December 22nd, a letter to Fritz

Dear Fritz,

It is your birthday again.

I still catch myself wanting to write that like it is a normal sentence, like you will read it later and reply in the way you always did. Patient, warm, slightly amused that I am being dramatic again.

You have been gone since March 17th, 2021. I have lived a lot of life since then, but the date stays sharp. And December 22nd still feels like a door I always knock on, even when I know no one will open it.

I have a habit of writing to you. It started as something private, something I did when the world felt too loud. This year I wanted to do it differently. I wanted to leave it here, as a public thank you, and a small witness to the fact that you were real, and that you mattered, and that you changed the shape of my life.

I met you as a suspicion

It still makes me laugh how it began.

Back in 2020, I got a message from you on Facebook. At the time I was in Nigeria, and the internet had trained me to be careful. I looked at your account and my first thought was, this is a scam, and not even a subtle one.

In my head I imagined a Nigerian scam account that did not know I was Nigerian, and did not know I lived in Nigeria at the time. The whole thing felt almost comedic.

But something in me took a leap. I replied.

And that is how I found out you were not a trick. You were an old man with a real story. A missionary and a reverend father who had lived most of his life in Africa, and who still carried Africa in the way you spoke, the way you paid attention, the way you stayed interested in young people you had no obligation to care about.

You liked African youth. You genuinely liked us. You wanted to hear our thoughts. You wanted to connect. You were not performing kindness. You were practicing it.

We became close in a way that still surprises me

There are friendships that make sense on paper. This one did not.

And yet, days would go by and if I had not talked to my old man Fritz, I did not feel happy. I would catch myself thinking, let me tell Fritz about this, let me hear what he thinks, let me check in.

You gave me advice and support at a time when I needed it more than I knew how to say. Sometimes it was practical. Sometimes it was spiritual. Sometimes it was just you reminding me that I was not alone, that someone was paying attention.

What always got me was how normal you made it. How easy it felt to talk.

I also still find it funny that we could relate on memes. There is something beautiful about an older man and a young guy laughing at the same silly thing on the same timeline. It made the world feel smaller and kinder.

Al, and the way your care kept multiplying

You later connected me with Aloysious, Al. You gave me a brother I did not know I was missing.

When I went for my undergrad degree in Rwanda, Al and I got to meet in person. Later he went to the UK for his master’s program, but the bond stayed. We still carry you in the middle of the friendship, like a shared language.

I remember that you wrote my recommendation letter to ALU Rwanda when I was applying. I did not take that lightly then, and I take it even more seriously now. You believed in me on paper, in a way that made doors open.

It is painful that you did not get to see the final outcome. You did not get to see the admission, the years that followed, the way I grew into the opportunity.

And yet, today I can say it plainly: I have graduated from ALU.

There are experiences and circumstances that shaped my journey that I can only describe as grace. I look back and I feel genuinely grateful. I also look back and I see you, quietly present in the background, like a steady hand on the shoulder.

This year, a small reunion and a bigger plan

This year Al came to Rwanda. We did not spend as much time together as we wanted, but I was happy to see him.

We joked about how much weight I have gained, and how much muscle I am carrying now. I could hear you laughing at that.

Al told me about visiting your sister in Germany. Hearing that made you feel close in a strange way. Like a place in the world still holds traces of you, and your name is still spoken in rooms I have never entered.

We agreed that, all things going well, we will return to Germany together. We want to visit where you were buried. We want to visit your family. Not as tourists, not as strangers, but as people who were loved by you and changed by you.

I do not know what it will feel like to stand there. I do not know what I will say. I just know I want to go. I want to show up. I want to offer something simple and honest, the way you always did.

Happy birthday, Fritz

It has been a long time without you.

Some days I feel the distance as absence. Other days I feel it as presence, because your voice is still one of the gentler voices in my head.

So this is my posthumous birthday note to you.

Thank you for the random message. Thank you for the leap it asked of me. Thank you for the care, the advice, the laughter, the seriousness, the lightness. Thank you for connecting me to people who became family. Thank you for believing in me when it counted.

I miss you, old man.

And I hope, wherever you are, you know that you are still loved.