The voice was low, unusually low. But there was no way I could miss the words which still linger as I write this- two weeks after. “Your friend is gone,” her daughter, Agatha, a medical doctor, had said, trailing off.
The tears just came. It did not matter that I was in the office. Who says men don’t cry? “Gone?” I pondered. About a month ago when we spoke, he did not sound so bad even though he said he had to be rushed to the hospital because of the excruciating pain he was feeling in his stomach. How was I to know it was the last time I would be talking to my friend of 33 years?
But Peter Aduro was not just a friend. He was a brother, a counselor, a confidant, a mentor. We met at the Department of Theatre Arts, University of Benin in the early 80s. I was in my second year while he was a freshman. But he was a mature student, already armed with a professional certificate in Nursing with a wife in tow. I never asked why he chose Theatre instead of a Degree in Nursing. We hit it off immediately.
But it was in Lagos that our friendship blossomed prompted ironically by a health scare I had. It was perhaps his background in Nursing that made my wife to literally drag me to his modest apartment in Ire-Akari Estate. He listened attentively as I explained what happened expressing my fears and foreboding.
His soothing word was balm to my sore soul and for the first time my wife was calm. He then directed us to a Matron I suppose he worked with in the past but at the time at Lagos General Hospital, CMS. Through her I was taken to a Consultant whose care and attention stabilised me till date. Without letting him know, I always felt I owed him my life.
He would have been scandalised if I told him this, because for Peter Aduro, a devout Catholic of the purest hue and a fervent Charismatic, God is the only one worthy of such adulation no matter his role in what happened. His usual line is “Thank God.”
Religion means so much to him especially his beloved Catholic Church. He would not for any reason miss the morning Mass or any programme of the Catholic Charismatic Movement. This was taken a notch higher when he moved to Minna, Niger State where he became not just a local leader of the Charismatic movement but a state and national leader. He was a Catholic to the core and Charismatic to the marrow.
Still, he gave a very unserious Christian like me my space. It was therefore easy for me to visit his home and stay for some weekends especially after I relocated to Abuja. Looking back now, I wonder how he felt when I complain openly at such visits that their family prayer done before everyone goes to bed that I am obliged to partake in was too long!
Liberal as he was wont to be, he never chastised me. Instead, I am asked to pray sometimes. To compensate though, I would always attend the Sunday Mass with him but not the Charismatic programme which I find too loud and long.
Serious as he seemed from the exterior, Peter Aduro had his light side. He loved action films and would switch to Mnet Action once he is done with his evening meals. This was the only point of disagreement between him and his amiable wife -Marie, an avid fan of African Magic!
And he had a soft spot for his wife. This was amply demonstrated when she turned 50 as he pulled off a surprise colorful birthday party for her… His talent for fiction came to the fore when his entry was selected and published in the collection by defunct Liberty Merchant Bank Short Story Series. I took it upon myself to encourage him to write more so that he would have a published collection…
Peter Aduro was a rare breed who crossed the line between religion and spirituality, an uncommon trait these days where religion is a mere fad for millions. His zeal for the Church is only marched by his unbounded generosity. He gave the maxim “a friend in need is a friend indeed” real meaning and life. His voice was sure to reassure you in moments of doubt once you reach out to him; his bank account open to help out.
How can I forget those bags of rice he usually sent periodically without being prodded and the crisp Naira notes tucked inside DHL branded envelopes? How can I forget his raucous laughter and banter? What of his gospel songs that he usually breaks into before any of his prayer sessions? What of the prayer itself in which he remembers every other person before his family and self, a sure sign of selfless service? Departing now my friend is not fair. You should have forewarned me. Indeed, you should have let me know it is time. What else can I say?
So long Peter Aduro…
- Onoko, an Assistant Director (PR) with the National Gallery of Art, wrote from ojionoko2007@yahoo.com