The sailor has sailed.
The sailor has sailed for seven decades and seven
monthly calendars.
The sailor has sailed.
The craft of septuagenarian beached at dockyards of the bleeding swamp, amazed by his sterling performance dazzled the planet and the milky way, he blazed bold paths across the energy market where white and black skins collaborate.
Taking the noble path, he left glands dripping with tears that rushes like Victoria Water Falls
OBU the Third
Your garments were knitted with royal thread
conveyed with embroidery of paramount rulership attracted the gleam and glare of tuburu and tarma as River Nun rushes by and by and delivers its light waves of solidarity at shorelines of Ngolu polo,
There you lie in every Christmas season to watch the villagers meet and greet till the new year flashes its embers.
Oh! At last, the sailor has sailed.
Christopher Columbus of West Boma kingdom
Your mettle greeted many maritime terraces and tributaries of the Delta and the Niger,
The Iroko tree has taken a permanent bow
Your legacies reign in muttering lips to a wow
Like riveting linguistic riddles.
And your palms turn paddles and create ripples on Rivers Nun, Sangana, Dodo, Forcados, Escravos, Ethiope, Santa Barbara, St Nicholas, San Bartholomew, Orashi, Sobreiro, Brass, and Bonny. Rivers of my root that John and Richard Lander once navigated.
I see the mangroves of the creek clapping and flapping their leaves as your Seatrucks crush through their paths, making the water hyacinth kiss the shores.
My earnest respect you earn because God chose you, Talanyun, my father, and Sunday Darlene my mother to usher me into this ethereal planet.
I was held in tenderness and raised by royal hands.
You rock the coastal biome for many calendars for the love of work for that black gold entity christened with that emblem of NAOC that hung on the wall of the sitting room.
From Idu to Ibocha; from the mainland to Milan and Malagasy, from waters of Sierra Leone to Cameroun the sailor has sailed.
From Akabuka to Omoku,
the sailor has sailed.
He spent decades climbing that Derrick and ferrying lives and metals at the Pontu from daylight to moonlight till cock crows, the sailor has sailed many rough and calm waters.
I984, the compass of Jehovah brought you to Garden City where you built your abode and shuttled the city gate to AGIP yard daily till your final day.
December First, 2022
The news came as a shock of the century. Patriarch bids goodbye to the resilient generation left behind.
While the reigns of men jubilate for yuletide..your exit from the ethereal space you occupied and held strong was a rendition of courage and legacy.
I stood firm for days and weeks to console feeble hands and minds you left behind, yet my zest sought the creator’s will, the maker of mankind, then I knew my glands were awaiting a downpour as the sovereign being above took me through your trajectory, memories rolled back recalling flashback of your awesome moments with family, friends and community folks.
If I can turn back the hands of time
I reminisce about the play toys of AGIP at end-of-year Christmas parties.
I reminisce about the 8-hour navigation from Port Harcourt to Brass terminal and Igbomotoru.
I reminisce about bush meats upon your return from every distant journey.
I remember my first encounter at cultural nite with King Robert Ebizimor on stage during my teenage years.
I reminisce about your brown scintillating brocade and crispy dry notes spillover from your deep pockets and village heads and natives grease their palms with your generosity.
I reminisce about your stopover at Mathias’s house, my mother’s father, your in-law of no mean greatness you dotted on.
I reminisce about that first chopper from Bristol that brought you home and torrential engine rock the sky of Igbomotoru and all and sundry head for the field to await the heroic landing.
I reminisce about your jokes, jabs, and resolute pronouncements which at some point reached the zenith of next-generation eagerness to fly the eagle’s route.
I remember your two last noble calls of patriarchal influence in 2018 and 2022. It was brief and concise, all good news.
My greatest desire was your hair to turn all white till you see the man I shall become.
Yet I know you can see from glory.
At your embers, I lay this tribute, knowing Jesus Christ took over the vacuum left behind long before you choose the part where all mortals go.
The sailor has sailed
Thank you and adieu papa
See you at the resurrection morning.
Written by Hephzibah Ebi Suobo
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