A Letter to Buchi Emecheta
It is not like I have joined the ranks of Margaret Atwood, but similar to her, I must handwrite my thoughts before typing them. My ideas flow better when the chemistry of paper to pen is present.
Buchi’s story is about a simple woman who did remarkable things in unprecedented situations; your everyday neighbour who is secretly a hero. This woman did not only suffer, she documented the suffering. She did not only triumph, she also documented the triumph so that when the people of the future looked back, they would unveil a holistic picture of her life.
Is it weird to address a letter to someone who is no longer living? Buchi passed away in 2017. May her soul continue to rest in peace.
But I must write to her, for her, something, anything to express my longing for more of her, for the world, for her family, for me.
*Disclaimer for my readers who may not be Nigerian or Igbo;
Nne is a fond way of saying mother — I am struggling with how to write out its phonetic pronunciation. If you have any ideas, please don’t forget to help me out in the comment section.
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“Big mother,
I just finished reading your autobiography and can’t fully understand why I feel sad and desolate after reading its last line.
Life is full of paradoxes, and your life was riddled with them.
Three different areas of your life pierced my heart:
Your marriage:
“Marriage is lovely when it works, but if it does not, should one condemn oneself?”
Never! Even in today’s day and age Nne, you will be happy to know that women are taking charge where it matters and speaking up on important issues. But many still feel condemned if their marriage falls apart and are often solely blamed.
You put in your best even when it was all coming apart. Most importantly, you were not a victim of sunk cost. Generations to come still praise your literary prowess even though your lover of youth never saw or appreciated your gift.
Your career:
“One has to go out and meet different people in different walks of life to be able to function confidently.”
I don’t know how you managed to excel at your career, get another degree with five children in tow and overcome multiple roadblocks in various forms. You met different people, did various jobs and never lived your life any lesser because you were black or single.
Many of our forefathers and grandparents celebrate the abroad life, which is a paradox considering our colonial history and its rippling effects. Here and now in the 21st century, we still (mostly) celebrate and care for other lands better than ours…does once a master mean always a master or is that the Nigerian way of functioning confidently?
You had a great job with the American embassy in Lagos when you were hardly 20 years old. It was an excellent office job that might have led you down a different path had you stayed there… but your chi led you in another direction.
Do you regret it?
Your grief:
“I had been all my life like somebody floating on water, but come storm or high gale my head was always above, so I never sank…”
As inspiring as your life was, I imagine that in some way, shape or form, your life (much like many of us if we genuinely reflect) was more or less in perpetual grief. Grief over your beloved father, who passed away too soon. Then over your mother with whom you shared a somewhat wounded relationship, then over your motherland — the heart cry of the diaspora. A longing for what once was but may never again be. You might have grieved for many other things, but I would be inept in any attempt to encapsulate them all. It seems though that the straw that broke the camel’s back was losing your beloved daughters — Chiedu and Christy. I suddenly feel this funny feeling in my nose as my eyes well with tears. Why is life like this?
You know, sometimes, I am jealous of those who have never experienced grief — up close and personal. At the same time, I feel a deep sadness that threatens to make me wail when I think about how they will one day experience a loss that will forever change the fabric of life itself.
Nne, you saw grief — up close and personal (again and again). You were so strong, but which mother is the same after losing one or more children?
Your writings (or your other children, as you fondly called your books) still encourage millions worldwide. Nne, I hope you can see this. Thank you for writing to us.
Although you did not tell us how Chiedu or Christy passed away, you did mention that after the big fight with Chiedu, she said:
“But we love you, Mum, you must remember that. You’ll never die like Nnuego, not when I’m living anyway.”
(Nnuego is the mother figure in Buchi’s famous book — Joys of Motherhood which she wrote in a frenzy inspired by a major fallout with Chiedu)
You described this situation as Chiedu “…bragging, not knowing that she had just a few more years to live herself.”
If only we can know to number our days and be wise.
We do not know the day or the time that death will come. We wish we knew, but we do not know; for ourselves or our loved ones.
Your book reminded me to love, fight and cherish my life in writing.
Your legacy has outlived you, and your experiences are valuable and so dearly treasured.
Daalu.”
As always,
Victoria ❤
