A blue salon car trails down the road. You are holding the steering wheel, trying hard to navigate the road even when you can barely see the path in front of you. The car wiper is dancing wildly in bid to curb the fury of the rain. Your windscreen is covered with fog. You curse, stretching your hand back, you reach for the dirty brown rag on the back seat. You wipe.
You see a hundred droplets of rain falling in the muddy pothole in front of you. The thunder rumbles again. The lightning follows, the light almost blinding you. You duck. Vile curses slip through your clenched teeth. You are panting. Your eyes darting from your old leather wristwatch back to road ahead. You are almost late.
You drive to the large Oak tree by Agbeni cemetery and parks. You alight. You pull out an umbrella and adjust your black suit. Your black shoes find its way into the cemetery. A sea of heads swarm around you. All dressed in black. Some you know, some you don’t. The echoes of the mourners’ cries drown the rumbles of the rain. Your heart is heavy. The deceased was your beloved.
A glass casket is sitting by a freshly dug grave.
“The Lord knows all. Be consoled in this grief, brethren.” The priest’s loud voice echoes. A fat Bible resting on his left hand. You brush past him and gaze at the casket. A cry rise to your throat. The umbrella slip from your hand. Therein, you lay. Fitted in the immaculate white clothes.
White gloves on your hands. Your face as still as ice. Two white wool sticking out of your nose.
You look around. Suddenly, some familiar faces stare back at you. Your momma is there. Three women are holding her. Your aunt, is one of them. Your father is there. Your siblings are standing at the corner with long sad face and tearful eyes. You recognize your friends too. Long sad faces, looking forlorn. Your colleagues are there too, all doled in black. Are they happy or sad? You can’t tell.
“Now, we shall have four speakers to give a final word on how the deceased’s life affected them? ” the priest says.
You watch your mother rise and walk forward. Your siblings, your friends, children, colleagues.
What will they say about you? What kind of life did you lead? A life of impact or a life that lacked purpose? A life of service to humanity or a life of selfish interests? What achievements would you be remembered for?
No one will sing about your cars or your mansions. What difference did you make because you were born? Steve Jobs advanced technology. Zuckerberg championed communication connectivity. Achebe wrote on the hearts of men. Les Brown spoke life. Tony Robin inspired transformation. Malcolm X stirred revolution. Thomas Edison gave electricity. Adele gave her soul in her music. Micheal Jackson walked with the legends.
What will you be remembered for?
I just want one thing after I’m gone. If one person says… “Eniola, changed my life!, If not for him, my life wouldn’t have had purpose” “Eniola is a talented writer and an award winning author”
What will people say after you are gone? Your true purpose lies at the end of this question. Shalom!
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