Tuesday, October 21, 2025
Eulogy for Mama Patricia Okafor (Nneka’s Mother)
I don’t have far-reaching or long-ranging anecdotes to share because I did not know Mama intimately. However, we did share some moments.
It was a privilege to meet and know Mama for many months since 2023, through 2024 and until a few weeks ago when she stopped coming to church. We, that is, she her daughter Nneka, and myself sat in the same middle column, frontal rows, in church and became friendly. (Joke: you see, I am a creature of habit and I joke that I share a trait with God in that I never change some habits, and one of these is sitting in the same area every Sunday morning for all the years that I have attended Woodvale)
I noticed that Mama would sometimes insist on sitting beside me, whereas I’d occasionally reserve seats for them and would be ushering her and Nneka to a row to themselves. What she didn’t realize was that I preferred to sit alone in church, haha. But I got to understand that Mama craved community and familiar society.
Anyhow, talking to her was pleasant. In the minutes before service started, we usually had time for some chit-chat. She told me that she was a nurse, and had worked in Europe, the Middle East, and back in Africa. In those moments, I could feel the warmth and love of a Mum. Seeing her on Sunday mornings and attending to her like one’s Mum, with the reverence (curtsying, use of plural) reserved for the elders, was reminiscent of back home in Africa.
Following my month-long absence from church early this year, Mama noticed. After I resumed in February, she arrived one Sunday morning and hugging me, asked if I was okay and I told her that I had been ill. You see, although we fraternized in church, we didn’t exchange numbers and we were really more of churchy neighbors, so she could not have called me.
I got used to seeing Nneka and Mum walk into church together, so when Nneka arrived alone a couple of Sundays ago, I know instinctively that something dreadful had happened. “Is everything okay?” I queried. “Mama passed on Wednesday”, she replied somberly, dropping the dreaded bombshell.
Philosophy: A mother does not disappear in death. Her presence is now everywhere, not confined to a single place. Though Nneka’s mother is no longer here in body, the wisdom she gave, the tenderness she showed, and the lives she touched, remain.
Dear Nneka, your name means ‘mother is supreme.’ May you always carry your mother’s supreme love and legacy as a guiding light and comfort in the days and years ahead.
Thinking of you with love and prayers.
Dr. Debbie
