The last time I saw Uncle Maduk, he told me he knew he wasn’t going to survive the operation, and that by the time I am back for the next holidays, he might be no more.

He thanked me for constantly paying  him visits, bringing him fruits despite the rumors that he was an evil man and deserved what happened to him.

“We are family.” I assured him.

“I am only 44 years and I wish I could live longer.” he lamented.

“Look at me. I know it is the women I have broken their hearts that are working behind the scenes to end my  life.” he continued.

This was not the Uncle Maduk I had known. Where is the fire that used to be in his voice and posture, the name that used to be on every lip?

I couldn’t stare him in the face as he spoke. His children had  abandoned him after what he did to their mother. And here he was, the once mighty Maduk, spread on a mat with flies all over him and left to rot like the carcass of a wild beast.

As I stood up to leave, I could not help but notice the strange sombre mood hanging over the empty house. The house had no lights, and as darkness was falling, I wondered if he had an emergency at night, who would call an ambulance. 

His cough was fading as I trudged deep into the thicket surrounding his house on the outskirts of the village.

No wonder Grandpa Willie says that sticking to one woman was why he’s lived long and is looking young for his age.

I hurry home to pack and catch the evening train back to boarding school, saddened by the thought of returning next vacation to find Uncle Maduk turn into one of the names on a plaque in the village cemetery.

By Benjamin Nambu