It's my burial day! Mother Earth would swallow my body this day in just about hours as I'd be offered to her in one of the 'wooden wombs' given us lifeless people by the ones who 'love' us. But my thirty year old soul has refused to die, it hovers around and over the coffin my body's trapped in, scampering and willing to jump back into the body it had abandoned in a scurry two weeks ago on the hospital bed. I see a whole lot of beautiful canopies with decorated chairs underneath, awaiting arrivals, of people who 'care' about me enough to want to witness this last moment before my remains decay, then become a part of Mother Earth's soil. Many have trooped in and occupied the chairs, with hankies in hand, hankies meant to wipe their tears even though they had ignored my tears before two weeks ago. Everyone's welcomed however, 'cause it's my burial day.
Three weeks ago I had been in the hospital moaning and groaning my agony away, groping the sheet in pain and mopping the tears on my face with the sheet, just three weeks ago.
"You're losing it friend, you need to be operated on fast. Isn't there someone who could help you with the bills?" I had read those words from the doctor's lips 'cause I'm not sure I had heard him in my despair. Friends, course mates, lovers, Christians, smoke mates, Muslims, club mates, neighbours, gist mates... I had sought some help, whatever help from you all.
I had you, yes, you that's just walked into the canopy in dark attire and shades with a white hanky in hand. Perhaps it was the wrong day to have you when my nose still knew what to do with the air it breathed. So you'd ignored me, 'cause you felt there were others to help me, only that others also felt you would help me, so no one helped me albeit I had a lot around me. Or maybe I was just too much of a sinner to be saved. Seven days later I had lost it when the pain had torn at me too deep in my mind and soul; I had lost the battle I would have won if you had me as much as you do now. You'd cried your eyes out the night of my passing away, the way you soon would this day of my putting away. Perhaps now's the right day to have you, now that my nose knows no air.
Six Undertakers hike the casket you bought for me on their shoulders towards Mother Earth's six feet deep open mouth as you all trail behind them. My soul hovers above the casket in panic, confusion, fear. I see you too. You 'love' me so much you're now crying and rolling amidst shouts and wails looking all frail, begging me, pleading with my soul to jump back into my pale lifeless body. I cling to the casket desperately, then attempt to force open the casket. The wood penetrates my grip, nothing holds. I hit hard on the wood but there's no pain or hurt, nothing I had two weeks ago is mine anymore.
My soul weeps, makes to reply your 'kind' words, but I can't even hear myself. So I'd take with me to wherever the fact you would have stopped my soul from leaving my body two weeks ago with just a little care. My bill had summed just half a million; I can't help but wonder why you all had not spent these thousands to save me, yet have spent a million to offer me to Mother Earth. I wish I could remind you of the many times my skin had lost its colour to hunger and neglect, the many times I'd asked you for a little something, the many times you'd referred me to another day of help only to postpone farther. Perhaps you care afterall. You'd spent thousands to shelter my head in a 'wooden womb' actually, but could you not have spent those thousands on sheltering my head even in a wooden house when my breath had not fluttered away if you cared really?
Now that I'm dead, a 'pastor' leads the way as many pray over the safety of my soul on its passage into Abraham's bosom in God's Heaven. I hear talks of my goodness and awesomeness and loveliness and greatness, how I never got a thing wrong and didn't deserve to die. Was I that good enough yet you played blind to me on my sick bed?
My soul utters words in my brokenness I wish Pastor could hear, "You would not have had to worry about my soul's safety if you had saved my body with just a Sunday's tithe and offering for my bills. Well, I guess you need the money the more for more fancy cars and attires for your family, plus your children need the money for their fees abroad. You're a 'good' man afterall Pastor."
My body is lowered by the Undertakers into Mother Earth's open mouth, the six feet deep mouth you'd forced open with spades for my body, the one body you'd neglected yet are willing to offer the soil. My soul clings and cleaves to the casket in my scare and despair, in one last attempt to open up the casket and jump right back into my body and yell a loud "I'm alive folks" and then tell you all how I wouldn't have been in that coffin but for your apathy towards me. Then I see my lover, and ex-lovers among the sea of 'well wishers' sobbing. Months and years aback they had sworn to each die with me by virtues of the love we shared. They'd never realize dying with me was never the point, sticking to me through thick and thin in good and bad times was. My soul is broken and weeps with them, I'd miss each of their respective kisses and moments spent together loving each other up as the moon and stars bore witness with tiny rays of silvery light under the canopy of trees. I float to each of their faces demanding just a kiss more but our lips don't touch. Nothing I ever had, is mine no more.
Then I hear the Pastor say a thing about dust and ash which I don't care enough to listen. Wrapped around his wrist is a diamond-studded gold wrist watch obviously enough to have footed my bill if sold as he holds a spade with some soil in hand. Forgive me for being greedy, Pastor's wrist deserves such luxury, my wretched life made no difference anyway. Others had heard what was said about dust and ash, so my casket is covered with soil, now Mother Earth's latest womb. My soul makes one last attempt to save my body as the soil lands thicker and heavier on my casket, vanity! But hey, I forgive you if you're feeling bad already. Yet I won't forgive you if you ever let another suffer the fate you let me. So my soul hangs on a little longer, to watch if you'd ever let another live my fate.
Now that I've been buried, my body is deep in the soil while yours' are on the decorated chairs. It's not yet an hour but your hankies have been bagged. There are no tears on your faces no more. My soul still sees you, yes! You're taking selfies and reuniting with old friends in glee. I see you scampering for food and drinks, and frowning when it doesn't come your way.
"Madam give me souvenir abeg. I dey here since you no give me," a lady shouts.
"Oga gimme food na, and one bottle of beer," a man utters.
I see an ex and another exchange contacts; my lover is locked in another's arms smiling. My relatives, those ones who'd hid money meant for my burial smile in accomplishment my burial's a success. You all have moved on so soon?
You'd denied me the honour of your food and drinks and gifts when my nose knew air, yet you wouldn't let my soul mourn in peace as you struggle for things you didn't care enough to give me. Minutes later women sway waists a way to the other. Men are drunk and chatter loud into the music. Children have hands in the air dancing to the band's highlife. Moved on so fast dear lot?
I've had enough, so I feel my soul run to my grave, taking with it all the ills you've taught me about life to Forever Land. The world's a cold place I've realized as I make for Forever Land, only but hoping it's warmer there. Not the hell kind of warmth, the warmth that comes with being shown love and care is all I want this one time more. My soul lies on my grave defeated. People may never realize a little more love and care and help we'd have a little fewer burials. Humans are something else!
