Remembering Sunny

This is what I learned.  I learned that life is short, and you have to make every moment count.  I learned that it is possible to die a long time before your death, if you give up on yourself and abdicate your responsibility to self renewal.  I learned that fear kills, fear to try something new, new ideas, new culture, new people, new way of thinking.   I learned that the most powerful being is God himself, and that fear of other gods, of other powers, is misleading.

The voice on the other end of the phone said: "Sunny is dead."  I was frozen, for a minute.  Sunny can not be dead.  He wasn't sick.  I did not know he was sick

 As a first son, I never had an older brother.  He lived next door. He was five to six years older than I was. Taller.  Stronger.  He was my older brother.  He taught me a lot of things: How to set up fireworks, on bamboo sticks; How to smoke rabbits out of their holes. He taught me the ways to women. 

I remember during my secondary school days, this particular girl was always bugging me. Her name was Violet. She would take my books, bag, or pen.  Sometimes she would hit me for no apparent reason.  I was thinking about reporting her to the principal.  I talked to Sunny first.  He smiled: "That girl likes you.  Look at her differently." I did, to my pleasant surprise.

Sunny was impetuous, eager to action. Full of energy.   He was also easily emotional.  I was more tentative, analytical, sometimes overly cautious. Sunny trusted my mind and honesty. Many times, he wished I wasn't that honest. But secretly, I suspect he liked me for it.  Sunny could look at me face, and see that I had thought deeply about an issue.  He was ready to take  my word, or my opinion, as it were, to the bank. He was ready to act.

We had hilarious moments.  One time we went to check on a girl, somewhere in Ogbe area of Benin City.  We were met at the door by girl's dad who chased after us with a big stick.  We got the hell out of there.  But this was in the seventies, the time of "orthopedic" - high heel shoes for men. And Sunny was more than 6 ft tall.  As we ran, his neck was caught by a clothesline.  And down he went. 

We had difficult times too.  We spent the night at Mexico's International Airport with the aim of saving some money.  His luggage didn't arrive on time to Mexico, which meant he had to use my clothes for about two weeks. He was much taller than I was. My pants hung half way between his knees and his ankles. 

There was one really painful moment.: The time we were thrown out of our "one room" apartment, in Mexico City. We were not supposed to cook in this room. Again, trying to save money, we violated the rule - plugged in a hot pot and cooked some beans.  That thing took a long time to cook. The cleaning lady found out we had been cooking. She told the landlady, and before we knew it, all our belongings were outside, by the side of the road, exposed to the wind and rain. Our traveling documents, certificates, and diplomas got wet. We had nowhere to go, in a foreign land, in a country we barely knew.

I miss Sunny.  I miss him badly. We traveled to Italy together.  From Italy we went to Mexico. I can still see him in my mind's eye as we walked down the streets of Mexico, down Tlatelolco and San Juan de Aragon, in suites, with our "portfolios" in hand, looking damn good, looking strong, looking like we could take on the world.  I was only 19. He left for USA, while I stayed behind. He came to see me a few Christmases  later.   I joined him in Florida in 1988.

By 1988, Sunny had known defeat, he had known pain, had experienced racism first hand, had known trials both at work and in his marital relationships.  He had grown extremely paranoid, and suspicious of almost everybody.  Sunny had begun to die. He had begun to give up. To evaluate Sunny, do not look at him through his last years, but evaluate him on the totality of his life.  He was a good man with good intentions, eager to what he could for others, especially for blood relatives.

Sunny was a giver.  He was also a taker but he was very much a giver.  Family was important to Sunny, the Ezomoghene family.  I hope his biological children would come to know this someday. He was always willing to share whatever information, tactic or strategy for personal he had come across.

Losing Sunny was painful.  I remember the endless evenings and nights we studied together.  In secondary school, our efforts paid off.  We went to the same school.  I was just one year ahead. We were the best in our respective classes.  We pushed each other on.  

I remember the  afternoons we spent chasing after girls.  He was doing most of the chasing; I was taking notes.  I remember the years we spent sitting on his dad's table on the front porch watching the cars go by.  Very few cars then. I remember the dreams we spun on that front  porch, dreams of faraway places we were going to go, of beautiful people we were going to meet, of the money we were going to make.  I was there when he met the woman who was to bear him children.  Through Sunny, I met the woman who became my wife.

I am grateful to God for the privilege he gave me to have had Sunny in my life.  In sum, Sunny was a blessing, a big blessing.  I am sure as his judgment became increasingly clouded, he did or said things which were completely inappropriate, or omitted to do things he should have done, but that doesn't take away from the essence of the man: He was a fighter, one of the pioneers, who wanted to do good for others, especially his kin.

As I look back on Sunny's life, I learn that personal responsibility is important.  The gods are not to blame. We cannot blame the gods for our troubles, because the God in us is much more powerful.  I learn that when one door is closed on us, we shouldn't waste  a lifetime crying at  that door when many more open doors are beckoning on us.  I learn that Faith is important.  Faith sustains you in difficult times. Painfully, I learn that Family and Friends are so very important.  Call someone today.  Say Hi! Share love.  Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one. That much I learned.  Sunny will be missed.

By Assurance Izevbizua