Harry Mosco could not be referred to as “poor”. He lived implicitly affluently in a highbrow area in Lagos and had thriving businesses. He was nowhere as rich as the billionaire scoundrel who absconded with his wife but he was not a pushover either
By Ifemesia Iferenta
I read in the “Golden Oldies” page on Facebook a few minutes ago, the authentic account of how late Nigerian Pop star, Harry Mosco, (the FUNKEES’ star) lost his wife to the rampaging and scrounging hands of billionaire politician, Arthur Nzeribe, also late, recently.
What really drove me plain bonkers and constrained me to write this ‘rebuttal’, so to speak was the plethora of comments from evidently and crassly ignorant ‘commentators’ who ignorantly and flagrantly tried to debunk the story as if it were all just fictional hogwash!
I feel constrained and incensed enough to wade in for Harry to set the records straight. Why do people kick up so much cacophonous rumpus about what they know practically NOTHING about
Harry Mosco was my showbiz buddy, though quite ahead of me in terms of age but we shared warm and constant camaraderie. I liked him one helluva lot and he showed a lot of respect for me, slapping on me several complimentary sobriquets. I was frequently at his residence, off Adeniyi Jones in Ikeja, which served the dual purpose of home and recording studio (and also for his HM Wines venture). I visited his place to jaw-jaw on variegated issues as well as to record my own songs. I remember that the last song I did there was an R&B song titled: “LONELINESS”, which was produced by Renny Nwosa (Renny Pearl).
After I finished rendering the vocals of the song, I sauntered into Harry’s commodious living room for our usual exchange of warm banters only to find him looking strangely crestfallen and absolutely devastated. I had never seen him like that before. It looked as though the entire edifice propping up his life had just crumbled around him, with rubble strewn around the bewilderment of his feet.
He later confided in me in a broken voice how the billionaire politician, Arthur Nzeribe, snatched his wife from him, a very beautiful woman who had shared with him before then what looked like inextinguishable and intractable LOVE from a Benin City genesis!
And I wondered aloud: how fragile, tenuous and mercurial was this thing called LOVE! Did it mean that LOVE pandered more to money than anything else or that the paucity of money invariably led to a paucity of LOVE?
Harry Mosco could not be referred to as “poor”. He lived implicitly affluently in a highbrow area in Lagos and had thriving businesses. He was nowhere as rich as the billionaire scoundrel who absconded with his wife but he was not a pushover either.
He never died in poverty or because of poverty as is being insinuated. His wife’s elopement with the billionaire knave plunged him into a pendulum of depression that swung him mentally and sinisterly between sheer angst and horror. He died of heartbreak over a woman he ravishingly loved but who jettisoned that sacrosanct love and instead preferred and succumbed to the razzmatazz of money in place of LOVE!
And recently, too, the scrounging billionaire himself has also kow-towed to the cold and clammy hands of death which scrounged his life irrespective of his worldly opulence and concupiscence.
And so, Arthur Nzeribe, the atrocious gun-runner, who was used as an ignoble myrmidon to scuttle the JUNE 12 epochal victory of Abiola, has finally gone to join Harry Mosco where he sent him!
And the woman, paradoxically, still dey kampe, perhaps caught up in the whistling vortex of an efflorescent romance! Life goes on!
Death annuls all, and money, it seems, annuls LOVE and becomes itself the insistent ballast of LOVE!
Rest on, Harry!
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