Story:
This is a 1980’s picture of my mum, Ngozi Nnaji, my late dad, Benson Nnaji, and his bosom friend, also late. During a wedding ceremony in Onitsha, South-East Nigeria.
It takes me back to my youth: the love our parents showed us, the unity in our family, respect for elders, our direction toward God and the things of God.

We were a wonderful family. Then death struck, and my dad died at the age of 54. My mum was shattered, and so were we, the children. Looking at this picture, I remember my dad in a conversation with his friend, Mr. Odimegwu, also in the photo, having a heated argument about whether living to old age as a Christian, with the risk of backsliding, was better than dying young but being sure of heaven. My father believed that heaven at any age was far better than risking hell.

I don’t know if their deaths in their mid-fifties were prophecy or coincidence, but remembering that argument reawakens the pain. My loving dad, who was always there for me, was suddenly gone. I became afraid, often checking on my mum while she slept, worried that death might take her too. I suffered traumas, nightmares, and depression, though I didn't know those names at the time. In traditional Igbo society, such language was unfamiliar. Everyone tried to appear strong.

suddenly, a strange thought came to me: Why is my mum in the same picture with two dead men? Didn’t they say ‘till death do us part’? I used my digital tools to separate the living from the dead and created a second image—my mum alone. Yet the way she held her hand seemed to ask, Destiny, what do you have in store for me?
I realized Pictures can be edited but Memories endure.

Submitted by: Nnaji Obianuju Esther

Connect: @esthr.nnaji