He
was crying. The white haired, silver bearded senile great great grandfather was
crying- no, sobbing. His whole frail body shook as he heaved. He motioned to me
with his left hand and spoke in a low, barely audible voice. The language was
difficult to decipher, but the meaning was not lost, despite the fact that I
had no prestidigitation for sorting, handling or dealing the cards of Igbo phrases.
He
motioned for me to sit by patting the empty space beside him on the wooden
termite eaten bench in the local foyer, from which we could both see other
houses in the village and feel the warm gusts of the parched east wind. M’pa
stretched his shrivelled hand around my neck and wept some more. I had chanced
upon him here. Nna men,
I was busy; rushing for a meeting, rushing to save the world...but would not
the Comforter want me to comfort?
I
called Vitalis to help me decipher the words of the ancient from another tongue
into the language of the Queen. The oldest man in the village where killed
witch-avatars embodied in rats and snakes are laid out on the tarmac to be run
over by trucks, and where monkeys are sacred barely managed, ‘God has forgotten
me on earth.’ He said it like a whisper. Nearly like an accusation. His entire
generation and that of those after him were dead. He had buried all his
children and his 3 wives. His grandchildren had built houses and his great
grandchildren were marriageable. And here he was laying his hoary head on my
right shoulder and weeping. He was weeping a death wish- crying a dirge;
whispering a lamentation.
That
was the day I knew his will had been broken.
Every
drop of his clear and salty tears had a voice. He had lost all interest in the
temporal. Earth held no fascination anymore. The birds did not chirp anymore-
he was hearing the singing of perpetuity. The rain did not fall anymore- he was
watching for the falling of another sheet; the curtain of infinity. The rivers
did not flow into the sea anymore- they coursed upwards. The sun did not shine
anymore- he longed for a place where there was no sun- and no night.
155*
seasons, 155 rains, 155 years. When he was born, there were no birth
certificates. There were no government records. There was no Nigeria. Only
slave trade and forests; warring kingdoms and a handed down vision by a
clairvoyant king of the coming of the white man. He was one of the first men to
embrace and spread the Light. He was born before the polluted wind, the raped
earth, the tamed fire, the polluted water. He knew the Son. He
knew that death is the window to a better life.
A
few weeks later, we ate kolanuts, bitter kola, Akpu and thick Okazi soup washed down with water from a
local spring. Palm wine and alcohol was justified for those who relished the
art of drunkery- drunkenness and revelry.
It was a funeral; but I can’t remember if anyone was sad. As music
blared, I could not but remember the man who cried because he was
too old. I had been called to stretch out his body from foetal
position one dark moonless night. No cardiac or respiratory activity. Pupils
fixed and dilated. Rigor mortis in the posture of a child in
the womb.
Youth
and 70 year olds painted their beards and heads with the old man's white powder
in the same foyer; the foyer in which my right shoulder had been drenched.
Their ritual, fetish and prayer was to live as long as M’pa. As I silently
looked on, I laughed in my heart. If only they knew. If only they
knew about the tears.
That
night, I understood again the Prophecy by the man who refused to be called the
son of Pharaoh’s daughter. With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation. Once
you are satisfied and have fully accomplished purpose, close your eyes. Sleep. Death
is a window to another life. Death is the window to a better
life. I stopped
fearing it at redemption. Let him that hath an ear, let him hear.
‘the
years draw near where you shall say, I have no pleasure in them.’ ~Jedidiah ben David c 971BC
‘For
to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.’ ~Paul of Tarsus c AD 61
‘Sin’s
curse has lost its grip on me. No guilt in life, no fear in death. Here in the
death of Christ I live.’ ~Newsboys
c AD 2000
*
his recorded birth was in 1854
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