Clem’s Memorial Service, Unitarian Church in Westport, March 7, 2020
What an unlikely pair we were! The obvious differences – our height! When Clem and I married, I stopped wearing heels most of the time. Clem objected! He liked the look of me in heels and wasn’t the least concerned about my being even taller than usual!
The color of our skin – couldn’t miss that!
Even our politics, religious ideas and economic beliefs were different. Clem never really got used to our church not having a creed! He was a committed Anglican forever. He had an economic theory about factor proportions which you might have heard if you spent time in conversation with him. I admired it but didn’t agree!
I won’t mention the political difference.
We grew up on different continents in different family structures. We were separated for long periods many times – by a war, securing graduate degrees, and business! Despite all, we created a strong marriage and family. We loved each other and learned from each other for 55 years!
I gained from him the sense of belonging, of being part of a community. He held deep ties to his family, his clan, and his village. And he brought me into that family and all its connections.
The first time I visited my husband’s village after we were married I was a little disturbed when men and women addressed me, “Nwunyem, or nwunye anyi, my wife or our wife.”
“What do they mean?” I asked Clem.
“They are telling you that you are part of the village and part of our family now,” he said. I relaxed and enjoyed being greeted so familiarly.
We will have visible signs when we have his funeral in Nigeria next month. The elders of the clan are responsible for digging his grave. He will be buried next to his parents. All members of the clan will wear clothing in the same fabric.
His last few months were difficult, though he wasn’t in pain. He no longer had the energy to read email or the papers. He resisted our children’s frequent attempts to get him to exercise a little.
Over those months as he seemed to be letting go of life, I told him frequently that I loved him. I reminded him of experiences and joys we shared. I pulled out old photo albums.
I hold on to the memories of our early days together when we were getting to know each other. Within months we had fallen in love. We figured out to overcome his parents’ reservations with my Igbo language skill and demonstrated appreciation of their customs.
I hold on to the early days of our marriage when Clem was deeply engrossed with his job as the chief electrical engineer of Nigeria’s electricity authority. I recall his work on his first book when he often woke up in the middle of the night to write. I so admired his perseverance.
I recall our days in Biafra. They were often stressful, but they were also a time when we shared a commitment to a cause. His work for the break-away nation was a source of pride for both of us. “As Chairman of Biafra’s airport authority he made sure planes were landing and taking off at Uli and Uga airports,” someone wrote about him recently.
I hold on to memories of times together in London. Clem bought a Rolls Royce, and nothing made him happier in those days that driving our family to visit friends or places in the UK he had known in his student days and later. He took us to Manchester and Leeds, where he had studied and worked. When we arrived at our hotel in the Rolls, we were besieged! It turned out Michael Jackson was appearing that night and staying in the same hotel. We were for a moment mistaken for his entourage! Clem credited the mistake to his pride and joy, the Rolls!
I loved visiting his friends, watching him engage with Johnson Obi or Ben Uzochukwu and other long-time companions. His secondary school connections were important to him, and we attended events of the alumni group in this area.
We danced whenever the opportunity came.
Trips to visit my parents in Madeira were always fun. He and my dad got along well. They engaged in discussions on topics of the day. He appreciated my mother’s fussing over him, the wine-tasting we did with her, and going to the English Church. We sang familiar hymns while my mother played the organ.
Visits to his parents in Onitsha were also a special treat. There his mother fussed over me, apologizing when the soup – in which she assured me she had put hardly any pepper – caused tears to run down my face.
The beach in Westport was a special joy for him. He had a favorite chair we carried along and we would put up an umbrella for him. He would carry the day’s newspaper to read and fall asleep within 3 minutes, the paper on the sand beside him!
He was very proud of our children and delighted in telling acquaintances about them. He swelled with pride when he said his first son a managing director at Goldman Sachs, his daughter an assistant professor at Harvard, and his second son CEO of an entertainment company.
We had a happy, rich and fulfilling life together. He gave me a profound understanding of what it means to be part of a community. I will hold on to our love for the rest of my days!