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In Attendance at My
Own Funeral
By
Aliyu A. Ammani
Probably I will still
be alive as you read this piece. May be someone will read this piece
after my death. The death of people, who were more than acquaintances to
me, ignited the desire for a sober reflection on the phenomenon known as
death. In the process, I became conscious of death so much so that I,
figuratively, was in attendance at my very own funeral. I felt my dead
body washed, wrapped in white clothing material, prayed over and lowered
into the earth and covered with earth.
Death is no doubt the
most absolute certain of all known mysteries. The existence of
God; the authenticity of Religions and the sanctity of the sacred have
all been contested by men. Death remains the absolute certainty that no
man dares dispute.
Death is inevitable.
All must die: the saint and the sinner; the rich and the poor; the
bourgeoisie and the proletariat; the hardworking and the lazy; the good
and the bad; the beautiful and the ugly; the successful and the failure;
the victor and the vanquished; the religious and the agnostic; the smart
aleck and the dumb ass; the General and the bloody civilian; the hero
and the villain; the satisfied and the disgruntled et cetera.
The most fearful facet
of this absolute certainty is the uncertainty of the time of its
occurrence. The upper limit of the average life-span of man in today’s
world is between 60-70 years. Life on this earth is akin to the period
of a football game. There is the first half lasting 35 years. A second
half of 35 years. An extra time of 30 years. The Angel of Death is the
referee. He can hold up the Red Card at any moment of the game for any
player. Some receive the red card at the very first minute of the first
half. Some towards the end of the first half. The bulk of mankind will
be out of the game before the end of the second half. Few will see the
extra time. The very few that survive the extra time do so with minds
and bodies that were in a state other than sound. In the final analysis,
all players must be given the red card. Regardless of your age, you must
die.
Death is a single
phenomenon, but its circumstances are innumerable. People die under
different circumstances: some through illness, brief or protracted;
others through accidents, domestic, industrial or traffic; while others
via murder, execution or assassination.
Death has no clearly
demarcated sphere of operation. It is every where. It respects neither a
boundary nor a fortress. People die in different places: bedrooms,
hospitals, brothels, on the roads, on the floor of the National Assembly
and even in the Aso-Rock.
Death is an inescapable
reality. People die. Look around you, it is glaring. All human beings
have equal chance of dying. As an individual, your chance of dying as
well as the probability of your living is as good as that of the next
person. So whenever you heard someone died, remember it could have been
the other way round: it could have been you!
A sad fact of life is
that after you have kicked the bucket, life goes on. Molue,
Danfo, Taxi drivers and Okada riders continue plying the
roads. Market men and women continue to haggle and bargain with
customers. Schools continue teaching. The police continue to befriend
the living. Robbers, white collar or armed, continue in their nefarious
act. Your family, friends and foes continue in the search of wealth and
worldly amusement. Your wife (or husband) becomes somebody’s. The wealth
you tight fistedly accumulated by hook or crook: shared. Poor you be
relegated to the dustbin of memory.
The Glorious Qur’an
view the life of this world as composed essentially of play, idle talk,
pageantry, boasting and rivalry for greater riches. Dear reader, next
time you strategise, scheme, plan and plot; remember that it is just a
matter of time before you assume full-fledge citizenship of the Land
of the Death.
Is there an insurance
against death? Death is unavoidable. Death is the separation of the soul
from the body when the latter perishes. So, we should not be afraid of
death, for it only brings us back to God. I will conclude this piece
with an SMS I received from Mrs. A. A. AbdulKadir, my former senior
colleague: each grave you pass by contains the remains of someone who
once lived like you. How well are you preparing for this last but
important journey?
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