Cultivate the sunflower seeds she left behind. In memory of my beloved teacher and mentor, Efu Nyaki.
I never imagined that, only a little over a year after my father’s passing, I would be writing another tribute to honor someone who was so profoundly dear and close to me. My teacher and mentor, Efu Nyaki, abruptly left this world on May 30th, 2026, while teaching a class in South Korea. Just as it had been with my father, my last connection with her was a Zoom call about a month ago, while she was teaching in St. Louis. She was just as energetic and joyful as she had always been. When I asked her when she ever rested—given that she was traveling and teaching non-stop—she smiled and told me she rested in the quiet moments between sessions. I remember saying to her, “You are my hero. I wish I had your energy level.” Then, without warning, Efu was gone—like a sudden wind sweeping across our faces.
Efu was a master teacher of Somatic Experiencing, Family Constellation Therapy, and trauma healing. A Maryknoll sister who journeyed from her hometown in Tanzania to Brazil, she dedicated her life to healing the community in João Pessoa and mending deep trauma across the globe. I had the sacred honor of learning directly from her, discovering a rare space where she was both my mentor and my friend. As my Somatic Experiencing teacher, she taught me to trust deeply that our bodies and minds possess an innate capacity to heal. But while my respect for her was immense from the beginning, our bond didn’t truly formed until I experienced her Family Constellation work.
For a long time, my life felt like pottery shattered into pieces. Throughout my own trauma healing journey, I managed to slowly repair myself, piece by piece. Yet, a few crucial fragments always remained missing. It was through Efu and her profound Family Constellation work that I finally found the last piece of my broken cup—the silent weight of my parents’ grief that I had carried since childhood. Through her, I was able to reconcile with my late mother, reorganize my family system, and gently guide everyone back to their rightful places.
Once my constellation settled, the heavy burdens passed down through generations simply dissolved. The waterfall of love, blocked for so long, began to flow gently from above once again. Standing at the bottom as the firstborn child, I could finally open my hands to receive the pure strength and wisdom of my parents and ancestors. Through Efu, I integrated a truth that reshaped my soul: in order to be a mother, I first had to learn how to be a child. In order to be big, I had to learn to be small. And if I wanted to come first, I had to learn how to stand behind to support others.
This wisdom was tested sooner than I ever could have anticipated. Last year, in the very midst of preparing a training program for her Family Constellation work, my father passed away unexpectedly. Shattered and defeated, I honestly didn’t know if I had the capacity to carry such a massive responsibility. I confessed to Efu that I felt entirely lost and weak. Instead of offering empty comfort, she anchored me. She told me to return to my body and feel the actual, living strength my father had left inside me. She urged me to trust my body, trust my mind, and trust the parents and ancestors who walked before me. “I believe in you,” she told me, adding with characteristic grace that if I chose to cancel, she would fully respect my decision.
That was the essence of Efu—when she looked at you, she didn't just see your surface; she looked right through to your soul, calling forth the brilliance you didn't know you possessed. Carried by her unwavering belief and the ancestral strength she helped me unlock, I found the courage to pull through. That first international Family Constellation training—serving over 60 students globally, both in person and virtually—was a beautiful success. Even Efu was deeply moved and impressed by what we built.
It wasn’t just her larger-than-life personality, her infectious, joyful laughter, or her profound transformative power that drew me to her. It was her fierce, unyielding sense of justice. As a Black woman navigating the world, she broke down immense systemic barriers of race, gender, and educational background with breathtaking courage. She was entirely human—she would openly express her deep annoyance when belittled by external biases—but she absolutely refused to let resentment corrupt her heart. She held no grudges. To Efu, the ultimate rebellion against injustice wasn't anger; it was standing firmly on your own ground and proving them wrong through your excellence. Those raw, dignified, and powerful dimensions of her are what I loved most, and they are what I am forever grateful for.
Now, the void she leaves behind feels completely irreplaceable. When the news of her passing first reached me, the ache in my chest was so intense that every single breath felt like physical agony. I have lost count of the hours spent weeping for a soul I love so dearly. C.S. Lewis once wrote that we are like circles, and the precise points where our edges touch are the very things we mourn, find ourselves homesick for, and famish for. Even though Efu and I walked together for only a short season, the points where our circles intersected were entirely at the soul level.
While the weight of this loss is getting lighter, I am slowly finding a fragile peace, trusting that the Divine had a reason in calling her home. She poured every ounce of her life energy into brightening the dark corners of this world, ensuring that wounded souls felt truly seen and heard. Her earthly work is finished now, and she has returned to her rightful place in the embrace of God's absolute love.
Efu was a radiant sunflower, turning her face toward the light and warming everyone in her presence. And though that beautiful flower has wilted, she didn't leave us empty-handed. She has left thousands of vibrant sunflower seeds deeply planted within the hearts of everyone she touched. It is our sacred responsibility now to tend to these baby sunflowers, cultivating them with care so that one day, they will bloom to touch and brighten the world—just like she did.
