Tribute to My Irreplaceable Aunty By Ijeabalum Diribe nee Iyizoba
Words fail me. I have struggled deeply to write this tribute to you. Every time I try, my heart fills up and the words disappear.
We had so many plans together—so many conversations about the future—that I still cannot reconcile those plans with the painful reality of planning your burial
It feels as though my mind is trying to process two parallel worlds that will never meet:
the life we were still planning together… and the life we are now forced to imagine without you.
You always stood by me, beside me, and behind me.
You were always rooting for me—believing in me, pushing me forward, and making sure that nothing and no one stood in the way of my growth.
Over the years, you placed so much trust in me, and I carried that responsibility close to my heart. You were so easy to please, so generous with appreciation, and you celebrated even the smallest things I did.
You showered me with words of affirmation that even now, tears roll down my face whenever I read your messages.
Anyone who knew you knew that you were never short of words. You were honest, direct, and wonderfully blunt. You said exactly what you meant—and meant exactly what you said.
So imagine what it meant to be on your good side… to be someone you poured love, encouragement, and pride into so freely.
When I was leaving Lagos this January after our beautiful family Christmas, I came to see you before I left. I hugged you tightly, and you said something that has stayed with me ever since:
*All you wanted from me… was for me to be happy.*
Today, Aunty… I do not even know where to begin to make sense of all this.
I truly do not know a version of my life that did not have you somewhere in the background—quietly yet powerfully making sure that everything was alright.
You went above and beyond for me in ways that are difficult to fully describe.
You loved me with a depth that was complete, generous, and unwavering.
There was nothing I ever asked of you that you did not do everything within your power to give.
My career was your personal assignment.
At every stage of my life, you were already thinking about the next step for me—strategizing, planning, and knocking on doors I didn’t even
know existed.
I will never forget when I was searching for my first job.
You came all the way to Abuja and instructed me to drive you from office to office. You boldly walked into agencies and proudly introduced me as your daughter who was looking for a job.
And we kept driving… from place to place… until I got a job that very day.
That was you.
Fearless. Determined. Loving. Relentless when it came to the people you loved.
You were deeply invested in every part of my life—my marriage, my children, my friendships, my struggles, my victories.
You shared in every joy, every milestone, every celebration, every challenge, and every tear.
You lovingly “poknosed” into my life.
What my husband did not know was that every time you “chastised” him, you were secretly working on my behalf.
You would say to me:
*”Balum, write down everything you want me to say—and the way you want me to say it.”*
You were not observing my life from a distance.
You were living it with me.
I cannot count how many mornings I woke up to unexpected money alerts from you.
The children’s birthdays were never forgotten.
You celebrated every moment of our lives like it was your own.
For my 40th birthday, you stayed an entire week in Abuja just to celebrate me.
In November last year, during my husband’s 50th birthday, you surprised all of us by showing up all the way from Lagos—even arriving with a walking stick because of your knee pain.
Your eyes sparkled with joy because you had successfully pulled off the surprise.
And the very next morning, just like that, you quietly flew back to Lagos.
That was you—thoughtful, intentional, consistent, dependable, sacrificial.
I remember waking up one morning to find that you had created a new WhatsApp group called *“Abuja Connection.”*
You added all the Iyizobas living in Abuja and proudly announced that this way you could have one leg and one eye
in Abuja.
That was you.
Always watching over everyone.
Always connecting everyone.
Always holding the family together.
Every Christmas in Nimo, you were the first to arrive in the village and the last to leave.
You were always a part of our unforgettable holidays around the world.
You made everyone feel seen.
Everyone feel important.
Everyone feel loved.
No matter how young someone was, you listened to them with respect.
You believed deeply in the Iyizoba family, and you were proud of every single one of us.
Losing you feels like losing the very centerpiece of our family.
I have met many people in my life, but I can say without hesitation that I have never met another human being like my Aunty Chinwe.
I cannot fully explain the depth of our bond.
You loved me to a corner.
And I loved you in ways that words will never be able to fully express.
If love alone could have kept you here… you would still be here right now.
I would hug you again—tighter this time—and say thank you in every language I know.
Thank you for loving me the way you did.
Thank you for believing in me.
Thank you for fighting for me.
Thank you for showing up for me—every single time.
You were at the center of every family situation.
Even now, we wish you could somehow help us figure this one out too.
To help us understand this loss.
To help us navigate this unbearable pain.
Because this loss feels confusing.
It feels shocking.
It feels unreal.
It feels unimaginable.
And it is one of the most painful moments in the history of our family.
Life as we knew it has changed. Without warning, Without notice
Yet even in this heartbreak, we remain deeply grateful to God for the privilege of loving—and being loved by—someone like you.
Though our hearts are broken, we take comfort in knowing that heaven has received a soul who loved deeply, gave generously, and lived beautifully.
It was a blessing—a profound honour—to be part of your life.
We, the Iyizobas, know that we truly struck gold.
And now we are all being forced to grow up… to do the things we would ordinarily have left for you to resolve.
🕊️
*”Well done, good and faithful servant… enter into the joy of your Lord.”*
— Matthew 25:23
And so I sign off with the same words you always said to me:
I love you, Aunty—to the moon and back.
Your love and your legacy will live on in us forever.
You truly lived up to your name—
**Ada di ora mma.**
A woman who came,
lived with grace,
loved deeply,
and left the world far better than she found it.
Rest well, Aunty.
We hold on to the promise of the Word:
*”I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me, though he may die, he shall live. And whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.”*
— John 11:25–26
Days
IJEABALUM DIRIBE (Nee IYIZOBA)