Dear Daddy, How can I put pen to paper in a manner that would honor you as you deserve to be honored? There is so much to say, so many beautiful memories. Where do I start, where do I end? I wouldn’t even come close to doing justice to the man that you are. A devoted family man, you loved every member of your family fiercely. You rejoiced at the birth of every new addition. You eagerly attended every special occasion: baptisms, first holy communions, graduations, weddings. I loved to see the gleam in your eyes at these joyful occasions. I missed it at my wedding. Behind my façade of a smile, I hurt deeply inside. I know you were hurting too. But in your generous, selfless way, you uttered words to ease my pain. You sacrificed luxury in order to give us the very best and still have enough for others. You always pampered us, much to Mummy’s dismay, with yoghurt, cakes, cookies, chocolate and meat pie from Beno bakery. When we came home from boarding school or from the University, you wanted to hear all about our stay in school. I remember when the 1st four of us were students at the University of Buea, you missed us so much that you couldn’t wait for the end of the semester. Your car was broken down but you boarded a bus and when you got to Buea, you carried a huge bag of food on your head and waded through the muddy little street that led to our hostel. Our friends who saw you before we did ran to relieve you of the burden. God knew how you loved your own and he blessed you richly with children, nieces, nephews, grand-children, grand-nieces, grand-nephews, great-grand nephews and a great-grandniece. There were many others who were not biologically yours, whom you loved and took care of like your own. The condolence messages I have received since your passing have revealed even more to me. So much you did for so many and yet hardly anyone knew. Recurrent adjectives those messages carry are: incredibly generous, selfless, humble, gentle, warm, loving, God-fearing, knowledgeable, independent. What I admired the most was your absolute love for God. Being in His presence gave you the utmost joy. When you prayed, it seemed like you went into a Trans. We had to cough or make some distracting noise to get you to stop or else we would be late for school or work. I admired your ability to cajole God with such beautiful, romantic words of praise. I admired the way you thanked Him for everything in your life, even the things that many take for granted. I admired the manner in which you asked Him for favors, yet always leaving all to His will. I admired the way you surrendered yourself and whatever suffering you endured to Him and accepted it as His will for your life. Going to Sunday mass was the highlight of your life; and since on weekdays you couldn’t go to church, EWTN was your saving grace. You would watch and actively participate in the 6 am mass, then the 12 noon mass, then the 6 pm mass, and frequently, when you were awake, the midnight mass. Even though you utterly enjoyed watching Obama’s race for the presidency, when it was mass time, without any hesitation, CNN was gone and EWTN came on. Nothing could keep you from you moments with your Maker. Throughout the course of your disease, I hurt for what you were going through. I hurt for myself as well as slowly, but surely, your body gave way. I guard for dear life the beautifully manuscript letters full of words of wisdom and your expression of love for me. I died little by little inside as with each subsequent letter your handwriting grew sloppier and sloppier. Your letters to me grew shorter and shorter. Your messages expressed as succinctly as possible so you would not have to write long. And then came the time when you couldn’t write at all. I appreciated our telephone calls, and our face-to-face conversations - but in the same way, your voice grew quieter and quieter, and finally, just four days before your passing, to a barely audible “Ndega, abela”? (My mother, how are you?). And regardless of my thorough understanding of this disease, nothing could have prepared me for that dreadful phone call. Oh Daddy, how I miss you, how I love you. God answered my prayers for healing in a way that I had refused to envisage. May His will be done. I am grateful to Him for the richness of the blessing that you were and are to us. Dad, thank you for the sacrifice of yourself to the end. Thank you for the many times you sang to my baby Alex to keep him from crying. He still remembers “See how merrily the skaters go” and “Home again, again.” Thank you for your fervent prayers for my baby Joel as he fought for life. Thank you for your love and prayers for us. I used to go about life very confidently, absolutely re-assured that I was covered by your constant prayers for me. Now I will walk even taller, knowing that I have my own very personal angel in Heaven. Recently, one of my friends said to me. “Before he became your father, he was a child of God. God has simply claimed what belongs to Him. Let him go.” And so I will let you go to where you belong, trooper. It was an absolute pleasure having you as a father, as my friend. I will miss you sorely, forever, but I know that you are better off where you are. In your quiet, persistent and almost perfectionist manner, you completed your task on earth. And so I say “Kudos” to you, Alexander Brendan Ngwa Nforbi, for a job very well done. Bye Dad, until we meet again, Your daughter and mother, Njuibi