Filomena

It disturbs me how death is so ordinary in my village. In the whole of Nigeria, actually, death is pretty much a normal part of life. I have been quite alarmed at the number of deaths in Iko Esai since the start of the year, and the thing is, they don’t even know what people die of. This took on a whole new light for me when my first real friend died. I considered Filo a real friend because she was neither cercopan staff nor a possible beneficiary of my project. She has been living with her husband and three small kids in a city in a northern state but came home last September when she got sick. She got well and was supposed to go back in January but got sick again and never recovered. I met her during my first day in the village, and since then have been hanging out at her mother‘s restaurant (one of two in the village, open only during market days) under one of the few big trees within the village. She used to feed me Nigerian food all the time (and kept telling her she spends all day cooking), and even taught me a few recipes. I had intended for this to be my tribute, but I don’t have even a photo of her.