A funeral oration by the Son-in-Law (Obilu, bilu, bilu)

Good evening everyone. If we turn the clock back to 1997, you would see a much younger, perhaps slightly more arrogant version of the man standing before you today. I was a ‘City Boy’ at heart. Yes, I had spent some years in the village as a baby, but the city shaped me, washing away all that the village had left in me. Or so I thought.

That year, I took the bold, perhaps delirious step to meet the woman who would become my mother-in-law, the now late Mrs. Mamuna Momoh, on whose behalf we all are gathered here this evening. We call her Nene. I remember arriving at the intersection of the Rubber Research Road and the Benin-Warri Expressway in Iyanomo. Now, if you know that road, you know it is not a short stroll. We had to walk the entire length of that rubber plantation.

Picture it: Me, in my city shoes, walking through endless rows of rubber trees. It was quiet. It was hot. And with every step, I asked myself, ‘Who sends a city boy into the jungle for love?’

We finally arrived at her humble abode. Remember, this was 1997—no GSM, no WhatsApp, not any effective communicationmedium to have announced our visit to her beforehand. We just showed up. And yet, she welcomed us as if she had been waiting for us  for days in anticipation.

I must confess, standing there that day, I judged her. I looked around and saw not what she had but what were missing. For those polished faces amongst us here and I count point some out, we know. What a village house was. As a self-doubting suitor, I kept thinking, ‘Is this the family I am going to marry into? Can a Lagos boy survive this?’

That was the first of many visits. But before I could return to the rubber plantation, the plantation came to us. First for our wedding and then when my wife—my ‘Sugar Bobo’—and I had our son.  Nene arrived to do Omugwo (post-partum care). Now, we had a challenge that only those adventurous enough to have married across tribes will understand: The Tower of Babel.

My wife was a mix of Afemai and Ishan. I am Yoruba. The only word in Ishan I knew was ‘Obilu’ (relation/in-law), then. I now know a few more like dole bi, so please don’t judge me. But for some reason, my in-laws decided to remix my name. They wouldn’t just call me Obilu; they call me ‘Obilu-bilu-bilu.’ To this day, I don’t know if that was a title of honor or a secret joke!

Nene spoke very little English. I spoke zero Ishan. So, we communicated through her daughter’s translations. But there was one language she spoke fluently: Prayer.

She would launch into deep prayers in Ishan, and I would stand there, head bowed, waiting to say Amen. But, rather she would end with “Go with the Father.”  My suspicion deepened. I refused to say Amen. I would open one eye and think, ‘Which Father? The one in Heaven? I needed to be sure before I commit my spirit!’

Despite my suspicions, I watched her. Nene was not a woman given to idleness. I had already noticed that trait in my wife, but Nene showed me the source code. Early in the morning, while the ‘City Boy’ was still dreaming, she was already sweeping the compound, bathing the baby, and stirring something delicious in the kitchen.

I began to warm up to her.

Then came the turning point. We visited her at Iyanomo. We had met her at a nearby farm; she was pushing a loaded bicycle, looking strong, looking like the earth itself.

By that evening, my ‘City Boy’ regalia was in the trash. I have a picture from that day—my shirt is unbuttoned, my tummy is fully out, and my daughter is running naked and free around her well-kept bungalow surrounded by lush vegetation. I looked at that picture later and realized: I wasn’t judging anymore. I was part of her, and she was part of me.

Over the years, we stopped being strangers. We went to church together, prayed together and now hear her saying “omnini Jesu”, the only cue I understood when she prayed in Ishan to say Amen.

She had been brought to Christ based on conviction she had in her daughter. Sugar bobo had made it a prayer point that the day her mum accepts Christ she would roll publicly on the floor, in church, to thank the Lord. And she did but I did not leave her to fulfil the pledge alone, I joined her. She rolling from the left and I from the right, with both of us Meeting at the middle in front of a full congregation of the RCCG Terbancle of David Church in Ajah. It was a momentous occasion for us.

Having found Christ, she won’t let go. Until she became restricted by age, she was a daily worshipper in the neighbourhood church everyday. We attended family meetings, and shared meals. All through this, I learned that her greatest superpower was a mix of extreme humility and a total lack of anger.

It was first in 2023 that we became worried that she was leaving us. Straight to Benin headed sugar bobo. She got the immiste family together with the grandchildren to give her her flowers, while alive. She was celebrated with each person telling her how she had influenced their lives. You could see clipses of this in the slides scrolling.

Then came June this year and another hurried trip back home. I saw the mother-daughter bond, raw, fresh and most clearly. Don’tget me wrong, I have seen this all through our marriage but it hit home differently this time. We had taken a load of different items, pads, laxatives, walker, multivitamins and whatever our generous luggage allowance of almost 100kg for the two of us would allow and delivered to her

My wife, sugar-bobo, stripped away her ‘Australia persona’ and transformed into a full Edo woman. I watched a daughter lift her mother, bathe her, and care for her. It was a cycle of love coming full circle. Out at the shopping mall in Aduwawa, Nene walked, aided of course by a zimmer frame. She walked faster and with more energy than her daughter, my sister-in-law, . It was the first time she was in Aduwawa after a few months of having been constrained to only her house surroundings.

It was eye opening for me to see how a little care can bring back life as I looked into her eyes. So I asked her, “Nene, you dey chop?” Her answer was swift and sharp: “Me? I dey chop well well!” And I saw it demonstrated as pounded yam was brought with meat. She ate unaided and pierced through the meat. All these gave us hope, hope that if her care was sustained, she would be here with us for many more years.

That is why her death is so painful. She wasn’t frail in spirit. She was a woman at peace. When I asked her how she was coping with her eldest daughter, the one responsible for her care,  her response was “We fight, we settle.” Simple. No drama.

Her investments were not in stocks or real estate, but in people. I don’t think there is a single grandchild she didn’t try to mould. I still have memories of her spending hours trying to press two dimples into the bottom of my son, Ileri! And look at the beautiful Kishi—or ‘Kishua’—today. That elegance, that black beauty? That is the early handiwork of Nene, bathing her then fragile body, throwing her up three or as many times she felt and using her hands to rub powder and cream all over her.

However, there is one final matter I must settle with her because all along Nene’s answer to me had been “E no go possible.”

You see, for umpteen years, I have lodged a formal complaint. As a Yoruba man, I realized I was cheated. Back in the day, I paid a dowry of N5,000 to marry my wife, sugar bobo. A king’s ransom! Only to discover that the guys who wedded after me paid less than N500, that is Edo’s abracadabra for you. For years I have told my in-laws, “I demand a refund of my balance, or I am returning the wife!”

And Nene would just look at me, shake her head, smile, and say: “E no go possible.”

Now that she is gone, I ask you all… from whom will I collect my refund?

To Nene: Sleep in peace. You have run your race, you have kept the faith, and you have fed us well.

And to the rest of us: Let us take a cue from her. Our true memories are not in the things we buy, but in the life we live and the love we create. For those who are lucky to still have their parents alive, may I urge you to visit them, take care of them call them and give them that kiss in the cheek.

Adieu, Nene. Elilinasi Jesu.”

My speech at the service of songs held in memory of Mrs Mamuna Momoh (Nene) between 6pm and 8pm on 28th Nov 2025 at John McGrath Hall. 97 Hensman St. South Perth WA 6151. She died on 6th Nov 2025 in Benin, Nigeria