For Tominsin
I don’t remember the first time I met you, which is an error on my part, because I tend to be forgetful. For the first three years, I vaguely remember the times we laughed and talked in church, even though I remember what they feel like. I think it’s because of that again, but mostly because I got used to it too. You became a constant. Every time, I came back from school, I knew I would see you in church anyway. At the drum set, in the choir, teaching Sunday school classes, debating about doctrines.
After service ended, you would always greet me with the same energy. Lively, humble, approachable. It hardly dwindled. I couldn’t tell whether it was out of courtesy or you just happened to be kind. I recognised you as "the one with the funny fashion sense". I would joke around with my sisters about how you would rock some pair of multicoloured socks, with your waistcoat, and a bowtie that looked like Jojo Siwa’s. It was fascinating to watch someone walk around like that. I’m not proud of that memory, yet it’s one of my favourite memories of you.
My mind does this thing often, where it starts to think of bad things ahead. In moments like this, it works full time. I constantly think of you laying on the walkway, bleeding, and in unfathomable pain. How did it feel to be encircled by people just watching? Did they make remarks, perhaps even record you? Did they walk past you in a hurry as the truck did? Did they have the patience to glance at you and not feel anything deep down? What was it like? The realisation that it was all coming to an end. Gradually.
Right now, if there was anyone and anything to blame, they would be countless. But, it won't do anything for you. Thinking about the 'what ifs' would not turn back time either. All I can do is apologise. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You did not deserve this. To have your chance of surviving taken away from you before and after. Being at the wrong place, surrounded by the wrong people. Being caught up in the mess of this country. You did not deserve any of it.
It was hard enough being the breadwinner. Life seemed like it was treating you better with that new job in VI. Your shirts were starting to carry weight, and the sky looked like your only limit. You did not become patient to this point for anything.
People had said you were supposed to be at Sokoto for deployment. Perhaps, if you had stayed there, nothing would have happened. But, you know how humans are. We’ll always try to comprehend things that are beyond our reach. We can pray that we never encounter it again. We can wish that we had more time, hoping that we’d have cherished you more. We can regard life as vanity all we want, but it won’t make things different or better. It won’t change anything or make it go away. Death has never been for us to understand. I guess the closest we will ever be to understanding it is experiencing loss and death itself.
For the first time, I went for a burial last year, this month. I didn’t know her, but it didn’t stop the tears. I already have flashes of you in a box with your nose covered.
Denial seems comforting. And, I dread the moment when I’ll go back to church, and ask for you in normal tradition, oblivious for a moment.
I’ve always known that death is inevitable, but this feels new to me. The night before, you posted a meme about Ballon D’Or like everyone else.
Today, I have to deal with the idea of you not being a constant. In some months time, I have to start thinking about you as someone that used to exist. And when years have passed, you’ll only be a memory.
The only thing left to do is to comfort me with the fact that you lived serving God, that you went somewhere better.
After everything, I think that I owe it to you not to think of your absence as a tragedy. Whenever you cross my mind, I promise to let this outweigh the moments of sadness I would feel and the tears that might come after.
