“One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying” – Joan of Arc
“Every man dies…not every man really lives” – William Wallace
I am sitting in the living room, on this cold Sunday morning, drinking from my wine goblet. I got lucky a few days ago. I placed a bet on Arsenal not qualifying for the next round of the Champions League and I won. Allahu akbar!
After I got the cash this morning, I called the weed dealer in the neighborhood to keep some reefer for me and then proceeded to the wine shop to get a bottle of wine to celebrate Arsenal’s loss. At the shop, the attendant greeted me warmly and handed over the list of the new bottles of red wine they got in the last month. I carefully perused the list, trying to make a selection. Lion’s Gate…not today; Boekenhoutskloof Chocolate Block…not today; First Cape…don’t like the taste; Pinotage…not today; Isla Negra…hold up! Isla Negra? I’ve never heard of it before. I proceeded to inquire about the wine and learnt it was specially made in Chile. Really…never knew the Chileans made good red wine! I bought two bottles and went home.
And so here I am, having a taste of Isla Negra, instead of being in church. What a splendid feeling! This shit is awesome…I swear. May God bless the Chileans! I looked at the clock; it was twenty three minutes to eleven o’clock. Still no sign of the weed dealer! My bad!
A few minutes later, my phone beeped. On a Sunday morning…who would that be? Lazily, I picked up the phone and looked at the screen. It was obvious the wine was taking over me. The screen was hazy and I managed to see I had a message from someone I knew. My mother! Chai…this woman again! She would definitely ask whether I attended church service that morning. E don be for me nah…I’d have to lie that I just left the church premises. But the content of the text was different from what I expected. The message was about the death of Adeke, a young lady that grew up in our neighborhood. My goodness…Adeke…Dead! I kept reading the message and realized she died in a car accident together with her husband and two kids. Phuckery! Savagery! Fuckupry! Chai! Okpomekwe!
Adeke was a very good girl. Well, you know the definition of a good girl. She cooked food for her dad, fetched firewood for the mum, attended block rosary on a daily, never told a lie (except when you asked her how old she was), was never seen with bad boys in the neighborhood…she loved Jesus, she loved the Mother Mary, she loved the Bible. So there you have it…Adeke was a good girl. She eventually got married three years ago to a hardworking young man and the marriage was blessed with two lovely kids. Then all of a sudden, the evil phuck called Death snuffed the life out of them. Just like that…no one was spared. The world is definitely ugly!
A thousand questions raced across my mind. What did she do wrong? Did she insult death? What is the essence of the whole everyday struggle in life when we are just living to die? And a lot more questions raced across my hazy mind.
I took another sip of the red liquid and reflected on my life. Over the past two months, I’ve had a couple of close shaves with death. One time, I was traveling from Lagos to Ibadan and on the road, a lorry almost knocked our bus over. We all were lucky to be alive and I thanked God for that. A few weeks later, I was coming home from a viewing center. Manchester United has just won Preston and I was beaming with joy. Close to my territory, I saw a man get shot on the chest by some hood rats. I mean, that could have been me. So the next Sunday, I was in church giving a testimony and sowing a seed of faith.
In all honesty, nobody knows when his/her time would come. We all are different in many respects and as such, would have to go at different times and in different places. It doesn’t matter how old we are or how big our hopes and aspirations are. When it is time to go, we’d go! So I took another sip of Isla Negra and reflected on what my bucket list would look like, assuming I had just a couple of months to live. And here it is:
- Murder my landlady’s dog: They call the dog Captain. I’d have to murder the stupid dog. One doesn’t get to have a good night’s rest; it is either Captain is barking incessantly or wailing or fucking a fellow dog. I’ve had enough of the dog’s bullshits. And after I am done, I’d hope not to see the dog’s soul in the land of the dead.
- Smoke some Malawian kush: I recently discovered this truth from a friend that Malawi has the best reefer on the planet. My goodness! Even better than Jamaica. So when I realize I am gonna die, I would take the next available flight to that beautiful country. And when we touch down, I am gonna head straight to the closest weed shop. Boy, I’d have me a ton of Malawian kush and bring some back for the good people that would attend my funeral.
- Pay a visit to Joseph Kony: Now don’t try to report me to the International Criminal Court for making such a statement. Abeg o, I no be una First Lady. Fine, I know Joseph Kony is a wanted man. But I only got love and respect for a man that has succeeded in evading arrests by the USA and its allies. My God, how does he do that? Now don’t lecture me on the evils he has done. We all are guilty of one evil or the other. So before I pass away, I would pay him a visit and try to unravel the mystery called Joseph Kony.
- Get a pet cat: Yeah, right…I know there are stories about cats being vessels for demons. Well, me no send that one. I just need a pet cat to keep me company as I ponder over the best way to die and what lies after death. And guess what name I’d give the cat. Yeah, you guessed right…Joseph Kony.
- Write a heartfelt letter to the future Mrs. Baruu: I’d tell her how I would have loved her, how her hair would have smelled like the morning rose in my arms. I’d tell her how I would have made breakfast as she lay on the bed and afterwards, watch as she nibbles on the cookies. I’d talk about the adventures we would have had and the lovely kids we would have had. Lovely ke? With this my wor wor face? Ogbeni, calm down jor!
- Attend a concert by my favorite rock band: May be Metallica, Evanescence, Be’lakor or In flames. But definitely not a Linkin Park’s concert. I would throw my shirt up in the air and request to come on stage. And while on stage, I’d play some guitar riffs and eventually jump into the crowd and hope to plunge to my death.
- Tell Wendy Williams how much I love her: I know, I know, I know…you guys would call me pathetic, won’t you? I mean, who would fall in love with a lady that looks like a man. But I don’t give a phuck. Just her massive boobs would make me fall in love over and over again.
- Plant a kiss on my mother’s cheeks: Lovely Mother Baruu. She wouldn’t have a single clue that I would soon be gone. But what could I do? Tell her and she’d cry her eyes out. So the best thing to do is to chill and wait. And when I realize the pains are getting so unbearable and death lurks at my door, I would quickly plant a kiss on her cheek as she sleeps. I’d whisper how much I loved her and how much I hoped things would be different. But phuck it…no one has any power over death. I promise not shed a tear…honestly, I promise.
And afterwards, I would proceed to my room. I’d switch on the lights so I would look the Grim Reaper into his face and take his masks off. I’d love to see the face of that mudafuka that brings countless sorrows to many happy families…that godless imp that replaces joy with sorrow. I’d tell him I am ready. And then wait patiently for the hot blade to pierce deep into my heart. BOOM! BOOM!! BOOM!!!
I am glad I am dead!