By Uche Anichukwu
I am penning this piece just a few minutes before 12 midnight, November 1, 2025. It is also a few minutes to the first anniversary of the passing of the great lioness, the late Senior Mother-in-Israel Josephine Mgborie Anichukwu (nee Anyianuka-Orji). October 2024 was a particularly trying period for our family, as our dear mother, fought valiantly for dear life. At about this time of the night last year, I made to go to my residence to shower, change to something else, and return to the hospital quickly. I had not showered all day. I was already downstairs, but somehow, I could not put myself beyond the door. Something in me pulled me back to my mother’s bedside.
Back to her bedside, I sat quietly by Mama and I played one of her favourite hymns – Almighty Jah Jehovah, the freely giver of old… proclaim thy wonderful works. She was a member of the Eternal Sacred Order of the Cherubim and Seraphim. Although Mama was unconscious, I knew she was listening.
Suddenly, Mama seemed not to be breathing again. I called out to my brother, Nnaemeka, who was also with her. He was taking his bath. I alerted the nurse stationed just in front of the room. She did one or two things and quickly called the doctor on night duty. After examining her, checking her pulse and all, he mentioned something to the nurse, who drew the bedsheet to cover the Lioness.
Thank God for the disbelief which hit me first. Otherwise, I wonder if I could have survived the shock of losing my mother, unable to put up a fight, unable to defend the daughter of the Irokos, unable to at least chop off the right ear of the grim reaper just like Peter did to Malchus during Christ’s arrest. As far as I was concerned, it appeared like a drama, or perhaps, just a nightmare.
A similar thing happened to me when I learnt of the passing of my father, the late Rabbi (Chief) Gabriel Nworie Anichukwu. He joined the saints on 15th October 1995. I had just finished my second semester, year one, examination in the university. As far as I was concerned, they did not know what they were saying. Perhaps it was just a movie scene being rehearsed. I just sat quietly and listened, confused and tensed. Somehow, I just did not believe the news. Or better put, I was too shell-shocked to come to terms with the reality. I could not even cry immediately.
In the case of Mama, it was not until I saw her being wheeled out of the ward, covered in white bedspread that I broke down uncontrollably like a child. The words Shakespeare put in the mouth of Mark Antony’s in “Julius Caesar” tore through my heart: “O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low, Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well.” Truth is, I never really believed death could conquer her.
Mama barred us from informing anyone, including our larger family, that she was hospitalised. She was a strong woman, who obviously did not want to be seen in her weak state. But before she left our hometown, Nomeh, to Enugu, she had spoken with Amoge (my first cousin), Madam Vicky (a family friend) and a few others detailing to them the people she gave our individual and family parcels of land to farm. Amoge, said the last time she visited Nomeh before Mama’s death, she was forced to tell Mama that she was scaring her be the story and details she was dishing to her. Mama asked her if she (Amoge) was a child. Again, Mama had also promised my younger brother, Onyekachi (Omego), who lives overseas, that she would wait to see and cuddle her grandchildren. Yet she would remind him that she had brought him up to be strong and assured him that she would always watch over us. In retrospect, I think Mama prepared us for her departure, just that we were too carried away by our love for her, our determination to keep here, to read in-between the lines. The rest is history.
Death closes all, as Alfred Lord Tennyson puts it. But it would never close the fond memories our parents left behind or the extreme sacrifices they made to see us through life. As I stated in my tribute during Mama’s funeral in February 2025, “Mother Josephine Anichukwu: And My Mama Departs in a Blaze of Glory” (https://www.thisdaylive.com/2025/03/01/mother-josephine-anichukwu-and-my-mama-departs-in-a-blaze-of-glory/), one of our greatest gifts in life is to be parented by teachers. I urge the reader to click on the link to know more about my mother.
