On the 10th of January 2021, we lost a gem. My beloved sister and friend, Agnes Usikaro Aniereobi, went to be with her Lord and Saviour. I know she is in a better place, in the heavenly Jerusalem, surrounded by angels and saints, beholding the face of Her King and Father. I write these words as a tribute to the friendship we shared, from 1975 to 2021, using the letters of her English name, A-G-N-E-S.
A for Agile, A for Ambitious.
You always set your sights high and you were forward-looking, whether for yourself or for others, and especially for the Lord. It was inspiring to hear you express your dreams and enumerate your objectives. You always had a catalogue of good examples to set before your eyes, mindful of Paul’s exhortation to think on whatsoever things are true, lovely and of good report.
You believed that bigger, better and brighter was possible, even if it meant paying a price and making sacrifices. After a hard day at work and having spent time doing your household chores, you still managed to squeeze out the time to study for a degree in accountancy.
You’d be up early, quick and sharp, despite having gone to bed late. No time to waste dilly dallying, Usi always kept her focus and pursued her goals. Roast turkey, grilled chicken, savoury rice, vegetable soups and stews, the kitchen was a terrain wherein you excelled. Whether it was getting your dad’s lunch ready while we were teenagers or feeding your household multiplied by two because my family and I were visiting, there was nothing to fear, you had it all under control.
And if ever you felt fatigued, the prescription was ready: “eat more and rest some, you’ll be good to go again”. It worked for you! You were not exempt from various health challenges, but you were certainly not one to sit around and mope or feel sorry for yourself.
Then came your dream to be a blessing to children with special needs, to nurture them in a godly and supportive environment. And off you went, putting yourself through the rigors of retraining to get your PGCE and position yourself to make it happen. It hasn’t happened, but you have set an example again. Well done my friend!
G for Graceful, G for Godly.
I see you again, walking into the living room on your last visit in march 2019, with a black turban around your head. You looked pretty, as usual. We talked about lots of things, but most of all, you expressed your confidence in the promises of God’s Word, which had been your mainstay for all these many years. The testimony of Nkechi's healing remains fresh, even today.
“We must get ready for eternity!” How often you repeated those words to me, as you looked forward to getting more involved in other forms of service to the Body of Christ and to society, having now satisfied yourself that you had fulfilled your commitment to be as available as possible to take care of your young ones in their early years.
You strove to watch over and nurture them, continually looking for opportunities to build them up, carefully making choices you believed to be in their best interest, desirous that they’d be able to stand confidently in the midst of their peers and not be lacking in any good grace.
You’d send Udo and Buchi off to church on the bus, so that they could give a hand with setting up the service and most importantly learn to serve in God’s house; that was so important. “Mum always says you should jump in at the deep end”, Ebele told me. You were a coach of champions.
“May we all learn to commit our lives entirely to the Lord Jesus for our destiny and it’s timing are in God’s hands.” This was your message to me on march 1 2019, after you came back from the surgical intervention that marked the beginning of your illness journey. I was used to hearing and reading this from you, so I had no reason to think it’d soon be time for you to be separated from us.
N for Noble, N for Nice
Usikaro, daughter of the great King and Lord of Hosts, there was no doubting your nobility. Yours was a quiet and yet firm character. Organised, down-to earth and courageous, you were always ready to defend those you loved, both on your knees in prayer and in very practical ways. For your beloved late dad and your brother, Rakeme, for your darling daughter Nkechi and your dear sister Jeamine, you stood in the gap and recruited others to stand alongside you.
When your sister-in-law described you as a lioness on your 50th birthday, it was such an accurate word to use. It wasn’t just because of your black, long and lovely hair which practically fell to your shoulders, , it was because you were a princess in spirit and in deed: Lioness of Bashua, of Bajulaiye in Nigeria and of Bellingham in England, I salute you!
Hospitality was your hallmark. Whether you had plenty or you had little, you made it a principle to give, of your time, of your energy and of your material goods.
E for Efficient, E for Elegant
“Why can’t you be like Agnes?”, my mum would say. Who would not appreciate the smart, efficient and hardworking person you were then and that you remained till the end? “Aunty is so disciplined and organised,”. That was the feedback from Bamishe and Omowumi on different occasions after their visit to your end. Abi o!
