Mixed Feelings: Celebrating a Brother and Mourning Another

Thursday, March 25, 2021.

Exploring the mixed feelings surrounding the remembrance of loss on a joyous day.

On this day I had to celebrate with a brother (cousin) whose birthday was 25th March and also mourn another brother who died in a fire incident on March 25.

Loss of a loved one is never easy, especially with the circumstances surrounding their death. I have been trying to soldier on for a couple of years but on every 25th March, the memory of the event surrounding his death flashed back.

We all also look forward to birthdays, weddings, graduations, and celebrations of the milestones of our lives. But there are many aspects of loss that can impact these celebratory moments.

Though I accepted his invite to the birthday celebration party, I ended up being alone. I put on a happy mood on my face, but I was sad on the inside. So whenever he looked in my direction, he saw me looking happy. I didn't want him sharing in my sadness on his happy day.

Even though the loss is not so recent, the day brought feelings close to the surface and it seemed like the loss was just yesterday.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015. On this day, a fire incident occurred that claimed the life of my brotherly friend (only son of his parents) and left mum and her two daughters with scars - one with a disfigured face.

The call. Before the day, the Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) had declared an indefinite strike to protest against the Nigerian Government for promises unkept. Due to this, Universities were locked, with no entry, no academic activities. I had to travel home to wait out the strike period which later lasted for about three months. I got home, freshened up and went out to greet the neighbours. On stepping out of the house I got a call from a friend.

Ronald! Plas is dead!!

The voice said

Stop joking!

I rebuked (No one jokes with the dead... still wonder why I said that perhaps I was still trying to process her words)

Why will I joke with something so serious, you can call the sisters...

She responded.

I stood at the spot motionless and speechless. Until someone tapped me and asked

What is the problem? Why do you cry?

It was then I felt the tears from my eyes roll down my cheek. Without speaking a word, I rushed into the house and I wept. I hate people seeing me cry.

The Family. In September 2002, I was sent to live with my "Second Family". My parents took us away from our hometown at a young age, in search of greener pasture. Growing up, Dad who loved his motherland, wanted me to understand the ways of our people, " The Igbos" and their language. So he decided to send me back home to continue my education. He registered me to a Secondary School in our state of origin. It was a mixed school but has female-only boarding facilities. They had to look for a family that lives close to the school. That's how I got to meet my "Second family". A caring and loving Igbo family, with 5 kids - a male and 4 females. They welcomed me with warm smiles and open arms. They took me like their own. It didn't take long to settle in and within a little time, it felt like home. Their son became my best friend and my brother and daughters became my sisters. I lived with them for 6 years, though I do travel home during vacations/holidays. I left after graduation, and visits at least once a year which is usually when my family and I came home for Christmas and new year festivity. Outstate of residence was three states away.

The apartment. Some years after I left, they moved to a new apartment - one bedroom flat - a sitting room, a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. The doors to the kitchen and bedroom are directly opposite. The floor is not tiled, so was covered with a combination of the rug and carpet. It has just a door that leads outside - for entry and exit. Each of the compartment has only one window with burglary proof.

The Incidence. On a sunny after, sister realized there was no kerosene in the cooking stove. She went to the nearest filling station and got some kerosene so she can make lunch.

Between, second mum was in the sitting room watching a movie while two sisters and two kids from the neighbourhood were playing in the bedroom.

She got back with the kerosene, emptied some into the stove and lit the match stick.

Boom!

There was fire, kind that would be produced by petrol or gas, surely not kerosene in a stove. (Did they sell her petrol instead of kerosene? No one could tell).

In an attempt to escape the fire she tripped on the content containing the remaining substance she bought and the fire spread so fast.

She ran out to the sitting room, where the mum was, shouting

fire! fire!! fire!!!

They both ran out of the house forgetting the children in the other room. Why didn't they run out? Didn't they hear the shout? No one could tell

Second mum remembered the children were in the room, ran back in to get them out. Unfortunately, she couldn't leave the room with them as the way out has been consumed by fire. They started shouting from the window and the sister that was outside was also shouting for help.

Within minutes neighbours gathered at the scene. No one could go in, and water wasn't readily available to try putting out the fire. The burglary proof was so strong. They looked for a weak spot on the wall and started hitting at it to create a hole.

Someone called the son who was away but not far, he rushed home. While assisting to break the wall, he could bear no more the pains and screams of the people without. He made his way into the house and came out roasted. He would have been stopped but no one saw him enter. All focused on making a hole on the wall big enough to get them out.

When the hole became big enough to fit, they got them out. Where is Plas? he was nowhere to be seen. Then someone looked in and saw him burning on the floor, attempting to crawl out. They couldn't get him out on time.

Why was he on the floor? Why didn't he run out when his body caught fire? Why didn't people hear his scream? No one could tell.

Those caught in the burning house were saved, he that bravely went in to help save them couldn't be saved. He came out roasted.

I can feel tears rolling down my chin, guess I'm too sensitive and emotional.

The end.