I wouldn’t forget the day we met even if I wanted to. 1st January 2003. At a church I was at for my first time. Our S.4 vacation. Young, naïve, had recently gotten saved and very hot for the Lord.
Usually when am new to a place especially a church, I sit at the back. I want to take in everything and well, in case there’s some drama that I don’t believe in, I can take a quick exit. True to my tradition that day, I was at the back. The guy I sat next to was one I used to see in the neighborhood but we had never talked. His dad, the pastor of the church I was visiting was a brother to our neighbors and they often came home to check on my mum. Sometimes to try and convert her to salvation and other times to just chill.
That Sunday, seated next to this guy, we shared a bible (his) and a pen (mine). Being a small church, people were testifying about the goodness of the Lord for the past year and speaking into their lives for the next.
The guy next to me: tall, curious eyes, beautiful teeth…stood up and this is what he said:
“I thank God because I have started the New Year with a new friend. Her name is H.” and he pointed at me. And that was the beginning of one of the most beautiful friendships that I have been blessed with.
Victor (for that was his name) and I became inseparable. He was the cake, I was the icing. When he was the icing, I was the cherry. He was the shoe, and I, the lace. When he was the pen, I was the ink. He was the dough, and I the filling and together we made a mouth-watering pizza!
It was a crush for me at the beginning (confession, confession). In so many ways, he was the perfect package! But as we became closer, I realized we were better off just friends. We used to write to each other very often because he wasn’t from our neighborhood. Had no phones either. We talked about everything and nothing. We exchanged scripture and silly jokes. I cried with him and he laughed with me. So pure was our friendship that his mom or dad delivered our letters. Unenveloped. Unsealed. Unstapled.
One day his mum gave me a note that said.
“For a reason I don’t know,
I like you with a passion.
Cheers, Vic”
He later told me that ‘like’ was stronger than ‘love’ mbu love is a Christian obligation and like is a choice so it is more meaningful. We became so close that our frequent notes and letters were like a fix to two coke addicts that we scrambled for.
When our vacation ended, we both left for different schools and his was the first letter I got in my A’level. My reply was his first. My friends would ask me who that was that sent me 5pages of mail and I don’t know what his told him about my many pages either. Holidays were something we looked forward to for more reasons than just being at home.
His home became my home and mine his.
My parents became his parents and his mine
He encouraged me to learn how to play the guitar…and I did.
I encouraged him to learn how to sing…he failed.
He baptized me Heaven! Because, he said, my first name was too plain for someone like me. Yeah, it’s not just my user name, his entire family and relatives and friends and now some of my friends call me that.
Just before we finished A’ level, he started falling sick. They said it was something about his spleen. Like the Victor, he was, he passed with flying colours to law school and I went where I am. At campus, our relationship became quite strained. We saw each other less, I changed churches and I got a “real’ boyfriend. I want to think that its because we had grown although I know I felt like I was doing too much to maintain the friendship and in an attempt to preserve myself I withdrew.
Wednesday, 9th May, last week marked a year since Victor passed on. Our first year at campus. At just 20 years, one of the best friends I have ever had and my purest, purest love died.
I talked to him at 9:00am. He reassured me that he was fine and I promised him that I would see him after my lectures in the evening. At midday a friend of ours called and asked to see me. We met and he told me Victor had gone.
Last Saturday we had his memorial service. Contrary to what I had imagined, it was beautiful. We even laughed a bit. We cried too-tears of joy. We celebrated his life and thanked God for having blessed us with an angel.
Am still struggling to let him go. I have failed to delete his number from my phonebook for fear of forgetting him. I have decided to go home this weekend and read the letters. I know there’s still a lot I can learn and perhaps I will find closure and let him go.
At the memorial I learnt:
1. That it is not how life begins but how it ends that matters.
2. And my favourite quote rang so loud in my head:
“This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one: the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap: the being a force of nature instead of a feverish, selfish, little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.”
-George Bernard Shaw.
P.S: 1.this was supposed to be posted last week but you know how blogger can show off…
2. i was tagged but this post was already in the making so maybe i’ll do that next time?
