I will always remember the words that announced your passing to me…. “Aunty Anisah, my brother is dead!” The sound of “Afo” and “Huzaif” felt foreign in that moment, hard to associate with the vibrant person I knew as my “Honourable Attaruwa” being dead and gone. You were alive the morning of Friday, July 4, 2025: we spoke, you gave your gap-toothed smile, and I returned one too. Then, to be told you had gone to the beyond? Innaa Lillaahi Wa Innaa Ilayhi Raaji’oun! Your memory brings a mix of emotions: some days a gentle smile, other days laughter and conversations about the light you were; but in quiet moments, tears fall because who rejoices over losing a loved one as good as you? I miss our playful teasing, my worrying you about some mysterious girl and our countless brief conversations. Who else would call me “Mrs Ijarah” or “Honourable Mrs Labman”? After you, it was only you, Afo! You were more than a brother-in-law – you were a true brother. Alhamdulillaah, Attaruwa. We believe with conviction that Allah is keeping you in Jannah. It’s now up to us to work towards His pleasure, so we meet you and our other loved ones there. Your life was brief but impactful, filled with lessons. You were special, loved deeply by this family and everyone you touched. Your death helps us understand the magnitude of that love. Huzaif, it’s less about your youth and more about the promising future you left behind. Every encounter with you was pleasant and entertaining, right up to your last hours. I wanted more, like Oliver Twist. My children loved having an uncle like you – an uncle who didn’t want to be called that. “Afo Kitifo”… whatever kitifo meant 😊. “Gundem”… and you’d promise trips abroad, saying “you’ve mentioned the name of a great one”. Touching lives and leaving so suddenly was part of your greatness. You weren’t just a people person; you were “good people” in everything you did, at home and with everyone you met outside. You were young in age, but great in the light you carried. I had so many nicknames for you: “Brother In Laaaaaaw!”, “Kanina” meaning “my younger brother”. You had a smile for everyone, and your comebacks were sharp. Ramadan will forever feel different because someone else will lead the salats now. No more teasing about “Newtown Tea”. You are sorely missed and will be as long as I live. We pray that Allah call you when He is most pleased with you. We hope Jannah compensates for the life you lived and that your death is better for you than a longer life would’ve been. Adieu! Honourable Attaruwa. Until we’re gifted Jannah, we pray you’re in the highest companionship… Aameen.