Sacred Heart Catholic Church, Columbia, Missouri, USA
Monday, 2 August 2021
By Richard Uku
Good morning everyone – Monsignor Greg, dear family, and all friends here physically as well as those following this mass through the live feed available.
This is like déjà vu. You know, seven years ago, my family assembled here from different parts of the world to celebrate our mother’s 80th birthday. It was a wonderful family get-together – one of the best family gatherings we’d ever had. Only weeks later, after almost everyone had returned to their homes, we all gathered here again for the death and burial of my younger brother Martin. So, you can see what I mean when I say I feel a strong sense of déjà vu. Columbia, Missouri will always have a great significance to my family.
Thank you all for joining our family this morning as we celebrate the life of our wonderful mother, Velma Mae Uku. Where do you start when it falls to you to eulogize the woman who gave you life as her first born?
There is a Jewish proverb that says: “God could not be everywhere, so he created mothers.” At the risk of sounding slightly sacrilegious – and forgive me Monsignor Greg; I’ll come back for confession – that is sort of the way we feel in my family. Mum was a woman of abiding faith and a staunch Catholic, who brought us up to worship God. We did, and we adored and worshipped her too. She was our beloved matriarch and we all looked up to her. My siblings and I owe who we are and what we have made of ourselves to our mother’s pretty much stellar single-handed parenting.
There is an African proverb which says that every child who has not travelled considers his or her mother’s soup to be the sweetest. My siblings and I are all well travelled but we still consider our mother’s proverbial soup to be the sweetest. In other words, with due respect to all mothers, we consider ours to be the absolute best mother God could have given us.
That adoration went far beyond our family. I do not have enough fingers to count the number of times people have told me: “Richard, your mum is like a second mother to me.” She naturally endeared herself to people wherever she went, wherever she lived or even sojourned for brief periods: In her native Trinidad & Tobago, Nigeria, Equatorial Guinea, the United Kingdom, Qatar, and the United States. She simply touched and impacted so many lives in so many parts of the world.
Mum’s life was all about educating, about nurturing. From her small town of Buenos Ayres, Trinidad & Tobago, where she was born, she went to school at Cap de Ville Government Primary School in Buenos Ayres (a school I also attended for a short while in my time) and St. Joseph Convent School in the capital city of Port of Spain. She earned her professional teaching qualifications from the University of London’s Digby Stewart College in Roehampton, London in the late 1950s. From there sprung the beginning of a stellar career in education.
Mum went on to teach in Nigeria in the early 1960s. Her past pupils and students are alumnae of Holy Rosary Secondary School in Port Harcourt, Nigeria, Corona School in Bukuru, near Jos, Nigeria, and the University of Jos Primary School, among various other schools where she taught.
Her children were also her pupils. My siblings and I all received private lessons at home. How can I forget the number of times my ears got twisted for giving the wrong answers to simple arithmetic questions? The word I loathed most was “sums.” “It’s time to do your sums.” When their time came around, my sister Stephanie recalls how she and Martin would try to hide the Larcomb math workbooks to avoid their lessons. Of course, unsuccessfully. Our youngest sibling Alison, the baby of the family, came along much later. Her recollection from her lessons with Mum is that you dare not yawn or feign interest, or you do so at your own peril.
Mum sacrificed a great deal and devoted herself 100% to raising her four children, and she did an exemplary job. She was supremely proud of us. At certain landmark moments in my career, I recall her eyes welling up as she said to me: “Mama and Papa (my maternal grandparents, with whom I lived for a period as youngster) would be proud. One of such occasions was when, as communications director at the Commonwealth Secretariat in London, I was privileged to speak with Queen Elizabeth II at Marlborough House. Our photographer had taken a photo of me in conversation with Her Majesty, and from the angle that he took it, I looked as if I was almost under the lovely wide brimmed hat that the Queen was wearing. Mum was ecstatic when she saw it, and that’s when she talked about how proud my grandparents would be if they could see their “little Richard.” I know that my siblings all experienced similar moments where Mum’s pride at their achievements shone through. We all owe her a debt of gratitude.
Mum was a woman who became a double parent during the Nigerian civil war. After many months in the heart of war-torn Biafra, we were eventually flown out of Biafra as refugees, courtesy of the International Red Cross in the dead of the night. Our father remained in Biafra, as the services of every able bodied Biafran who could wield a weapon were required by the Republic. We did not see him again for another four years, believing for most of that time that he was one of the over 1 million killed in the war.
That night flight out of Biafra took us to then Santa Isabel, Fernando Po, today Malabo, Equatorial Guinea. Stephanie was born there weeks later. I think that is where early adulthood began for me, as I stood by our mother’s side, observing with admiration how she became both mother and father, and supporting her as best as I could as a young 10-year-old and on into my early teenage years.
