He Died, But His Last Words Changed My Life.

The first time I met Uncle Femi, he came as a savior. Even though I didn't want to accept his kind gesture at first, and that is due to how insecure the country is. One needs to be very, very careful.

I went to get some foodstuffs at the market that day, and that was how the rain began. It wasn't much by the time I was done buying what I needed, so I decided to still make my way home since I can't tell if it will get any heavier soon. As I was making my way to the bus park to get a bus home, my phone fell. I dropped the foodstuffs I was holding and quickly dipped my hands into the puddles my phone fell in. I had to be very quick about it before my phone got soaked.

Furthermore, I picked it up immediately, set my foodstuffs up straight, and began to use my already wet clothes to clean it. It had already gone off. I pressed the power button countless times, but it wouldn't even vibrate, let alone vibrate the way it would usually do to signal that there's still life in it.

I just stood there when it wouldn't even budge; I didn't know what to do. My phone, why today of all days? I just hope I can get home on time and find a way to try it and make it turn on. I was still there staring at it when an old rickety truck stopped right beside me.

"Hello young man, you need help? Where are you going?" The driver of the truck asked me.

I looked at the truck, then at the man beckoning to me behind the wheels. Even though I need help, I won't. Nowhere is safe at the moment, and how will I even get in with a stranger who just parked beside me?

"I'm fine, sir. Thank you." I said and bent down to pick up my stuff so I could walk away. Then I heard him laugh. I looked up to see what was making him laugh.

"Young man, you need help." He said, still laughing, and then he continued. "If you're fine, you won't be here looking like this."

And that was how I and Uncle Femi the truck driver met. He works with a lot of the shop owners in the market, helping them carry and deliver bags of rice, bags of beans, and all those heavy goods. And he usually passed by the front of my house too, which is just like a few minutes' walk from the market. I got to know he's the one delivering rice and some other foodstuffs to Iya Ope, the woman next to my house selling foodstuffs and provisions.

So, each time he comes by, he would always stop by for a while to have a few chats with me. Uncle Femi happens to be a very kind person; most of the time he helps me get foodstuffs along. We can sit down for hours talking about the state of the economy, the price of goods, the high cost of living, and a lot of things.

Then one of those evenings while we're talking, he asked me a very deep and simple question.

"What do you want to do with your life."

I just smiled and responded, "I don't know yet."

And honestly, I did not know yet; I just knew I couldn't continue the way I'm going. It's best to really have something to do.

"Just don't spend the next ten years saying that same thing." He said, looking a little bit serious.

And I held on to that word.

After that, we still continued to see while I was trying to also find a way forward with my life so I wouldn't continue saying the same thing for years to come.

Months passed. Then I noticed one day, he didn't come by. I tried his line; it wasn't reachable. I wasn't even bothered; it's not like he comes by every day before. Just like twice or thrice in a week.

But then, the week ended, and he was still nowhere to be found, and his number wasn't going through either. I thought his truck might be giving him some problems, but I'm getting too worried already.

Then the following week, while I was thinking of how to get his address or asking those he often delivers goods to to ask if they've heard from him, a young man came by my place.

"Good afternoon. I was directed here. Are you the guy Uncle Femi used to spend time with talking."

"Yes, why?" I asked. I didn't even bother returning his greetings. The fact that I've heard him mention Uncle Femi made me curious instantly.

"He asked that this be delivered to you if anything happened to him." He said and handed me an envelope.

"I don't understand." I said.

I took the envelope and opened it. Inside it was a handwritten letter. It was very rough, but I could still make out the words. He wrote about his life,this family, his work, and how that he's battling with an illness too and that he knew he didn't have much time anymore. Towards the ending of the letter, he wrote about me. He mentioned how that I need to start doing something as soon as possible, he talked about how that we young people always believe there's still time but that there won't always be time.

I stopped reading and thought back to the last time we saw each other. He was wearing a purple-colored and well-styled Ankara cloth that day. It was the best cloth I had ever seen on him; I remember teasing him with it and asking if he'd seen a lady he's interested in in my neighborhood and would like to have as a second wife; just maybe that was why he dressed so well that day.

We laughed and laughed that day.....

Tears were almost coming down my eyes, but I fought it back. I already knew what this means, but I needed to be sure; I needed to hear it.

"What happened to him?" I asked the young man who delivered the letter.

"He's dead. He died on Wednesday morning." He said, looking down.

And for some reason I can't say, the tears refused to come. My eyes were clouded, but then the tears stood still.

The following morning, I find my way to his place. I greeted those I found outside, and I went in. I met the guy who brought me the letter the day before; he welcomed me and gave me a seat to sit in.

I couldn't say much; I just said the little I could while saying how good of a man he was. As I was about to leave later that day, my eyes caught something on the wall of the house.

And it reads, "Don't wait until life is perfect before you start."

This seems to be another message directed at me. That day I returned home and promised to start doing something for myself and for the late Uncle Femi too. I don't need to have it all; I don't need to have it all figured out. I can start from here; I can start with anything I have.

And guess what? That was how I began to write. I didn't write anything big or grand, but I started. My phone is enough to help me start being a writer. And that I did.

Each time I get tired and feel like just stopping, I would remember Uncle Femi and his truck; I would remember the last time we saw each other and I teased him in his purple clothes, and then I would remember his letter to me, telling me that there might not always be time.

This piece is my response to one of the prompts from the past weeks (Truck, Purple, letter).

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Images are AI generated.

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