-- A Sun Over Our Shores: A Brother to All --
Friends, family, brethren of the Niger Delta,
today our hearts are heavy, yet filled with honour.
We gather beneath the same clouds that once watched over him ,
a man whose name we speak not lightly,
but with reverence, gratitude, and the calm pride of memory.
Hon. Tito Ware‑ebi Zuokumor was not just among us ,
he was within us,
running through our lives like the hidden streams beneath the mangrove roots,
streams that feed even the deepest parts of our land.
Honourable Tito Ware‑ebi Zuokumor…
a son of Ojobo’s ancient oil‑blessed soil,
born where the air smells of river and history,
where the sunsets paint gold across the waters.
He rose from that soil like the great iroko tree,
offering shade to the tired,
strength to the weary,
and beauty to all who beheld him.
He was the torchbearer in Oporomo Kingdom,
a voice pitched strong for the Ijaw nation,
a pillar who carried the weight others could not.
Honourable Tito Ware‑ebi Zuokumor…
our anchor in the tempest,
that palm tree which never breaks though the wind may rage,
that bridge over turbulent waters when our creeks swelled with trials.
A rare gem indeed -- gold refined by fire and struggle,
yet soft to the touch like morning dew resting on a plantain leaf.
When storms came, he stood;
when hope waned, he gave it life again.
He was a principal by title and a principal by deed,
for in his classroom of life everyone learnt a lesson
in dignity, compassion, and the graceful power of humility.
His authority was never about command ,
it was the natural respect given to a man
whose every decision was woven with love and fairness.
He led by walking among his people,
by sitting under the same sun,
by listening to the same drums.
He stood in the Niger Delta struggle not as a distant observer,
but as one of its sacred lifelines.
Like the elder in the folktale who wrestled the crocodile to save the village child,
he risked much to save many.
His hands worked rough but gave soft rewards;
his feet walked far but left gentle prints;
his voice rose clear like the early morning songbird,
calling all to remember our strength and unity.
Tito gave without trumpet sound ,
no public display, no boasting.
His giving was quiet but powerful,
written upon the hearts of those
whose cups he filled in their dry seasons.
He was the bread for the hungry fisherman who returned without a catch,
the counsel for the young leader unsure of which path to take,
the laughter for the widow who felt forgotten.
We called him friend.
We called him brother.
But in truth, we called him our own flesh,
for his heart saw only family, never strangers.
In the African folktale of the traveller and the hearthfire,
there is one home where warmth never dies,
Tito was that home.
He took everyone in, fed them,
spoke with them as equals,
and sent them away with courage in their pockets.
Ah, the Delta mourns tonight.
The creeks whisper his name like an old song,
the mangroves bend as if bowing in prayer,
the waves carry a gentler rhythm,
as though even they know the water’s chief helper has departed.
His absence is a hollow no tide can fill,
a silence deeper than the riverbed where moonlight never reaches.
We weep… but we remember.
We remember the man who stood firm in the wind,
whose voice was a shield when others stayed silent,
whose courage was the spear that chased shadows away.
We remember the smile that could lift the tides
and the words that could steady any sinking boat.
Even now, his love is a current running through our days.
Even now, his courage whispers in the ears of young men preparing to lead.
Even now, his generosity hangs in the air
like the scent of ripe guava in the dry harmattan season.
Honourable Tito…
rare breed among men,
gold in human flesh,
sun over our shores,
teacher of loyalty,
keeper of hope,
brother to the brokenhearted.
We shall hold your name as a prayer in the night,
as a promise in the morning,
as a banner in the storm winds.
We shall tell our children of the man
who gave without counting the cost,
who lived less for himself and more for the whole people,
like the wise elder in the tale
who planted mango trees not for himself,
but so another generation might taste sweetness.
And so, in this hour of remembrance,
we bow our heads but raise our hearts.
For though the earth now cradles your body,
your spirit still hovers over the Niger Delta like light upon water,
your laughter still hums through the creeks,
your kindness still breathes in the mangroves.
Goodbye, dear brother and friend.
May the tides carry you gentle as a mother’s hand.
May God’s light guide you safely into His harbour of peace.
May your golden heart rest knowing it beat with the rhythm of the people.
And we shall say…
You were our heartbeat,
our pillar,
our rare gem,
our sun,
our Angel in human form —
and your light shall never go out.
EBIKABOWEI KEDIKUMO - writes from Ayakoromo Town, Delta State
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