Bovi Pens Touching Words To Late Mother

In celebration of her one-year remembrance, the jester took to Instagram writing some touching words on how she passed on.

He shared this photo of her headstone above writing,
“Bovi o! It’s mummy o! She’s not breathing o”! Those where the first words that hit me when I picked up the phone call. It was 7 pm, jan 25th 2016. I was parked outside the palms, patiently waiting for my movie time before making my way into the building. But how was this possible? I spoke to her exactly an hour ago and I assured her I would check on her that same evening again.

Now a female voice driven by hysteria was telling me the worst with the only euphemism she could conjure. I asked who else was there. She said uncle Eric. Finally!! Uncle Eric has always been there for my mum. Her go-to guy and Mr Fix it. With uncle Eric, nothing was ever broken. But when he got on the phone, he was broken. It was the first time I heard a strong man cry. That’s when I froze. I was in shock. She had just left me 24 hours earlier. I drove her to the airport. “Bovi I don’t want to miss my flight”, she had queried. I told her it was a Sunday. “The road is clear. Let’s cruise”! It was our last of many voyages. Just before she got into the arrival terminal I asked her to pose for a picture. I posted it on snap chat and captioned it “momma pls don’t go “. How ironic.

The story is too tragic to tell, too long to narrate. I became emotionally frigid. Me and my siblings have just one great regret. We never had the chance to pay her back!

The memories came gushing as I drove back home to face my new reality; I remembered the first gift she gave me with a written message. It was an album. I was seven. I remembered how she took me to write my common entrance exam. As I walked out the hall, there she stood at the end of the hallway waiting with a lucid smile. She whispered to me “I know you did well”. I was ten.

I remembered all the visits in boarding house. Staring at the gate of the school, it was only a matter of time before she drove in. She never disappointed. With love she would say, “you’re the first fruit of my womb. I baptized you myself”. A good woman died!

By 2pm of the 26th I stood before her body. Even in death, I could feel her warmth. Even in its stiffness I could feel her tenderness. There she lay, forever irreplaceable!!”