We moved on to her native Trinidad & Tobago from Equatorial Guinea, and in those Nigerian civil war years, I saw Mum’s mettle as a devoted, hard-working single parent. She found a job as a teacher, and on her teacher’s salary, she ably provided for her young family. Reflecting as an adult – many years later – on the challenges that she broached back then, I am reminded of a Malawian proverb that says: “A mother is like a kernel (with a ‘k’), crushed by problems but strong enough to overcome them.” And overcome many challenges she certainly did.
Our return to Nigeria after the Biafran war took us to Jos in the north of the country, where we were reunited with our father and made our home. This is where Mum taught for many years and established a reputation for herself as a respected teacher and school administrator. She was principal of Corona School and the University of Jos Primary School for a long time. She was keenly sought after as a would-be school principal by founders of several private schools, but she remained with University of Jos until her retirement.
To give you just one example of the goodwill that our mother elicited, my sisters came out from the United States and Britain to visit me in Lomé, Togo in 2016. They first flew into Nigeria and landed at Murtala Mohammed International Airport in Lagos. Now, MMA is not exactly the most welcoming of airports, and Stephanie and Alison nervously held their breath as they came up to the immigration desk to present their passports. They half expected the familiar “So, what have you brought for us” or “Madam, isn’t your passport missing a page?” Instead, what they heard from the immigration official examining their passports was: “Uku. Hmm, are you by any chance related to a Velma Uku in Jos?” Stunned, my sisters said “Yes, that’s our mother.” The immigration official beamed. “Your mother was my teacher and principal in primary school in Jos,” he said. My sisters were instantly given preferential, fast-track VIP treatment. And this is just one of many such experiences that we have all had as Velma Uku’s children.
Mum had many cast iron friendships that spanned the globe. Over the last few years that she battled poor health, we received so many phone calls and messages from her vast legion of friends enquiring about her health from all over the world: Nigeria, Canada, the US, Qatar, Trinidad, the UK. Since her passing just over a week ago, you can imagine the volume of condolence messages that we have received. Our phones literally lit up like Christmas trees and have stayed that way since we announced her passing. The outpouring of love and support for our mother has been just remarkable, and we feel so gratified.
The individual “thank you’s” that we owe are far too many to mention at this time, or we could easily spend several hours here. Suffice it to say, on behalf of our family, I want to express our heartfelt appreciation to all Mum’s friends who have reached out to commiserate with us from near and far. Your messages, conveyed verbally and in writing, have lifted our spirits greatly.
To our own friends and colleagues, I equally say a sincere thank you for being so wonderfully supportive. My sister’s home here in Columbia has been overflowing with our family members who have converged here from different parts of the world. Her amazing Columbia support group has been outstanding in preparing and delivering cooked meals throughout last week.
To our dear family friends who have flown or driven here to be with us today, thank you so much. To those who could not be here with us physically but are following proceedings on our live feed, thank you also for sharing this important day with us.
To the devoted staff of Columbia Manor here in Columbia, who helped with Mum’s care over the last eight months, we say a sincere thank you. Similarly, our appreciation goes to Annette Pownall and her colleagues in Clayton-le-Woods, Leyland, England, Edna Msimuko of the greater Manchester area and our family friend Adewumi Esuga for their invaluable roles in Mum’s healthcare.
Jarrod Caldwell and the good people at Parker-Millard Funeral Services here in Columbia have been wonderful in caring for Mum since her passing, and in preparing her for her final place of rest. We appreciate the empathy you have shown in your interaction with us. The same can be said for John Wampler and his team at Columbia Cemetery, who have made it possible for us to lay Mum to rest beside our brother Martin, who passed away here seven years ago.
Last but certainly not least, to Monsignor Greg Higley of Sacred Heart Catholic Church, we say thank you for conducting this beautiful mass for Mum and for administering her funeral rites as we now proceed to lay her to rest. This was Mum’s church in Columbia, and it was only fitting that mass be said for her here.
I know that many friends and well-wishers have requested masses for Mum in different places, and we are grateful to them for this. Clearly, our mother takes her leave of this earth with a spirit buoyed by so many warm thoughts and their prayers.
Once Monsignor brings this mass to an end, we shall proceed to Columbia Cemetery in a convoy for the interment. After the interment, we shall return here to Sacred Heart for a reception. Then in the evening, from about 6 pm, you are welcome to join us at Stephanie and Tomiwa’s home at 2713 Bayonne Court.
Again, thank you all for joining us to honour our late mother and to celebrate her life today.
To read the obituary notice, please click on this link: https://bit.ly/3jHCEy6
richarduku 