It’s been three years today
that you went from dust to dust
yet, the tugging pain
feels like yesterday.
Ever in my heart
and on my mind
Forever you remain
the best dad
I could have
asked for.
Gone but never forgotten.
a cooking pot and twisted tales
Thoughts and Tales…A Lifestyle Blog with a Zing.
It’s been three years today
that you went from dust to dust
yet, the tugging pain
feels like yesterday.
Ever in my heart
and on my mind
Forever you remain
the best dad
I could have
asked for.
Gone but never forgotten.

I held your frail wrinkled hands in mine,
They were much smaller!
Now! You were old!
The skin of your hands had waxed, waned and tautened over decades;
Toughened by ages of farming and weeding, from lifting innumerable hot clay pots from the burning firewood, from bathing babies; lots and lots of babies.
I caressed them lightly; noting the veins that stood out more prominently; noting the traditionally placed tattoos and the story behind the tattoos;
Beautiful age worn hands that had nourished,
Beautiful wrinkled bejeweled fingers that lightly applied ”Ude-Aku” on my scalp whilst shaping my unruly hair into a bouffant style.
Those fingers were my preferred hair stylist because, you did not pull it tight like Mama Nkechi used to do whilst making the periwinkle hair-do for me.
Beautiful hands that left my little bum smarting from a well-deserved smack after a misbehaviour.
I beheld your face with my eyes. Your beautiful dark skinned face;
I looked! Looking and looking at every lovely lined feature of your face.
Knowing that it might probably be the last time that my eyes would behold your skin.
Your eyes had seen the Civil war, your eyes had looked life in the face, it was a map of times past, etched with love and pain, with joy and laughter, with fear and worry, with seeing things that I can barely imagine…
Your lovely wrinkled face, etched with very fine lines and tiny spots that had stolen in and taken bold space,
Your crown of whitened hair held in a little bun
Everything had grown smaller!
Your skin had shrunk and your capacious bosom which used to cradle my hair, had bowed to the caprices of gravity
You had aged!
I saw it coming! I knew that it would happen!
But I wasn’t prepared!
The pain still cut me deep!
I wasn’t prepared to stop looking at your age-wizened face!
And when you left, you left with the name!
Grandma, nobody ever calls me Nnedim or Ngozika again!
They were your special bequests to me.
You left with your skin all shriveled by death
And you took the lovely smell of Okwuma and Ude-Aku!
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Quick Glossary For Words in Native Igbo:
Nkechi: A native Igbo name shortened from Nkechinyere which means “The one that God gave.”
Ngozikaego: A native Igbo name which means ”Blessings are far better than money” derivatives of the names are Ngozi, Ngozika, Kaego, Ego
Nnedim: meaning ”My husbands mother” this infers to the belief in reincarnation and grandma believed that I was her mother-in-law reincarnated..
Okwuma: Native ointment made from Shea Butter.
Ude-Aku: Local body cream made from oil extracted from roasted palm kernels.
In fulfillment of Writing 201 – Poetry Day 3: Skin. Prose Poem. Internal Rhyme.
