Between Mary Esuabana and Grace Adayilo

I looked in the mirror and felt like I had taken a confidence serum; I felt 10 inches taller, and my smile was from ear to ear. My dress fit like a glove, like I was born in it. Smart, well-tailored and beautiful. I had bought the fabric, and Mary had told me in her usual breezy manner, “I know what to do with the fabric; leave it to me.” Despite myself, I left it to her.

As a person in the public domain for over 4 decades, both as a broadcaster and as a public speaker, I am always in search of the best designers, the best tailors, and the best seamstresses or embroiderers. I found Mary in my mid-trajectory years in Abuja, when I was still active on television. I held on to her not just as a designer of note but as one who later on became a friend. While waiting for an adjustment or for staff to bring my clothes for fitting, I would be sitting in Mary’s shop eating fish and chips or amala while bantering about the state of the nation. Once my clothes arrive and I’m wearing my famous satisfactory grin, Mary leans back in one of her lush sofas, where we all sink in; she would use beautiful words to describe how you look. ‘Beautiful’, she would say, ‘wow!’ Wow! You look like Gen Z; the sleeves are giving.

Her clients included judges, ministers, and members of the Abuja cognoscenti. She also had clients from outside Abuja who believed in her tailors, her expertise, her skills, and her designer impetus.

Mary was passionate about what she did, and being a passionate person about what I do myself, we got along like a house on fire. From trimmings to buttons to accessories, Mary was on top of her game. She was brutally honest. Mary could look at one of her designs on you and tell you at the fitting stage that the sleeves didn’t look good on you. Should you demur, she will tell you to wait and see one sleeve adjusted, and you could then determine. 9 out of 10, she would be right. She was painstaking about how clothes hung on her clients and loved it when you showed up a day after you wore her design to tell her how you killed it. “Everyone wanted my dress”; that was Mary’s satisfaction.

As the top-level staff of the Federal Ministries, she popularised the skirt and blouse with different types of colours, arriving at the ECOWAS meeting completely disruptive in an African print suit, to the admiration of other delegates.

Mary was familiar with all the West African countries and hired tailors from across the subregion. She could spot a good cut from a mile off, and she wore the most beautiful bespoke clothes.

A lover of God, she would usually test these clothes at church, where she was a sight for sore eyes. Two years ago, she informed me she was building a place for the vulnerable from the proceeds of her business. Charitable, caring, and professional to the core, she loves to hold court in the Atampa fashion outlet, which she treats with great care. Oftentimes, there will be snacks or edika ikong, which she had cooked. We all thronged to her shop for clothes, food, and small talk.

Tucked in a small corner of Kumasi Crescent was the two-storey bright yellow building, which she used as a workshop, showroom, and office. It sat beautifully, mesmerising the landscape, and Mary was the queen of its oysters, churning out some of the most gorgeous outfits for those of us who chose her as a friend and designer.

At some point, she moved from Maitama to Garki, and since my residence was closer to her Maitama shop, I was literally unable to visit her shop. I had also, as I am wont to, rested in the space of those closer to me.

Then, a week ago or so, I received a text message that she had passed. It was heartbreaking, as all deaths are to loved ones. Sitting in church at her funeral service, misty-eyed, I remembered all our thoughts, our laughter, and the fashion moments we shared. Her three children and her husband sat up front. Friends in lilac and white, dotted the church, led in chief by her bestie, Hajia Nura Batagarawa, former Permanent Secretary, Ministry of Defence, whose arrangements and galvanising spirit brought us all together to share, prepare, and lay our friend to rest. The preacher spent the day reminding us to count our days, and so at the sombre ceremony, Mary was remembered. Grief is like a cloud over us when a loved one passes, and we continue to ruminate and pray.