A Tribute to My Ahia
When I think of Ahia, I think of quiet excellence.
I grew up hearing stories of him—how Mama, a devoted teacher, guided him early, how Papa and Mama once stood first and second in their class, and how they hoped he would carry that legacy forward. He did. And Achie celebrated him with unmistakable pride.
In a family of ten, moments can be few and fleeting. Mine with him were small—but powerful.
He would pause when he saw me doing something in my simple, childlike way. He wouldn’t scold. He wouldn’t dismiss. He would simply remind me:
“There’s always a better way.”
Not to criticize—but to stretch me.
Not to discourage—but to shape me.
He taught me to think again.
To try again.
To do better.
Even now, in quiet moments of challenge, I still hear that gentle nudge.
Ahia’s influence did not come through grand speeches or dramatic gestures.
It came through expectation. Through belief. Through the steady conviction that I could be more.
And because of him, I always try to be.