Precisely on Monday 9th September, 2024 in the morning. I was rushing to catch a flight to Katsina when my phone buzzed. “I don’t have this number,” I thought to myself, having lost my phone and couldn’t get some contacts back. “Who is this, please?” I asked. “It’s Mama Amanda,” came the reply. My heart skipped a beat. Oh, how are you? I asked again.
“Omale is sick, on admission,” she said, her voice faint but urgent. “He’s been calling your name.” Malaria, she thought, but the line was too weak for me to grasp all the details. Then, I promised to call back when I landed, my mind already racing with worry for my dear friend, Samuel Omale Ameh.
Omale and I, we go way back. I’ve known him since he was just a young star, I watched him grow into the man he became. Humble, friendly, and full of wit โ that was our Omale. Honest to a fault and beloved by everyone in Badikko and 44 Barracks. We last spoke properly in June when I was appointed Chief Press Secretary to the Governor of Katsina State. Even with my new responsibilities, we always stayed in touch.
If I am close to Omale, Mairo my wife is closer to him. They see them as Siamese twins. He is always at my home in Kaduna, he is always with her wherever she goes. They see him as her younger brother. All my brothers and sisters know that Omale is my family.
But life has a way of sweeping you up, doesn’t it? Arriving in Katsina, I was immediately caught in a whirlwind of work. One hour turned into many, and I forgot to call back. The next day, a text from one of Omale’s sisters jolted my phone. “I’ll call you back,” I replied, stuck in yet another meeting.
Oh, how I wish I had made that call. On Thursday evening, at exactly 7:10 pm, as I was flying back to Abuja, Mama Amanda’s voice came through again. This time, her words shattered my world: “Omale is gone.” For the next 50 minutes, as the plane carried me to my destination, I sat in stunned, grief-stricken silence.
Omale, my brother, my friend. Born on November 17th, 1985, and taken from us on September 12, 2024. How can it be that tomorrow, 16th September 2024 we’ll be committing you to mother earth?
The void you’ve left in my heart is immeasurable. The constant calls from your sisters in those final days โ they show how close we were, how much you meant to me, to all of us.
What a life, indeed. So full of promise, cut so tragically short. Omale, I won’t forgive myself for not being there in your final moments. But I hope you know, wherever you are now, how much you were loved. How much you still are loved.
Rest easy, my dear friend. Until we meet again, your memory will live on in the hearts of all who knew you. Badikko and 44 Barracks will never be the same without your laughter, your kindness, your charming spirit. Farewell, Samuel Omale Ameh. You are deeply missed and forever cherished. May God accept your return and forgive your shortcomings.
