Death on the dance floor
By Taju Tijani
The place was thronged with mourners. Wailers sang death dirges extolling the virtues of the dead. If hysterical ululation could be the standard gauge for the depth of love for our departed, I could say that Mrs. Rose Nwosu was truly a woman who must have touched many lives with her earthly goodness. They kept coming in. The soft summer weather brought them in droves – young, old, strong, infirm, rich and the poor. The street in Enfield must have lost a star. As mourning visitors strolled in with mournful faces, they each embraced the husband of the dead who sat casually in the midst of his guests looking empty, drained and lifeless.
Forty-four years ago, Ugo Nwosu left Nigeria for the greener pastures of London. He was a 24-year-old green horn who had a burning passion and ambition to ride the crest of determination and hard work to make his dad and mum proud. The dad was a hardy Nnewi businessman and mum too foraged near and far as a nomadic trader around Nigeria. Nothing then was more befitting than to send Ugo abroad to acquire western education and learn the cultural mores of “Ndi oyibo”. He was in the pioneering train of Japa.
He had all his education in London. In between, he travelled back and forth to Nigeria to enjoy local delicacies and relight the fire of old friendship he left behind. At that juvenile age, Ugo was restless. He took a massive challenge and risked a trip to Sierra Leone. The travel gene he acquired from his mum was rearing to conquer the world. As a student, the Ndigbo mercantilist instinct was put to the test. He established a business in that country and at every holiday, Ugo was in Sierra Leone as a student businessman. Then his life changed….
He did not foresee the change. His busy life and itineracy became a topic of bother between papa and mama. A plan was hatched. Ugo must be tied down with a loving wife. Mr. Paul Onyia Nwosu and Mrs. Elizabeth Nwosu had been observing Rose and ticking the boxes of her sterling qualities. They reckoned she was a good egg. She was like a towering rose amidst the forest of thick thorns. Nnewi of those days was a sedate, relaxed and carefree society. It was not a boisterous city of factories, playboys and billionaires of today. Both Ugo and Rose were not born into the new generation of filthy riches and wealth of Nnewi sons and daughters.
In 1982 Rose Nwosu joined her husband in the UK. God fearing, tall, elegant, intelligent, ebony radiant, sweet smiling and dutiful. Ugo was unprepared but coped with the hustle and bustle of London life of the early 80s. The temperature of his bohemian and traveller mentality mellowed. He submerged all his energies not only to making a success of his marriage but also to making his parents proud. It was a marriage made in heaven. Both couples understood each other. They communicated well and respect each other’s boundaries with acceptance and godly deference.
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Forty-one years later, four kids were the fruits. Two boys and two girls. Rose was a homemaker extraordinaire. She was a godly woman who gave all to her Catholic religion. She was a communitarian and was a regular fixture in many Igbo gatherings across London offering assistance and deploying her public relations gifts for the joy of the greatest number. She lived a life of service. She started out as an odd jobber, then into Housing Management and into Nursing. She collapsed the impossible into possibility.
Ugo had prepared for the party for a week. He had prepared meticulously down to the clothes he would wear. Rose had done the same. The summer weather provided added encouragement to go out and let down hairs and paint the town red. As a nurse, Rose worked flat out during the pandemic to save lives. Her gifting was in helping others and nursing provided a platform to exhibit that skill. She was famous around the hospital for her good deeds to patients. Satisfied patients gave flowers, roses and wine throughout her days at her beloved hospital. She was a selfless worker.
Ugo had his own party and the same day the nurses were staging a summer party of thanksgiving for themselves. The black Mercedes Benz rolled out of the drive. Ugo drove his wife to his party and they had a great time. Three bottles of Guinness, a plate of jollof rice, some banters with Ndigbo friends, Ugo was done. He accompanied his wife to the venue of her party and left her there to enjoy the night in the company of nursing colleagues. Rose Nwosu wore a cream gown, high heeled stiletto and complimented all with brunette hair draped across her shoulders. She danced like David danced.
Ugo whistled to the train station. He left the car with the wife to avoid collision with the law because of the alcohol in his veins. He was feeling sleepy but mindful of his stop. His imagination roamed to the coming trip to Nigeria to see the completion of the beautiful house the family had built in Nnewi.
Ugo retired last year but still works to avoid boredom and over thinking. However, he is wistfully looking forward to that glorious day he would return to Nigeria with Rose beside him as grandparents to their four kids. Ugo and Rose had a plan. Once Rose retires in a couple of years, then Nnewi would be the next harbour to moor their matrimonial boat. He had been playing this scenario on his mind like a dice thrower when his phone rang. Then…
The ambulance van drove in furiously. The paramedics ran inside the party venue with their stretcher to see a tall, beautiful, black woman on the floor. There was commotion, confusion and concern all around. One of our members is on the floor rend the party hall.
“It is Rose…it is Rose…it is Rose…it is Rose,” her colleagues chorused. At 62, Rose Nwosu was pronounced dead on the floor. The mystery of such untimely, unprepared death has captured the imagination of the Igbo community who knew Rose Nwosu. “Was it exhaustion from dancing?” “Could it be poison, or what?” Yes, the mortal job of the living is to question why we die…especially fine people like Rose. United Kingdom is full dream chasers like the Nwosus. They build their dreams around retirement to enjoy rest in Nigeria. Too many souls have departed to the beyond without realising this beautiful evening dream. Many Nigerians died alone in nursing homes. They died on buses from work exhaustion and stress. Many died of loneliness. Many have died weeks after retirement. Now death on the dance floor!! Death on the dance floor!!!
I mingled with my Igbo brothers who had come to console Ugo. I walked in quietly and soberly. I embraced Ugo warmly. I was speechless. In that voicelessness, Ugo would remember most of my sermon on wealth, riches, living in the moment, loneliness, having fun, retirement, diaspora rat race, homecoming, dream, rest, risk taking and death. I had been drumming this sermon to his listening ears for the last six years. I never knew he would be a victim so soon – losing a wife and living alone in a foreign land!
