Reported by: Ijeoma G | Edited by: Oravbiere Osayomore Promise.
The words came slowly, as if she was still trying to understand them herself. Chioma Chukwuka-Akpotha, one of Nollywood's most recognisable and respected actresses, sat with the news of her father's death for a while before she could share it with the world. When she finally did, on Friday, October 2, 2026, her Instagram post was not a formal announcement. It was a daughter's cry, raw and unfiltered, the kind of grief that does not care about punctuation or polish. "My beloved father, Leonard Ndukaife Chukwuka, has gone to be with the Lord," she wrote. Then came the sentence that carried the weight of everything she was feeling. "I lost my mother 13 years ago and now that my father is gone, the thought that I have neither parent here anymore breaks my heart in a way I cannot fully explain. So na only me bayi?"
That question, asked in Nigerian Pidgin, is the question of an orphan. It does not matter that Chioma is a grown woman, a wife, a mother, a celebrated actress with a career spanning more than two decades. When both parents are gone, something shifts. The people who knew you before you became who you are, the ones who loved you before the world did, are no longer there. Chioma felt that absence. She wrote about it with a tenderness that made her millions of followers feel like they were sitting in the room with her, watching her try to breathe through the loss.
She called her father by the names that only a child can use. "My daddy, papa'm, obara'm, my comfort," she wrote. Each word carried a lifetime of memory. The Igbo phrase "obara'm" means "my blood," a reminder that this was not just her father. He was part of her, and now that part was gone. She remembered that he had lived a long life, long enough to see his children grow and his grandchildren run around him. For that, she was grateful. But gratitude does not cancel grief, and she admitted that she had hoped for more time. "We had hoped you would meet your great-grandchildren too, mana nya diba!" she wrote. That Igbo phrase, roughly translating to "but what can we do?" is the language of surrender, the moment when a person accepts what they cannot change even as they wish with all their heart that they could.
Chioma's tribute was not just about her father. It was about the universal experience of losing a parent. "No matter how many years we are given with a parent, we still want one more conversation, one more embrace, one more day," she wrote. It is a sentence that anyone who has lost a parent will understand instantly. There is never enough time. Even when someone lives into their eighties or nineties, even when they see their grandchildren and great-grandchildren, the child in us still wants more. We want one more phone call. One more visit. One more chance to hear them say our name.
She asked for prayers. Not for herself, not for her career, not for anything material. She asked for prayers for her siblings and the entire Chukwuka family as they navigate a loss that has left her, in her own words, without a parent. "I have held this news close while trying to understand my own grief," she said. That sentence reveals something important. She did not rush to social media. She did not perform her grief for an audience. She took the time to sit with it, to let it settle, to try to make sense of something that does not make sense. Only then did she share it, not for attention, but because she needed her community to hold her up.
Chioma Chukwuka-Akpotha was born on March 12, 1980. She made her Nollywood debut in 2000 in the film The Apple, and over the next two decades she built a career that many actors can only dream of. In 2007, she won the Africa Movie Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role for her performance in Sins of the Flesh. She has since appeared in films including Gangs of Lagos, Love Me Again, and Trapped Flames. She is also a producer and director. In 2006, she married Franklyn Akpotha, and together they have raised a family that has been a source of strength for her through the years. But the death of her father has reminded her, and everyone watching, that professional success, public admiration, and material comfort cannot fill the hole left by a parent.
The comments section of her Instagram post filled quickly. Colleagues, fans, and well-wishers offered their condolences. One user, jomokingjomo, wrote, "Ndo onyenkem, he came into this world and left a legacy which is you. Now more than ever, you need to carry on and continue to be all that he envisaged for you." Another, ndidinwuneli, said, "Ndo my sister! A great life and legacy! May papa's soul rest in perfect peace. Amen." Onosariyo added, "So sorry for your loss." These messages, brief and heartfelt, are the digital equivalent of a hand on the shoulder. They cannot bring her father back, but they can remind her that she is not alone.
Chioma ended her tribute with a farewell. "Rest well, Olowo of Ikate, my father. I will always love you," she wrote. She also included biblical references, Proverbs 17:6 and Psalm 34:18. The first speaks of grandchildren being a crown to the aged, a fitting verse for a man who lived to see his children's children. The second says the Lord is close to the brokenhearted. Chioma, a woman of faith, is holding on to that promise. She said funeral arrangements would be announced when the family is ready. For now, the family is grieving. They are not ready for the public part. They are still in the private part, the part where you sit with the silence and try to remember the sound of a voice you will never hear again.
Leonard Ndukaife Chukwuka lived a long life. He saw his children grow, he saw his grandchildren laugh, and he left behind a daughter whose name is known across Nigeria and beyond. That is a legacy. But legacies do not soften the blow of loss. Chioma's father is gone, and she is left with memories, with faith, and with the love of a family that will carry her through. She asked for prayers. That is the least we can give. May his soul rest in peace. May the Chukwuka family find strength. And may Chioma, who has given so much joy to millions through her work, find some measure of comfort in the outpouring of love that has followed her announcement. She is not alone. She is surrounded. And that, for now, is what she needs most.
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