Exactly one year ago, on the 15th of April 2022, Binta Mshelia-Uba died, and her family – including many of us close friends of hers – have not been the same since. Like I wrote when I penned a tribute to her, back then, everyone has a friend – or some friends – who become siblings of a sort. You see, she was one of them. Three hundred and sixty-five (365) have passed already, but many of us can’t get over the reality of referring to her in past tense. You see, she passed on, after a sudden illness, and as is always the case with the demise of bright, young people, it hurts deeply. It wasn’t a prolonged illness, or even that she’s middle-aged (she’s not), but that all the sunshine and happiness she has been bringing to the lives of her family and friends, is no more.
Binta was actually a Superwoman (a nickname I’d always tease her about, because she loved the ‘S’ insignia of the iconic superhero Superman, ironically her own nickname for me). Here are a few reasons why: She began a career in tech, working for a rising firm. Her talents for the culinary arts saw her branch into a catering business, where she quickly became a celebrity chef, going on to host delightful cookery shows for Maggi and other notable brands. She was also a passionate giver, year-in year-out joining extensive Ramadan feeding programmes for IDPs, widows, and orphans.
For one who makes a living from stringing words together, among other things, I am oddly at a loss for how to describe how it feels. I have always had in mind her mother, Mrs. Susan Ishaku Mshelia, with whom she shared a strong bond, one which made sense, really, because Binta was in many ways her mother’s daughter. In her warmth and kindness, Binta was also a reflection of her father, her siblings, her aunties, her uncles (including Major Babangida Bittinger Mshelia, an uncle who is practically her twin brother), her cousins, and even her friends, all of whom she had a legion of.
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Binta also found perfect pairing in her equally warm, welcoming, and doting husband, Chima Uba, with whom she has three lovely children, all of them too young to truly grasp what loss means even in the most basic sense. All these make it a difficult task to write about losing a friend who also became a sister. Where does one start? How do you end it? Will it do justice to the incredible human being she was?
One of her close friends, Ummi Bukar, said of all the people she went to [secondary] school with, Binta was the one person who kept in touch with everyone. “I don’t know how she did it; I think it was her super power to not just be there for everyone, but to be there with a big smile and lots of encouragement. All my colleagues at the office can attest to her kindness and generosity, as exactly a week before she died she came to the office with food donations for the IDP communities we serve as she has done for three years now, and she also gave gifts to everyone at the office. That’s just the kind of person she was.”
The other day, Moses Adoga, a close family friend who is practically her brother, called me. As we spoke, the topic went to the fact that Binta’s one-year remembrance was approaching. He then told me how in the past year since she died, for a number of times he would pick up the phone with the intention to call her, before painful memory would set in. We ended up talking at length about the incredible sister and friend she had been to everyone fortunate to have been in her orbit. And the word ‘orbit’ suffices perfectly, because you see, Binta was a star.
While many who knew and loved Binta have written and spoken numerous tributes to her, I choose to begin to round up this piece with a part of what her mum, Mrs. Mshelia, wrote: “I guess it’s true what they say: ‘We do not own anyone. We only experience them. For no matter how much we long to cling to them, sooner or later they are taken from us.’ Thank you for beautifying our lives with your smile and laughter, even when you’re in pain. Mummy will miss you forever.”
It is indeed a fast manner in which time has passed since, and there is definitely more to say. However, sometimes, it is more befitting to allow a majority of grief to be felt. Even after one has come to terms with a loved one’s demise, it is possible to use the memories left behind to calm the heart down somewhat. May almighty Allah, in his infinite mercies, guide and protect the family she left behind, and may we always remember her sterling qualities, even as we try to live by them. I will remember her for the kind of person she effortlessly was, a kind of person many of us spend a good chunk of our lives trying to be. Continue to rest in peace, Binta Mshelia Chima Uba.
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