Dear Chuka

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Dear Chuka,

Toyin has taken me round Port-harcourt since you left. She says the day you two met you bought her a freazy drink and asked how she manages with a person like me who isn't always disposed to his mobile phone. You two chuckled.

Chuka, Toyin has been instrumental in my healing. She has been a source of strength. Please lay your hands on her heart and mend her wounds. I am worried about her. She has taken my pain, too. She is so young and so old at heart. A few days ago, when we got back from seeing your body at the mortuary, I told her when I touched your body I felt strong. I told her I would not cry again, and she laughed and said Yes, you will. In the night I realized I was crying in her arms. She rubbed my back and told me everything would be okay.

‘Toyin, do you think I would ever stop crying?’ I asked.

‘Yes, Derick,’ she said, ‘but not today, or tomorrow.’

‘But it hurts,’ I said.

‘Don't worry, one day it'd be nothing but a scar. When you look back it would hurt, but not as much as it does now.’

Chuka, some days I feel bad for crying, because I know that the kind of person you were was one who took the pain of others to heart. You were an empath. You reached into other people's pain and grieved with them.

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I escorted Toyin to Uyo, and right now I am on my way home, to Abuja. Please, look after your mother. I am trying the best I can to make the hurt less painful, but there is only so much I can do. I will never be you.

Your mother put your wristwatch on my hand, your rosary on my neck, and your belt on my waist. I never want these things to spoil. I hope they never spoil. I hope they stay for as long as I live. You have made the most impact in my life. You always were angry everytime I spoke down on myself. You were the writer who never wrote a book. I will write a book for you. I promised you so. Please give me the strength to dig into the yesterday's and weave something beautiful you would like.

The visa interview I told you about is on Monday. I will be back to my second home next week. I finally got to meet your friend Patrick. He really adored you. He says you were the only one confident to tell him the truth even when he did not want to hear it. He took me down the paths you two used to walk, and I felt like I was seeing through your eyes. I saw the train tracks, the road you crossed to work every morning, and the park you stood at.

When I first came to PH I closed my eyes and wouldn't open them, because the person I had come to see, you, wasn't around to show me. But you have opened my eyes, you have taken me round, remaining Spa. I sat in your famous kitchen o. I even took a picture there sef with Toyin.

I miss you.

Your trustworthy friend,
Derick