Faeo 'Lyre' Clive (16th August 1989 / Isseke - Ihiala, Anambra State.)

If the world can turn round, and we won't
go with him, a reverse, then shall go.
During my younger years in the Coal City,
I used to read and enjoy articles of
high labels and packages __ in terms
of their bearing and authoring; publications
of class and standard. The labels
enlist the then Africana Fep Publishers,
Heinemann Publishers, Macmillian Publishers
and the Longman's; even though I had
a few of the Tabansi Press and Elites
Publication collections. This is the set of
distribution that grew and nursed my
knowledge; but I can remember
not being able to trace my further
liking for the Africana's. As fortunately
as rounding up my high school, before
the late years of the first decade of
this twenty-first century; an employment
gave me a wake-up from a sleeping
fortune. It was spiritual, to draw me
out of Nike. Was I so sought or
pulled by destiny? Could it be a grace of
the rare toss of luck? Nothing clear
would claim the comprehension for me
but I believed in my prescience, shakeless
and in no way, thought else. So took I
its following. It was one Mrs Nwosu that
initiated my discovery; though man, yet,
is the class-first tool and medium of
the providencial workshop. She and
my mother alone, were the next
to the almighty, to know to my
employment, but first. I wont lay
hereupon, how it was carved out.

When the time has it, for my fortunate office,
I met again with the husband of Mrs Nwosu,
who gave me the thorough breakthrough.
Not much shall be said hence, about him
and in my post-penultimate discovery
as I call it; but I shall never give
a shake to my pride, of my knowledge
of him. So came I to meet with the
dynamism to serve under the constitution
of then Patrick Chizoba Omabu,
a.k.a. Africana, a figure less-popular
than his name. I didn't know what
named him 'Africana, ' in that he
depicted american. I am not laying
any juxtaposition of class between
the highlighted races but it's my
observance of the western culture in
comparison to ours, african. Sir P. C.
Omabu has a soft mien and composition
as mellowed, I believe, by time and place.
I undertook highly within, to enjoy
his mastery over me, so did he employ
me at my first and thus came the
book of days publish Sir P. C. and I;
but today, no longer sharing this breath
with me, the inevitable mask, so did
receive him forth from all seeing.

I saw one demonstration which said
'Chizoba lives on, ' it didn't move my
interjection; I saw another as '...a
good man, a great man, ' and I
didn't move yet, against the feeling.
Alas! What caught me moody was that
none, eyes, brewed any drop of rheum
even at the sepulchre; mine, too, did
not. Though I haven't demanded any
why and wherefore. The charactery
general and uniform may be brilliant
and right, in that the demise of Sir
P. C. Omabu came in front of my groping
intelligence. It was Sir P. C. that gave
me an ambitious ladder. He set a
convincing example and supported the
easement of any challant and focused
mind. He would welcome; his
relationship shunned no class but the
better friends as enemies. I saw less
of him for he spent no rest awhile,
but has felt and heard high, of
this icon that ever happened to my
publication, heavy to scribe; it's my
jealousy. In our few contacts, he
have come to my rescue and support,
especially when all I held under,
shaked. I forcefully wrote about
him, regardless of the great compilation of
tributes received in his name, that froze
the flow of my ink that must write a thing;
in that I believed that any account
on his behalf has paid him respects.

He would live on, for his touch remain
fresh-green and high in our acquaintance.
He would always look and smile at
my countenance, even during his days
on sick-bed; yet defiant to live
as dies. The very day that our
relationship marked the hearth of
history was the fortunate day I sat
him private. He was so attentive and
always to learn. He asked why I
'face-lock still' and yet claimed that
I aimed great. This travelled down my
spine and nerves but I pretended at
the metaphor, for I am the kind that
will react to praises, but he went on
advising me on building better. He
was so eloquent that his locution
and diction charmed my heart. His
calmness commands audience, as
golden as silence, soft; Sir P. C.
does purchase at his whole, rich.
He doesn't talk but expect on. He
doesn't call for any jealousy but aware
of his becoming, in confidence, and knows
that the rich are held of the sought-after.
I believe all I have ever gained
the priviledge to hear from him. He
shall live on, whether dead or alive.

His feelings attract no violence of any
degree. He fired the recreant and
breathed life for the ordinary men; he
shall live on. He called for no public
but aimed at building in personal.
Patrick Chizoba Omabu was no mere
fighter of inhumanity but a builder of
christianity and human resources. He
lived it and lives on. He didn't
leave any stone unturned. His delivery
to mankind shuttled between
eighty-nine and ninety-two per cent
accomplishment. I am jealous but
took note. Thus shall not curse the
course but the cause. He shall live on
as he sleep now with his fathers.

Writing him is not a mystery but my
inability to write a thing from much.
It is the knowing not which to tell or
bring up, because high regards have
been given. But my strength, still, is
that there are innumerable ways to a
point, likewise every's tribute to Sir
P. C. Omabu. They wrote according
to their affection. His hand is high
upon my front, I shall rather digest
sorrowing in quiet than flattering
my sightless pains; he lives on. If
dying is what God told nature, I shall
nothing jealous but submit and resign
intil the Almighty. In my wordlessness,
elergic, God knows well, how I in particular
shall miss you, Patrick; adieu Chizoba
Omabu! May God repose you merry.