DEAR CHUKS,
I have tried for nine months to write you a tribute to no avail. I hope to do so when my system understands and possibly assimilates the nightmarish experience; when the unimaginable pain eases and the confusion clears; when you actually fail to show up and I can figure out the possibility of a life without you; when the memory of how I drove you to the hospital and ended up walking beside you on a stretcher to the mortuary obliterates; when the guilt of abandoning you in a pit, dug in your compound, clears; when your advice on our collective dreams materialises. Then, and only then, Chuks, will I write you a tribute. For now, Holy Spirit of God, remain in control.