A combination of their attributes helped in shaping us. Both were great disciplinarians in different ways. Mama would pursue after you until she caught and flogged you like a masquerade. Papa, on the other hand, would allow you to run all you wanted, then wake you up in the middle of your sleep in the dead of the night. He would recount your “sins” and proceed to give it to you “woto-woto”, as the Nigerian parlance goes. Again, while Papa did not beat often, each of his therapies lasted you till the next season.
They both believed that as a teacher’s child, you should be a shining example to others. So, if we fell into punishment at school (at least one of them was always in the same primary school that we attended), you would get a double portion of discipline. On one occasion, our father flogged me so mercilessly that I could not use my buttocks for several days.
Our father was a highly principled person, who stood for what was right. He was a Returning Officer during the heady days of the 1983 general election. Some group of gun-wielding thugs from one of the two popular parties stormed the voting centre. They wanted him to alter the results, to which he stubbornly refused. Mama’s rigid principles are also well known.
From childhood, they taught us many deep things about life. They taught us to run away from injustice. They taught us the sanctity of human life and the sacredness of human blood. They taught us the efficacy of prayers. They taught us absolute trust in God and I can attest that there is nothing beyond God. Nothing! He has been our help in ages past and remains our hope in years to come.
They equally taught us that hard work pays. As a headmaster, father marked his teachers’ lesson notes like examination scripts. From time to time, he would also go from class to class, along the corridors to monitor them as they taught their classes. At a point, I lived with him at Ozalla, in present day Nkanu West Local Government Area. Whenever he was sick, I would beg him not to go to work the next day. He would agree. But by 7am, he would mount his Suzuki motorcycle and ride off to work. If I tried to protest, he would say, “Boy, duty is duty.” Many years after his demise, I learnt from one of his teachers that they actually called him Duty is Duty behind him.
Likewise, our mother refused to spend any reasonable time anytime she visited her children in the township. She would tell you that her children (pupils) would be like sheep without a shepherd. We fought over this on several occasions. Till her death, she remembered and called every one of her former pupils by his or her full name, even when some of them had become grandmothers. She had this everlasting bond with them.
They valued education and learning so highly. Father was cerebral. Each time he took us to Agbani for Children’s Day or Independence Day celebrations, his colleagues and school mates would usually say, “I hope you are as intelligent as your father?” Father disliked bad grammar and academic laziness and pretences. Sometime during my secondary education, the idea of speaking like the Whiteman became quite popular. I tried to converse with dad like an Oyibo as we returned from evening church service. He turned and asked me why I was sounding “hio hio hio” like someone with a broken nose. I still laugh so hard each time I remember the incident.
Following father’s demise in 1995, the entire weight of seeing us through our education fell on our mother’s shoulders. She literally overworked herself in the process. As my earlier-referenced tribute shows, she was the type that would even give her own life for her children to live and succeed.
They taught us service to one’s community. They served Nomeh in various capacities. Father served as Secretary of Nomeh Development Union at a point, while mother served as the Financial Secretary of Nomeh Unateze United Women Association. They initiated what metamorphosed today into Nomeh-Unateze Maternity Health Centre.
Today is exactly a year since Mama passed on and one full year since we became orphans. It has not been easy. Sometimes, after Sunday service, I make to drive to Nomeh to see Mama, but only to remember that she is no more. Again, several events since after her death keep validating all her warnings and counsels. I am sure if she was still here with us, her words would have been “Did I not warn you?” Yet in all things, God has been faithful.
Rest on, Papa, Nwa Ofia Inyinya Okereke Igboke Anyiomaa Egbo Ogbuna na Amigbo Alumangu Obodosaa. Rest on Mama mu, Ada Anuka Orji Nwa Onuofu Orji na Njoku Ekwe Alumangu. Rest on Onwuetuegwu. You are both deeply loved and sorely missed. But it is well. Obodo gbara onwe, ochighi echi. We will keep the flags flying high.
To thousands, who stood by us throughout the challenging times of our mother’s death and funerals, we remain ever indebted in gratitude to you all. Indeed, mmadu ka e ji aga.
*Mazi Anichukwu writes from Obinagu, Nomeh Unataeze
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