On Bamishe’s 18th birthday, you came over and literally took over the cooking, sending me off to watch Omowumi’s theatre session and getting everything ready in record time. My children were your children. That same Bamishe celebrated her 1st birthday in your flat in Hawk Tower. In the twinkling of an eye you had recruited at least half a dozen young ones to come and party with her, found a beautiful dress to put on her and a cake to go with it. Amazing Agnes, I can’t forget. And my friends were your friends. Virginie, Jerome, Corinne, it didn’t matter that they were French-speaking, if the Alaos got along with them, that was it. A seat was reserved for you at my friend’s son Steve’s wedding in May 2019, I’m sure you’d have loved it.
Back home in Nigeria in the late 70s while we were in secondary school together, my mum would say, “why are both of you going up and down?” and your mum would say “what’s wrong with you people”, because we’d go from your house to mine and back again, chit-chatting. It was always so comfortable hanging around with you, sharing thoughts, dreams, projects, disappointments, failures and victories. No frills, it was just plain and simple. And many years later, from the early 90s, living in two different countries may have changed the form, but it didn’t stop the spirit of our friendship.
I was looking forward to firming up the plans to celebrate our respective 30th wedding anniversaries in 2020 together. We were already scheming and dreaming of a trip to the Caribbean islands; I was going to ask my neighbour to help with the reservations, and we’d get a tailor to sew us our “habitual twin outfits”. That was a habit we carried on from our time in Government College Agege, when your mum bought some material (yellow and red) which my mum sewed in the same style for us both. I remember a school mate asking if we were twins, to which you replied, “she’s tall and fair, I’m small and dark, of course we’re not twins!”.
No, we weren’t, at least not in the biological sense. But somehow, it became a lived experience. You were in yellow house, and I in green House. We would sit perched on the top of the bunk bed in your dormitory, eating the yam and fish stew your mum always brought when she came for the parents’ monthly visit. It was ever so tasty! And then at other moments it’d be my mum’s jollof rice and chicken stew which would be shared, oh yummy!
If we’d had our way, my family and I would have bought the house next door to yours and we’d have seen each other more often, sent our children to the same schools and done a host of many more things together. Somehow, things didn’t work out on that score, and there were indeed strained moments when we saw less of each other. Thankfully, those moments didn’t last, and it was always a pleasure to turn up on each other’s doorstep, whether at Brookhowse road UK or somewhere around Lille France. We’re family, period. Our husbands, our siblings, and even our children know that.
S for Soldier, S for Saint
It must have been 1983 when we met up at my mum’s shop in Akoka, after you had gone off to study industrial chemistry at Uniben, and I was home from my first year in medical school in Unife. We had not talked for too long when you started sharing the testimony of your new relationship with Jesus. I still remember the relief and joy in your eyes when it turned out that I had also, in a different setting and by divine grace, been enlisted in the Lord’s army! Thank you, Jesus.
And so we journeyed, falling and failing often, but constantly kept by our good Shepherd, the one whose faithful kindness knows no bounds. You loved the Lord, and I know He loved you too. You’d share the insights, promises and corrections you’d received from Him. We had a natural prayer partnership that being married did not alter, rather reinforced. I often sat marvelling at your faith in the promise-keeping One to whom you had confidently entrusted each of your concerns. “There’s no way He won’t work things out”, you’d say.
I believe it, and I thank you for the wonderful moments of fellowship we shared. When others around you faltered in their faith journey, you mourned, you prayed, and you were quick to rejoice at every little sign of their restoration, like the “little cloud the size of a man’s fist” that Elijah’s servant saw. A woman of the word, a woman of prayer, you loved to witness. I remember the lady on the boat during our crossover from Dover to Calais in July 2018. She even got to share our picnic while you encouraged her to keep loving Jesus. And there was Michel, our friend in France to whom you testified of God’s healing grace when he was dying from a brain tumor.
Everywhere I turn, I see your face, hear your voice and ponder your absence. Can it be true that you’ve slipped into eternity? While I do not mourn as one who has no hope, I can’t but wish you could had stayed on a bit longer. We still had so much more to do together, seeing the children off in marriage, exchanging notes on grandmother duties, branching out into new areas of activity, going to the spa!. You enjoyed the spa outing in february 2019 and said we should do it more often, I still have the scented scrub, but it was the last…
So now you are at rest, freed from the shackles of a physical body which could no longer fulfill its duties to you. The Lord surely and certainly knows best. I’ll miss you sorely. And remember you fondly. You were and forever will remain, one of the best gifts God gave me on this side of eternity.
Goodnight darling Usikaro, my beloved sister from another mother. Adieu mon amie.
