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What a strange day it was for my family.
Aunty Caro called me yesterday to tell me that my father is dead and that the burial would have to take place immediately. She said it with no form of regret or sadness.
"He had an accident and there were deep cuts on his body. There was no way the hospital could have embalmed the corpse." Aunty Caro said over the phone.
I rushed home from school to the village the following day. Alighting from the vehicle, I saw strange looking faces all dressed up in black. Nobody was crying. Nobody said a word to me. I made my way through their midst heading straight to where my mother was sitting beside aunty Caro and other members of the family.
I was watching to see if anyone was crying. My dad was just in his late forties and as far as am concern, he's still a young man.
Was his death not painful to them?
Could I be the one they were waiting for before they cried?
Not even a drop of tear from anyone.
I'm his first child, maybe they wanted to hear what I have to say. But it was obvious from the look of things that nobody was interested in whatsoever was on my mind.
My legs suddenly became heavy and I dragged myself to where my mother was.
I looked into everyone's face as I matched along and the way most of them looked back at me was suspicious. "Did they think I killed my father?" I quickly snapped out of it. That would be so silly of me to think.
I had expected Aunty Caro to tell me what was going on. I've always thought she hated dad. What other sad news was there that she couldn't tell me?
Motor-mouthed aunty Caro can say anything. I'm sure she must have volunteered to break the news to me on phone yesterday. Why then would this one be different. The look on her face stated clearly, "go away young man, I don't want to see you."
The atmosphere was strange. There was an unusual silence everywhere coupled with a dark sky. It didn't seem like it will rain but the clouds covered everywhere. I know people do say "as quiet as the graveyard." But this is no graveyard. My father would be buried in his own house.
The whole setting made it looked like a late night horror movie. Gross fear embraced my soul and made me feel I'll be the next to die.
I touched my younger brother, he also gave the same face aunty Caro gave, "go away this man."
I wish to talk but couldn't break what seems like a spell of silence.
What could be the problem?
Could it have been that my father was not the one who was dead?
But there was his coffin, carefully placed beside the heap of sand that has been dug already. And just in front of the casket was his picture.
The picture brought his memories back to my head and they were like a blow on an open sore. I remembered the day he took the picture. It was about a month to when I went to school. I will forever remember that day. Using the picture for an obituary would be the last thing that would come to my mind.
I couldn't get my self to speak a word to anyone (and they obviously weren't ready to listen). "This is strange," I keep repeating to myself.
I finally walked closer to my mother and sat on the floor beside her, and rested my head on her lap. She brushed my Afro back and forth with her hands and I wondered what was going on in her mind.
I know my family have strange traditions but am sure not talking during burial was not one of them.
Mum should say something. I expected her to say something.
"Was dad a cultist? Is that why they can't bury him."
A flash of lightning through the thick black cloud seems to confirm my claim although I never said it out for anyone to hear.
Even the priest folded his arm around the Bible on his chest. He was also looking weird as everyone else.
Some minutes later, I saw some people come out from the main entrance to our house, they looked like the undertakers, with another coffin. I raised my head and looked into my mum's eye, I opened my mouth to speak but not even a word came out. My lips where suddenly heavy and heaven's weight seems to be on my shoulders. I looked into mum's eyes and saw tears at a corner of her eyes as she handed over a letter they found in grandma's room to me.
I looked into my mum's face and watched tears dribble down her eyes. I followed suit.
And that moment I realize, indeed, this family will never remain the same after the death of my dad.
