The phone call came in the afternoon of Saturday, May 10. I was particularly tired and very low in spirit. And, usually, when I’m that way, I don’t take calls. My doctor’s advice. “Comfort, drop the phone, particularly  when you are tired. Rest. Shut your eyes. Don’t talk.” That is the wahala I have been going through since the past four years when my doctors began to, literally, run my life.

But this call was from my maternal home, Ihiagwa. I am proudly Chris Asoluka’s “nwa-nwa”. There are calls one does not ignore. This was one of them. So, I took it. After the initial pleasantries which had began to irritate me because the caller kept asking, repeatedly, if I was okay, the next question “arrested” me. “Have you heard what happened, what we are dealing with now?” I paused. He sighed. And added “life”. So, I thought somebody has been kidnapped, or somebody’s farm has been invaded by rogue herdsmen. I mean, those are usually the most current news from the South-east. Many people, including yours truly, have developed shock absorbers to such news. We just sigh, shake our heads helplessly, and life drags on. But none of those was the case. This was a combination of thunder, lightening, earthquake and tsunami. “Chris Asoluka died”, he dropped the bomb slowly. I had no response. But I slowly sat on the floor to avoid a fall because I had immediately began to sweat dangerously even though the room was cold. My mouth instantly turned dry.  I was just gazing at my phone. Speechless. And then, I screamed: “Nneka!”, and cut off the phone.

The news was difficult for me to process. There must be a mistake somewhere, I finally concluded. Chris called and spoke to me just about a month earlier. He said he and his lovely wife, Nneka, just thought about me; that we hadn’t spoken for sometime; that they plan to come visit me in the house; he was apologetic he hadn’t called for a couple of months but quickly told me he had, also, been out of the country where he underwent surgery. So, we agreed to see as soon as I was back to the country. And now this.

This is not true; there must be some mistake somewhere, I consoled myself. Wishful thinking. But, with faith in God,  I picked the phone and called two people I was sure would know. I called my cousin, Chief Martin Agbaso. As soon as he picked and I heard his voice, soooo very low, I knew Chris had gone. Two of them were great friends and each other’s confidant. I was  reluctant to ask him for details. But I needed to know how and why? So, I called another good friend of his, Nick Oparandudu. We spoke. And my blood pressure shot dangerously up thereafter.  After about two hours, I had the courage to speak with Nneka. It was no use. She was “silently” hysterical. I was loudly hysterical. She was in the village. And would come back the next day, she managed to tell me. I managed to hear that.

Chris always wanted to pass on in his village:

So, Chris planned his own passing, was my conclusion; in his own terms. He always talked about passing on at home anytime it was time for him to go. He would, jokingly, we  usually thought, talk about how he hated it when somebody died, and the body would be wrapped up and transported home in the luggage compartment of an airplane. He didn’t like the hassle or the discomfort and inconvenience the process gave family members. He thought it was a disruption of other people’s lives and activities. Just like him. A gentleman of the first order. He hated hassles. He hated any inconvenience to anybody. So, that must be why it took less than 24 hours after he passed for his family to announce the devil-cursed news,  funeral dates included. That was what he wanted. He hated too much protocol.

Morbid sense of humor

Anybody who knew him knows he had a sense of humor. He spoke slowly. Never raised his voice. Full of wisdom. Played with proverbs. Played with words. Held his audience spellbound with his combination of serious points, words of wisdom, proverbs and  humor that cracked one’s ribs. But atimes, his humor can be morbid.

Take these two.

When he lost his eldest sister in London, and having lost all the others, he became  not only a confirmed orphan but the only one of his siblings alive. So, he would tell his wife: “Nneka, pamper me o. If you don’t, I will join my siblings. And everybody would have a good laugh  and add “Nneka, pamper him ooo!”

And this. One day, after a funeral at a beautiful private cemetery in Lagos, he turned to Nneka: ” I kind of like this place. They are all neighbors. It’s like a Community. When I die, may be you should bury me here so that at night, all of us neighbors will come out, sit down and be telling stories. If you bury me at Ihiagwa, I will be alone there. No neighbors.” From Nneka was “God forbid”

And Asoluka was a consummate family man

He loved his wife and children to the moon and back. He had three children, but particularly had a special bond with his only daughter, Somachi. I remember the day Soma wedded. After the father- daughter dance which we thought he enjoyed, Chris came to where I was, and broke down in tears. He asked me for a handkerchief to wipe his tears  I had a good laugh at him, said ‘shame’, and in addition to the handkerchief handed him his sunglasses which he kept in my custody. “Jealous, protective father,   cover your eyes so Soma will not see them red”, I taunted him.

Chris always wanted his family around him. And, without them knowing, he planned it to be so on his death bed. He made sure Nneka and Soma were around him all through the few days in hospital when nobody expected his passing. He was alert; was never put on oxygen; was discussing with his wife and daughter and his medical team. Soma cheered him on. Hung onto his every word, every movement. Applauded him each time he took his medicines, or when blood was drawn from his vein for different tests. “Good job daddy,” Soma will tell him. “Okwuruoha, Okwuru Owere”, she would hail him. And they would hold hands. Nneka will tell him: “You know I’m leaving here with you. Once you are stronger, we leave.” Nothing prepared her for her husband’s passing.

The man and his books, the mentor

He loved books. He authored quite a few. And was not denied the company of books even in the hospital. Soma was around to read for him. She would sit by the bedside and read since he couldn’t hold the book by himself because of all kinds of medical “gadgets” attached to his hands in particular.

He loved to impact knowledge on others. He did that while in the hospital – to his medical team.

