Grieving mother wants son’s drowning death at Britannia Beach to lead to more safety for others

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Christiana Chikezie was in Nigeria to attend her mother’s funeral last month when she received a phone call telling her that her nine-year-old son, José-Antonio Burpee, had drowned at Britannia Beach.

At first, she barely understood. How could this have happened? Despite living a short walk from the beach, she and her children never went there, ever. If they wanted to cool off in the summer, she’d fill the bathtub, or they’d go to the Britannia Park wading pool near Dr. F.J. McDonald Catholic School, which José attended. But even there, Chikezie says, José wore a floatie.

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“Britannia Beach is by my backyard,” she says, “but I’ve never been there, because I’m from water. There are a lot of powerful spirits in the river. A lot of people don’t know that, but most Africans know.”

And besides, she had spoken to her children earlier that day, telling them to put on shorts and shirt and stay inside where it was cool. It was only June 3, but it was unseasonably hot, reaching 29 C by mid-afternoon.

Chikezie remembers that earlier call too well. José had asked her when she was coming back. “I will come home soon,” she promised, then added, “I love you.”

“Mommy, I love you, too,” José replied, his last words to her.

Her life, she says, won’t ever be the same.

The circumstances surrounding José’s last moments are murky. According to Chikezie, a friend took José and Godslight, a nine-year-old relative who José had grown up with and who he considered a brother, to the beach. The two boys, neither of whom could swim, were left unattended, Chikezie says. The beach hadn’t officially opened yet, so there were no lifeguards. It was only when Godslight got out of the water and called to José that others at the beach realized something was wrong.

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Chikezie, who is grieving, is also angry — at a caregiver she says didn’t have permission to take her children to the beach. And angry that the beach wasn’t supervised.

“People have been drowning there for a long time, and maybe if there were life-jackets or lifeguards, my son wouldn’t have drowned. If they don’t make it safer, other kids will drown there. I hope José’s story will prevent that.”

She’d also like to see the city put up some sort of memorial to José at the beach, “so his name isn’t forgotten.”

In the meantime, she has set up a GoFundMe campaign to help with funeral and related expenses, and is organizing a memorial service to be held this summer at the Britannia Baptist Church, which she and her family attend. Before that can be arranged, though, she’s awaiting word on obtaining visas for her brothers in Abuja, Nigeria’s capital, so they can come to pay their respects.

And then she’ll be left to console herself with her memories of a happy and energetic son who got along with everyone, and who loved playing football and making things out of Lego. He also liked math, music and art.

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“He loved to be cuddled,” Chikezie says. “And when he wore new clothes he would smile all day.”

After José’s death, the principal at his school gave Chikezie a piece of José’s schoolwork that she could look at whenever she missed him. In it, her son coloured in a flower and described, using the five senses, what peace is like.

Peace, he wrote, smells like vanilla ice cream.

Peace looks like love.

Peace sounds like music.

Peace tastes like a cupcake.

Peace feels like cat’s fur.

Hopefully, Chikezie will find some of that peace.

bdeachman@postmedia.com

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