Carrying the mantle forward: a letter to Tochi, Hannah and David

Dear Tochi, Hannah, David and Okachi,

In moments of profound shock, my emotions often find themselves adrift, moving through time with an unbearable slowness. Watching the solemn procession, the caskets borne with dignity, the first shrouded in the emblematic flag of Access Bank, I desperately hoped that this tragedy was an illusion. Initially, the news did not sink in; I clung to the notion that the bank's official statement would clarify this as a misunderstanding. Yet, the confirmation came. I then awaited the arrival of the remains, a part of me still anticipating a reversal of fate. But reality began settling in with the setting of the burial date.

As the service unfolded, with family, friends, employees, and dignitaries pouring out their hearts in tribute, I realized that this was not a rehearsal, not a staged play of grief – the finality sunk in.

I had the privilege of a few fleeting interactions with your father, Mr Herbert, during my employment at Access Bank. I remember, not long after my resumption at the bank, sharing an elevator where he inquired about my name and my start date. Another time, a brief exchange as I handed over a memo for his signature. Other times, I was just one in a crowd of many employees, watching and hearing him speak to us – his presence commanding yet unassuming. These happened around eight years ago. If you ran into Herbert in the hallway or the lift, you wouldn’t know he was the Managing Director, assuming you lived under the rock and it was your first day at work. He was humble.

Tales of his achievements as the Managing Director of Access Bank echo – the strategic acquisitions of two local banks in Nigeria and several acquisitions of banks in Africa. Personally, his passion for education manifested in the newly built Wigwe University. His legacy is one of transformation and vision.

In these moments of sorrow, we confront the harsh immutability of death, and I find myself wishing it were possible to bargain with fate, to offer a life in exchange for another. Your father, mother and brother were dearly loved, a testament to the fact that many would have readily taken their place to allow your father's profound impact to endure. My heart grieves not for him, for he has found peace, but for you, the living, now navigating the world with a monumental legacy as your guide.

Tochi, Hannah, and David, the path ahead may seem daunting, but you are surrounded by a remarkable extended family. They will do. Amidst the countless messages of condolence and the reassurances that 'God knows best', today, I struggle to see the light at the end of this tunnel. Yet, there is little to be done against this tide of fate.

As I conclude, I am mindful of the weight you have borne throughout this week, the rituals of farewell taxing both body and soul. I imagine you yearn for the quiet space to grieve away from watchful eyes. So, I shall not linger.

In my recent readings of "The Vicar of Wakefield," a novel written in 1776 by Oliver Goldsmith, I am struck by the vicar's parting words to his son, a verse from the Psalms of David: "I have been young, and now am old; yet never saw I the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread." This does not suggest a literal begging; such a day will not come. Instead, the well of goodwill which your parents dug and poured into is overflowing, and it will sustain your generations till the end of time. That’s the consolation. Right now, that is the good I am choosing to see.

Tochi, Hannah, David and Okachi, while the magnitude of your loss defies words, I offer you my deepest sympathies. Please take heart.

With heartfelt condolences,

Ifunanya