Victor Onwusika

Sometime around noon on Wednesday, March 27, 2024, I received a perfunctory message through WhatsApp from a friend with the words, Is it true that this your classmate has died? Blazoned above the message was a picture of Victor Onwusika, my former classmate, colleague, and friend.

As I read the message, a wave of shock engulfed me, leaving me numb. Cold sweat drenched my body, and my heart raced in my chest. Panic seized me as I frantically tried to confirm whether the news was true, clinging to a desperate hope that it was all a mistake, that somehow, Victor hadnt really passed away.

I called the number I had for him, and the automated voice on the other end announced that the phone associated with the number was switched off. Never before had the simple act of a phone being turned off brought such a sense of foreboding, as if the owner had truly been switched off from this plane of existence. Fear lingered, casting a shadow of doubt over whether the news might indeed be true.

My phone rang again, and a friend I had reached out to confirmed that he saw a post on his Facebook page announcing Victors demise. In that moment, an unimaginable wave of shame gripped me. My sweat turned to tears, streaming in a torrent of regret. Regret that I had lost the good fortune it would have been to have seen him, perhaps for just one last time had I kept the promise I made to him.

I remember around August of last year when I saw his repeated posts of support for one of our other classmates who is vying for the presidency of the Nigerian Bar Association. I was moved to call him, probably the first time in the previous 10 years. When I did, I asked about him heartfully, joking that I now only hear of him and no longer see him. Memories flooded back of our early days of law practice, especially our early morning runs into the High Courts of Ikeja and Igbosere. I recall my first motion before Justice Alogba, and how Victor gave me a pep talk on how to present it. He advised me to end with I urge the court to grant our prayers after my arguments.

In the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, where we both studied law, I wasnt particularly close to him. But circumstances brought us together for a brief stint in our bid to be admitted into a somewhat prestigious club. Victor and I would often share conversations about how we can do some good and fight injustice in the larger society. During the grueling process of the interview, Victor was a solid rock of encouragement. Although brief, the interaction with him during this period was deep.

It was therefore some sort of delight to find out that he had settled in Lagos after graduation to practice law. I yearned to reignite a relationship with him. So in the call to him this last August, I was determined to make it happen.

If I had, I would most likely have gone with my wife and kids to his house. We would have bantered over food and drinks. Our wives would have been introduced and our kids would have made new friends. I would have asked the question that had stayed in my mind for decades after; was the entire grueling process of joining and staying in the club worth it? I would have wanted his perspective on this much thought-about time of my life.

If I had arranged that meeting, we might have shared the prognosis of our health status and diagnosis. We could have exchanged tidbits about our experiences and knowledge of staying healthy. We might have been frank with each other about our secret health issues and found encouragement in each other to continue doing the best we can, leaving our ultimate fate to Gods grand timing of our stay on earth.

If we had met, we would definitely have discussed business and potential collaborations. I would have sought his views on the impact of our sluggish and mostly inefficient judicial system on his finances, knowing he was a courtroom lawyer. I imagine we would have engaged in some debate about our courts being able to apply the law to dispense justice.

We would have concluded our meeting with animated spirits, each of us carrying with us a sense of anticipation for our next encounter. The addition of new faces and the innocent joy of children would have infused our meeting with warmth and laughter, enriching not only my own experiences but also leaving a lasting impression on our children.

So when I heard the news of his passing unto greater glory, my family would have had context to properly grieve with me. They would have relived the experience of their meeting with Victors family and would understand my sadness. They would show some sadness of their own. The golden moments created by our meeting would have become some sort of oasis to douse my grief, even if a little. Those moments would have been a worthy gift for my soul.

But those moments never came. They did not happen because somehow, I got fooled by the powerful trickery of the idea that tomorrow as an opportunity will be available for us all. I had assumed that I had all the time to schedule and break bread with Victor who will always be present. Now as I mourn him, I am also left with the burden of mourning a missed opportunity to create golden moments. Moments that would have been transformed into an oasis in my heart to soothe the pain of losing someone who had more to give.

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