My Fatherboard, My Self

When I launched my blog I called it My Fashion S/ash Life because as well as sharing my love for style, I wanted to document some landmark moments in my life. With the passing of my father, I feel compelled to share some moments of how my family and I celebrated his life over 3 days in Lagos. Read on.

OG SATC fans, the ones who watched it when it aired in the 90s, will spot that my blog post’s name is a play on the title of one of the best SATC episodes. And quite frankly (in my opinion), one of the best TV episodes of all time – My Motherboard, My Self, Season 4, Episode 8.

In the episode, Miranda’s (played by Cynthia Nixon) mother passes away and the way the writers show how death can affect relationships by exploring themes like grief, vulnerability, avoidance and solidarity in a 30-minute episode is nothing short of brilliant. Kudos to the 4 main actresses – SJP, Kim Cattrall, Cynthia Nixon and Kristen Davies for having the acting chops to bring the script to life. Over the past decades, I must have watched this episode countless times and each time, certain scenes would always bring me to tears. At the time, despite me never having lost a parent, close relative or friend, I knew it would resonate with my future self – the one that would soon be able to relate to Miranda due to personal experience. That was why from the moment I was given an estimate of how long my father had to live, I intermittently began shopping for (in the words of Miranda) – ‘a shitty black dress I’ll never wear again’. I eventually found one at Zara. At their Oxford Street, LDN branch, no less.

But due to Nigerian culture, my Dad being over 80 meant that the family and guests didn’t have to wear black. In the end, the three outfits I wore during my father’s 3-day sendoff couldn’t have been further removed from a ‘shitty black dress’.

Speaking of Nigerian culture, I’m going to reference that terminology quite a few times in this post. To avoid any confusion, when I mention ‘Nigerian culture’ I am speaking of Nigeria as a collective and merely repeating what I was told by Nigerian relatives and family friends earlier this year who hail from different tribes. So there’s every likelihood that what I refer to as ‘Nigerian culture’ may not be aligned with every Nigerian.

During the three days of my Dad’s sendoff, guests and my immediate family adhered to a special Aso-Ebi (coloured theme) dress code. My family and I sourced our Aso-Ebi designs and provided them to my mother’s custom designer based in Lagos to create the outfits. I must give her major props because, thanks to her and her dedicated team working tirelessly, we were able to dress in a cohesive style that was fitting of what my Dad would have wanted.

Unlike Miranda’s ‘shitty black dress’ that she never planned to wear again, I intend to wear one of the outfits from the 3-day event on several future occasions—a blue Agbada-style kaftan (traditionally reserved for men). I was drawn to the juxtaposition of the soft, baby blue embellished fabric against the masculine design.

Moving on, I’ve been to three funerals in total in Nigeria. I attended two as a kid and the third in my twenties. Nevertheless, two main factors made my Dad’s funeral different from a typical funeral in Nigeria.

1. He passed away over the age of 80, which, according to Nigerian culture, meant that his life should be celebrated. This is why, for the most part, black wasn’t to be worn during funeral proceedings.
2. Due to the heights he reached in his profession, he is/was considered a public figure. As such, his passing was acknowledged in the media by significant figures ranging from the current President of Nigeria (President Tinubu) to industry and literary giants like Patrick Utomi. This meant that nothing could have prepared me for the crash course in Nigerian funeral culture that I had to undergo when I arrived in Lagos. And it wasn’t just the funeral – in the days leading up to it, there were certain protocols I had to learn. For instance, our family home became an ‘open house’ from morning until evening for pretty much all guests who wanted to offer their condolences. In some instances, particular guests would come to our house daily. What I appreciated about this was the acknowledgement that something monumental had happened in our family, warranting friends and relatives to depart from the usual way of doing things… it was comforting. However, the challenging aspect of such visits is that one had to always be ‘on’ and ensure that the house and domestic staff could manage the ongoing traffic.

Then there’s another Nigerian culture which took me aback – the donation of money to cover funeral expenses. This I think is very sweet, the idea is that someone gives to you and when they lose a loved one – you give to them.

Reflecting on my time in Lagos, I recall that while there was considerable structure and planning surrounding the events to give my Dad the sendoff we believed he deserved, the unplanned moments were also profoundly meaningful. One such instance was when our household handyman, with tears in his eyes, told my brother, ‘After God, there was Dr. John.’ You see, my Dad dedicated significant amounts of time to supporting others in numerous and disconnected ways. This included paying for the university fees for the children of staff, covering hospital expenses for relatives and people he barely knew, and connecting individuals to jobs that drastically elevated their living standards.

Being the man my Dad was/is meant that his sendoff pulled from the different influences in his life – his Efik heritage, his Papal knighthood, his religious zeal and I remember in one of the many family talks we had in the months leading to his demise, he advised us on who we were to lean on for guidance because we didn’t know the ‘steps of the dance’.

That being said, judging from the overwhelming positive feedback we got as a family on how we executed his sendoff – I believe we did him proud. From all over the world (America, UK, Germany et al), my family were able to make like Voltron – assemble and do what needed to be done.

Taking a step back, I must say that even though there are certain elements of Nigerian grieving culture, that I’m not in full support of, there is so much of it that I can relate to and I’m grateful I got the opportunity to experience. This is even more so when I compare it to the German and British grieving culture that I’ve encountered when it comes to anticipatory grief and grief.

A close friend of mine told me that death brings out the worst and best out of people and I have experienced both sides of this coin in spades. Focusing on the good is a constant mental challenge that I am working on and to that end, I’d like to thank my Grief Army. The ones that kept on checking in on me – that would message me even when I hadn’t responded to their first message. Then there are the people who have reached out to me because they have heard my Dad has passed through a mutual friend – these have been memorable demonstrations of humanity.

And I couldn’t be more thankful to the close friends of my Dad who have given us emotional support- especially the ones who continue to reach out to my Mum. So much so that it brings to mind Carrie’s voiceover during Miranda’s mother’s funeral scene, ‘There’s the kind of support you ask for, and the kind of support you don’t ask for and there’s the kind that just shows up.’

Amen to the ones who not only show up, but do so intentionally.