An accomplished development strategist, an accomplished financial guru, Lawyer, Asoluka mentored not a few people. One only needs to go to the internet which has been on fire, literally, since his passing. Testimonies from those he mentored are coming in like claps of thunder. While in the hospital, he continued with his mentoring, guidance of his  medical team in his own field and other fields. He was home to any subject.

The man with a Community spirit.

He loved his community. He was proudly Owere, and proudly Ihiagwa – his community. He, always, thought about things to improve his Community, to improve Owerri. The Ihiagwa -Nekede – Owerri road was one of his greatest worries, his nightmare. As he was being transported to Owerri from Ihiagwa a couple of hours after he fell ill, his thoughts were on that road. As the vehicle, no thanks to the bad road threw him up and down, he said he had discussed the road with his good friend, Imo State Governor, Senator Hope Uzodinma and was hopeful he would not fail him; that the road will get same treatment as the scores of others the Governor handled.

Now, the urgent prayer is that when his body will be transported from Owerri to Ihiagwa on July 27, the road will not bounce his casket/body around; it will be so smooth so that Chris will be smiling and hailing the Governor for honoring him in death.

The man with a a kindred spirit, proudly Owerri, unadulterated Igbo

Since Chris Asoluka’s passing,   from Lagos to the USA to Canada, it has been all very moody, dreary and long faces for my siblings and I. It has been rivers of tears. One of my younger sisters whose wedding  Chris and Nneka  were sponsors has been inconsolable. A man with a great kindred spirit, I didn’t need to ask him to be the sponsor. It was a role he offered to play, especially, when he knew that my sister’s husband is, like Nneka, Anambra. At the wedding reception, he was all over the place to make sure everything was okay, everybody was comfortable. Aside from my siblings and I being his “nwa- nwa,” we had a special relationship with him. He was “our big brother!” and we are devastated  by this sudden separation.

In Lagos where he lived, he was in the forefront for the fight for the progress of the Igboman. He had been the President of the intellectual engine room of the Igbo,  Aka Ikenga, Lagos. He was a solid Ohaneze member. He had sort, once, to be its President, to give it a new direction, but quickly, and quietly  withdrew when the office became controversial. Chris was a Federal Parliamentarian where he put his people first. He was Imo State’s Commissioner for Finance at a time where he showed unprecedented zeal, patriotism and accountability.

Dr. Chris Chigoziri Asoluka

Why I am angry

My anger over Chris Asoluka’s passing boils to high heavens. I am not just angry, I am incensed. Chis’ passing is like somebody who had crossed the Atlantic Ocean, crossed the Pacific Ocean, only to drown in a stream.

The questions I have been asking nobody in particular are: “What kind of joke did this guy pull  on everybody? What kind of magic is this? What kind of ‘wayo’ is this?” I am not going to lie that his health had been 100 per cent for some months, but whose health in Nigeria is 100 per  cent?  Who is absolutely free from these silly illnesses? We are all dependent on our medications, on the whims and caprices of our doctors.

There was nothing to suggest that Chris was in danger. The time we thought he was bad had since past by months and months. He was taking his medications religiously. He was keeping to his appointments with his doctors- both within and outside Nigeria- religiously. He was strong. He was going about his businesses. He was playing the role of husband, father, grandfather, big brother and mentor to many. There was no sign that it was his time to be harvested from Mother-earth by the great Creator. He was not ripe. If he was not strong, would he have gone home for the funeral of the Traditional Ruler of Ihiagwa, HRH Eze Lucky Ajoku? It was a funeral he ended up even not attending because he suddenly fell ill on its eve.

Why did the devil-cursed illness not begin in Lagos where his doctors were,  even though I understand the hospital he was taken to in Owerri is well equipped. It would have been easier to handle him in Lagos and/or air-ambulance him out. In deed, an air ambulance, provided by a worried friend of his was ready and waiting. But there was so much confidence in the hospital where he was that the air ambulance was asked to just wait, “let’s see.” I mean, from all indications, he was doing very well. Hope was high. Nobody thought of death. Which death? Then, suddenly…

How did we lose somebody like Chris just when Owerri needed him most. Brilliant. Urbane. Dignified. A combination of good looks, brain, wisdom. Chai!

What a waste!! And I don’t mean that his life was a waste. He had achieved all there was to achieve. A family of lawyers – father, mother, children. Beautiful,  loyal and loving wife, successful children.  Academically, Chris was solid; had a couple of Master’s degrees and capped them with a doctorate degree, not honorary! Well respected in the society. Had friends that mattered. Yet, it is difficult not to describe Chris Asoluka’s sudden passing as a waste of everything good. How does one even refer to him in the past?

So, this other day, nervously, I went to see Nneka in the company of Agbaso and lovely wife, Robin. And even though there were a number of people there, the house seemed so empty without Chris. It was so strange. Eerie!  My eyes kept dashing from upstairs to downstairs in a failed expectation that Chris could just walk down donning his infectious smile. His absence was so conspicuous that even the dog in the house noticed. The poor white, fine dog kept looking at faces miserably. He would end up at Nneka’s feet, look up at her face, then walk away to Chris’ usual chair. Sit down. Look up and down the empty Chair. And make the rounds again. An emotional Nneka explained: “He is looking for Chris.”

Weep, Owerri, weep! First, it was Paschal Dozie. Now, it is Chris Asoluka at just 70 years. It is well with our souls. God’s will, we are always told. He just picks us up like that to come stay with Him.

Chris nne m. Nwoke oma. Ome nwanne. Okwuruoha! Okwuru Owere!! Peace. Peace. Peace. Good trip!!!

Obi is the Editor-in-Chief/CEO of The Source (Magazine).