Hauwa, Temi Passed…

Maybe they took you on a sunday because you had to attend service in heaven.

Hey Temi,

I know you’re subscribed to my newsletter and this will drop in your inbox like all other letters but five minutes after I hit publish, my phone won’t light up with a message from you telling me that you had read my newsletter.

Today makes it a year and a week since I heard those three words from Sadquie.

The 30th of July 2023 was a Sunday.

Joseph had called to say he was coming over and I had asked for a burger from Burger King. I don’t know if I changed my mind along the way but he had come to my house without a burger. Maybe I was changing my mind so much because I was on my period, I don’t know, the details elude me but I remember us standing in my kitchen and saying I was worried about you. I don’t know if in some weird way, I already knew something was not right with you. 

I had texted you, it had delivered but you were not responding. I chalked it up to you being in church because nobody could separate you from church on Sundays.

Joseph and I started to talk about something else when my phone rang. I dashed to my room. It was Sadique.

Propped on the chair in front of the mirror, I put it on speaker while Joseph sat on my bed behind me.

Hauwa, Temi passed

I don’t remember much but what I remember was the sound of my voice howling. I just kept hearing my own voice. I don’t know what Joseph was doing in that moment but I didn’t care. All I knew was you had texted me yesterday and today they were saying you had died.

What did they mean you had died? People don’t just die like that.

As though he knew I didn’t believe it, Sadique sent me a report stating the time of your death. It was 10:30. At 10:30 on a normal sunday, you’d be in church. I think God knew you loved the church so much that He claimed you on that day and asked that you come for service in heaven.

I’m Muslim but that’s how I choose to look at it. I know He could not wait to see you.

A few days later, Sadique would send me a picture of your red blanket wrapped around your body. It was the same red blanket I’d seen you use in some of our video calls when you’d laugh at the state of my hair.

It’s been one year and a week and the state of my hair is not any better.

I only remember a few things from that day. It’s like there were gaps in my memory.

I don’t know how I ended up on my bed but I only knew I was on my bed when I got up.

I only remembered I was on my period when I saw the blood stains.

I only knew I was not in my house when I saw the blue couch in Joseph’s house.

I don’t remember the trip.

I don’t remember the cramps I was having earlier that morning.

I don’t remember if I changed before I left my house. I don’t even remember leaving.

I only remember it was rainy season because I crumbled near a glass door and cried, trying to match the intensity of the rain.

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On the 29th of July this year, Ruth asked me if I wanted to write anything to be read at your one year memorial. A year later, it still feels like a dream.

Losing you is a feeling I don’t know how to describe. I walk around with this pain in my chest but on most days, I am able to control it. The worst pains sneak up on me at the times I least expect it.

Like when I’m sitting on the toilet bowl thinking of my to-do list for the day, you creep up on me and before I know it, I am doubled over grasping my chest. Or when I’m deciding whether to use Naicinamide or Alpha Arbutin next and your face pops up in my head. The next thing I know, my tears are washing all the skincare off my face. Or when I’m trying to fall asleep and I know I’ll never hear your voice again. Tears once again on my pillow.

I miss you so much. You’d be so proud of me. You badgered me until I quit my job and focused on my content and now I’m doing so well at it but you’re not here. Temi, I lost o. No matter how many wins I get, I have still lost because you’re not here.

It’s so funny how it took you leaving for me to realize you were my best friend.

You loved me. You reassured me. You never stopped listening to my break up stories. You stayed on calls with me while I cried. You helped me patch up my relationship when you knew I was going to wreck things, you held me in Abuja when I broke down, you laughed when I teased you about Sadique, you promised to give me out of your bumbum. You were such a good person. You were there for everyone. You were an angel and that’s why they took you from us. You were simply too good, Temi.

If there’s anything I regret, it’s not coming to Kaduna when you asked me to. I should have run down there. I should have held you while I still had the chance and I am sorry. I am so sorry. 

On some days, I send you messages on WhatsApp knowing you’ll never respond. Your profile picture has disappeared and it never delivers but I still send them because I am trying to hold on to a part of you.

On the one year anniversary of your death, I wish I could say I let myself stay in bed and cry but I didn’t. I got up and I worked because I didn’t want to ‘get emotional’. Lmao. I was simply delaying it because today, a week after, I am a mess.

My eyes are swollen, my head is banging, I am alone, I am grateful that I am not getting any texts from work, the sky is cloudy, I’m broken and I don’t know how to get up. 

I hope that you’re doing well wherever you are because I am not.

I love you and I miss you.