Cornerstone.
“The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.”
- Psalm 118:22
Every time we video-call, my brother says I’m frowning, that ‘ I’m giving bad vibes’. I explain to him that I am the product of my environment, and I simply do not have many reasons to smile. He says to appreciate all the little things and be grateful for where we are because there are those who wish they had what I have, because we know where we are coming from. I am to write down the things I’m grateful for.
I am grateful for my mother; Edemma is the strongest woman I know. For years she hid her internal struggles from us and ensured the world did not snuff out our light. As we grew older, she began to lean on us, at least emotionally; she would talk to us and although there wasn’t anything we could do, you could tell it helped. Some days, when she was overwhelmed she would say “All these things wouldn’t be happening if Uwem was here,” in Ibibio, as she held back tears. You see, I was named for my father, Nkereuwem; I used to be called Uwemedimo, which means, Life is Wealth. My mother changed my name on all my official documents at some point and it was not until I grew up she told me she had not wanted his name to fade away. “Let in not be like he’d never existed” she would say.
Nkereuwem was killed when I was two, ten days to my brother’s first birthday. He was shot twice; his fall from the first bullet revealed his service pistol which led the assailants to shoot him in the head. Or at least that’s what the official report says. ‘Nkereuwem’ means Thinking about life. My old name had wealth in it sha soo…yeah. Nkereuwem’s untimely passing meant Edemma had to take care of the two children all by herself. His older brother, Ime, the then self-proclaimed ‘Richest man in Akwa-ibom, stood by his graveside and swore “From this day, your children will become my own.” He said. Ime went on to sell his brother’s land. He also took his wife to the police station to claim the allowance meant for wives of deceased officers. So much for adopting us.
In the weeks following, Edemma was called a witch. She was accused of sacrificing her husband and all the other vile clichés that some families of deceased husbands come up with. Ime’s wife, who we will call P, poisoned her children’s minds. Though they were young, the sting of their refusal to eat her food, or follow her to church, never left her. Patty would pray out loud, clapping in front of Edemma.
“Satan dan fall for ground oh, match am match am!”
“Fall down and die!”
Nkereuwem was alive, and then he was not. Edemma would remember the words he wrote to her in the letters he sent her from the police college in Kaduna, letters she held on to till this day “I do not need to remind you that my future revolves around you.” he’d written “I will always love you.”
Ime told Edemma to find an alternative apartment, that he would pay, another promise he reneged on. “My husband will not pay for this.” Pat had said when Edemma took her to the house she’d found. As things got worse, she was urged to leave their promises behind, to leave the perfect life she and Nkereuwem dreamt of, and move in with her sister, Cecelia.
I am grateful for Aunt Cecilia and her husband Uncle Richard. Edemma took her two children and moved to Isolo, Lagos with Aunt Cece and Uncle Rich, who had a daughter of their own, Edidiong. We would grow to call her sister. While Edemma toiled day and night, doing everything from Interior design to tailoring to selling baby clothes, we survived, cast away by Nkereuwem’s family. Mother would always tell me “Be contented with what you have,” though now I see that while contentment was an attribute she imbibed in us, she wanted more for us. We shared one of the three rooms in the apartment, though our sister would crash with us most nights. They have been a blessing to us, and my Aunt always says we are her sons (cue the tears). I didn’t know it at the time, but Uncle Richard paid my fees in Primary school, lifting some of the weight off my mother. He is a tall man; a calming presence in any room. He worked in a bank and was not home often but when he was, he always called us and tried to teach us something; How to properly sweep a carpet (we burned said carpet eventually sha), how to wash underwear
I am grateful for Thaddeus, or Uncle Prince as we called him. He loved us like a father and stood by my mother for years. On my birthday he always sent me a message “I am proud to call you my son.” I am grateful for the friends who made her journey easier. Edemma has taught us to never give up. Aunty Cece and Uncle Rich taught us to always fight for your family. Thaddeus taught us that family is not only those you’re related to by blood.
I am grateful for Uncle Eteka and his wife, Aunt Nkeiru. He is Nkereuwem’s brother, who couldn’t do anything when we were cast aside by the family Patriarch, Udoh. He, of all Nkereuwem’s seven brothers, reached out and helped in every way he could. He is the patriarch now. His wife is a stalwart shield, accepting and loving us completely. Their children are also among those I’m proud to call brothers and sisters.
I am grateful for Ifiok. He is my little brother, though little isn’t a word I’d use to describe him. He is grand, much bigger than me physically and with a charismatic personality to match. He is one of the most talented people I know. I only hope I can love him and be there for him; that’s never fail him as Nkereuwem’s other brothers failed him, even in death. I pray he attains all his desires.
Gratitude is all I can give, Edemma is alive; my mother still fights everyday. Ifiok has gotten a degree in Accounting and Finance and is pushing boundaries as a creative. Uncle Richard and Aunt Cecilia are blessed, as is her daughter Dr. Edidiong, who is married and has a daughter of her own; my little niece is so beautiful. All those who have aided Edemma and her children.
I may frown all the time. But I am grateful.
