly disposition towards each and every one of us .
Though she did not deliver any baby from her womb, it is doubtful if any mother can boast of having many children like her. I am a living testimony to this. She was indeed my mother, and our mother! In 1954, the problem I had in my schooling made me to stay four months with Iyam Nchekwa, my uncle, her husband, at their 54, Tenant Road, Aba, so that I would attend Dick Ogan’s Memorial School. In reality, it was Mamam Mercy that hosted me. Aba, being a commercial city, breakfast was only had in the market during the business hours. Aloma, their housemaid, and I, were the exemption. Mamam Mercy ensured that leftover food at night was enough for our breakfast the next morning.
One of the things about her that impressed me was that I never met her quarrelling with my uncle. Nobody ever told me that he met them also, doing so. Each time my uncle would travel, Mamam Mercy and Mercy Nta, his two wives who were staying with him virtually at Aba, would spend the evening selecting and packing with him his dresses. They would also count the unsold clothes. When he returned, Mamam Mercy would render copiously the account of their sales and handover to him the money and unsold ones. I never heard that she rendered an unsatisfactory account.
Attractive, cute, and looking best in her ‘George’ cloths, that beauty reflected in her house. Visit her unannounced and you would notice her gift of cleanliness, even in her old age. I was her guest in the village a few years ago, and the only thing she did not do was to bathe me in my over 70 years of age! She was exactly like Iyam Chekwa, her much-caring husband, who must ask us, in those days, whenever he returned from the market or anywhere he went, ‘Iriekwaka nri?’ [Have you eaten?] I noticed that age did not steal that gift of hospitality. Her house still wore that gab of tidiness, a rare commodity in many women’s homes, more so, the aged!
A patient woman, I recall with pathos, how my mother woke up from sleep one morning, fuming. She went to her house, and rebuked her brazenly. My mum’s grouse was that, in her dream, she carried a baby to give to her, but she was not at home. “Why can’t you stay at home? See, how you missed this baby I brought to you!” My mother fumed. Imagine! Ordinary dream! But then, the only places Mamam Mercy could go were to see Rose Lambert Ndukwe at Ndiugbo, Elugwunta or her dad at Umodinja. Mamam Mercy endured it all, which most women would not, because of her respect for people, especially to my mother, her Ulunnedim.
Mamam Mercy was gifted in appreciating good things, unlike some women. On December 25, 1954, I went to Waterside, Aba, to fetch water and as I was coming back home, I noticed that the public taps were free. After emptying my bucket of water at home, I ran to one of the public taps and fetched another bucket without any hassle. “Nwaa Ndia,” she addressed me, “so, you left the Ogbangbada, Ojionu and all the Christmas attractions, and went about fetching water”. My Uncle joined her in appreciating me. Some wives would have pretended not to have seen me. Not Mamam Mercy!
She did other things that impressed me greatly. In 1967, the civil war had just started, when I visited Aba from Item High School, where I was teaching. “Nwaa Ndia, it is good that you have come. Kanu insists that he must join the Biafran Army, please talk to him. We know that he listens to you. His father and I have tried, but he would not listen,” she told me.
I assured her that Kanu would not join the Army. I spoke to him that night and he assured me that it was not the Army that he was joining but the Biafran militia, which was a mere service arm of the Army. He kept to his word until the militia collapsed and the corps members were drafted into the Army. Thank God, he survived the war!
In July 1973, I came to Aba from the UNN for vacation job. Mamam Mercy was again excited to see me. She reported Okoma to me for his insistence in learning motor driving so that he would be a taxi driver, against the will of his dad and hers. I spoke to Okoma, suggesting another alternative, which was that he should learn motor mechanic, so that his Dad would equip his workshop for him. “It takes a few months to learn motor driving. If you finish, will your father buy you a car? Who has done that before, but with a well-equipped workshop, you will make it in life easily,” I told him. Well, as an adult, he made his choice, but Mamam Mercy was happy that I had spoken to him.
Going through Mamam Mercy’s life, one will be tempted to ask whether she had no faults. I think she did, but the one I know is that she was staying at Aba, almost all the time. We, the little children in our compound, were missing her. We would have loved her to be staying at home all the time, so that we would be enjoying her goodies!
Her Dad gave her the name, Mercy, a beautiful name indeed, and she lived out that name. She was merciful to me and to other people she came across in her lifetime.
For further comment, please contact: Osondu Anyalechi: 0802 3002-471; [email protected]
