We had always had a bitter-sweet relationship. He was a strict disciplinarian every time he came around and I was rebellion personified – I’ve always been fiercely independent.

My Uncle Kingsley – everyone called him Uncle K – was seriously ill this time. We had parted on a friendly note the last time we met, which was shortly before I left for school.

When I returned four months later, it was to hear the shocking news that he had kidney failure. My Dad, generous as he was, was taking care of all the expenses.

He looked like a skeleton and his voice was almost gone. He had so much fluid under his skin that before he had been dialysed, a very incompetent nurse had probed both thighs with a long needle to locate the vein, literally punching them full of holes.

The resultant pain was excruciating and he could not walk. When I looked at him, I realized just how fragile the human body is. Once one of the most eligible bachelors, he was something to give any lady nightmares - eyes sunken within his head, his skin of a deathly pallor and for some reason he had gone almost completely bald.

My parents had to go somewhere and it fell on me to look after him. I was very annoyed because I had an exciting novel to read and wanted to clean my room, but I complied.

He had become very irritable for about two days and my mom had chosen me because she knew he had a soft spot for me – we always argued but he secretly confided in her that he learned a lot from me. I walked into the room where he was lying prepared to explode if he said something flaming. I’m ashamed to admit I have a violent temper but sometimes, I refuse to keep it in check – this was one of such times. Fortunately, he didn’t talk much and when he did, it was in a very tiny voice.

I had to carry him everywhere and boy, was he heavy! I was used to lifting weights on occasion but those were nothing compared to him. He was unable to pass water when I carried him to the bathroom.

He was never comfortable in any position. He would spend three minutes lying down, then request to be moved to the chair. Shortly after, he would want to kneel beside his bed, with his head on it.

He was too proud to let me feed him. I watched him forcefully grasp a spoon with his swollen hand and try to shovel food into his mouth and I was overcome with pity for him and anger at God.

‘Why do you let people suffer this way?’ I railed silently. ‘If you’re not going to do something about his condition, why not take him?’

A sudden calm descended on me and I knew something was going to happen. I felt I had communicated with God and He had touched me.

Uncle K asked to be moved to a sitting position and I lifted – dragged is more apt – him from the bed. I picked up my novel and began to read, checking on him from time to time. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully and there was a smile on his face.

After reading for close to an hour, I felt I ought to go out since he was apparently sleeping. I walked out of the room and bumped into my aunt, who was just returning from church. I told her I was tired and needed to eat. She sensed something wrong and went in, with one of my uncles who was visiting.

After a while, I followed. Uncle K was just tipping over and she was trying to hold him up. His neck sagged and I knew instinctively what had happened.

‘He’s dead,’ she said unnecessarily – her face said it all. My younger brother Uche, twice as curious as an eleven-year-old hurried towards the room to catch a glimpse. He must have sensed something. He appeared disappointed when I herded him off.

‘Azuka, what’s happening?’ he asked.

‘Uncle K’s dead,’ I replied. His face fell, although he did not cry. We sat down together and I out an arm around him. For once, he looked serious – no mischievous smile on his face. We just sat quietly, taking solace in each other’s presence.

My cousin refused to eat that night and cried a lot, although like me, she had disagreed with him a lot. My parents wept privately, as my mom later confided in me. I and my younger brother were in a disjointed state and just sat numbly – I felt my spirit and body were separated.

At the funeral, the coffin was opened for the last time and I almost recoiled in horror. A week in the morgue had shriveled the flesh and turned him white…I can’t describe the rest. I have an over-active imagination and I kept thinking he would get up and tell us he was alright. I knew if that happened, everyone from the officiating minister to me would show a clean pair of heels.

None of that happened however, and he was lowered into the grave. We all tossed clods of red earth onto the immaculate white coffin.

One of my cousins nudged me.

‘It’s funny,’ he said. ‘It’s funny how life is. When a baby’s born, it cries but everyone else is happy. When people die, they wear a smile on their faces but everyone else cries.’

‘True,’ I said, watching as the grave was filled. At that moment I knew I would never fear Death anymore – or at least I wouldn’t look on Him the same way.