Late Mrs. Nkoo Nkue, born on 15 August 1966 into the Egerebu family, came into the world as the first daughter of her mother, with two younger siblings who would grow to lean on her as their pillar. She lived as a devoted Christian, a successful farmer, a motivator, and a role model whose principles were firm and whose tolerance for evil was none. Her life was a quiet flame—steady, warm, and guiding.

I first met Nkoo when she was a teenager. Her name, beautifully translating to “a kind friend,” was already a prophecy fulfilled. She lived with her younger sister and brother in the first house of the long, double sided compound where my nanny stayed. My frequent visits made us acquaintances quickly. Her room stood along the line of houses that formed a wall of community, and she was always the first to greet—never waiting, never hesitant. Kindness was her instinct.

One day, I visited and found her gone. For the first time, I stepped inside their house instead of walking past. Her sister, Cece, and her brother—whom I fondly nicknamed Big Boy—missed her deeply. Yet they remained in that house, held by the comfort of her lingering presence. She had become a mother to them long before adulthood demanded it. Their courage moved me, and their attachment to her strengthened my own understanding of love.

More than thirty years passed. Then, three years ago, I saw her again—this time through a video call with her daughter, who now serves with me at the Ogoni Central Indigenous Authority (OCIA) as Head of Administration and Governor of Teyork Province. The only change I noticed in Nkoo was illness; her cheerfulness and friendliness remained untouched. Her resilience shone through her smile.

She believed deeply in the Ogoni Self Government. Her faith in our collective future was unwavering, and she became an adviser to her daughter by instinct—her enthusiasm infectious, her confidence steady. When I asked her daughter what conversations they shared about our self government, she answered with three simple words: “motivator; role model.” And indeed, she was.

I now understand why she left her family house all those years ago. She had found love in a gentle man—a senior police officer from our village. With marriage came honor, discipline, and a new life she embraced wholeheartedly. Her husband nicknamed me Otega—“pillar of the kindred”—and I called him Opue, “the free and the brave.” These names reminded us that community is woven from the strength we give one another.

Today, the passing of Nkoo shakes that community. In raising her children while supporting the demanding life of a police officer, she proved why marriage mattered so deeply to her. She shaped her three sons and her daughter into individuals respected among their peers. Her daughter, Governor Sorbarisere, now serves the Distinct Ogoni Nation (DON) with devotion that mirrors her mother’s spirit.

Nkoo planted seeds—of faith, discipline, kindness, and courage. In Ogoni culture, a parent’s legacy is measured by how well they raise their children. She did exceedingly well. She did her part.

And now, like a gentle evening sun slipping behind the horizon, she rests. Her memory remains—soft as a hymn, firm as a pillar, bright as a torch passed from one generation to the next.

May her soul rest with the Lord.