Grief has a way of concentrating the mind. This is more so for death. This is because death is in reality the end of us all – at least on this side of the divide. Amidst all the melee and buzz in contemporary Nigeria as regards who will succeed Buhari, still, and for some of us, life has stopped. The contrast can be very amazing. The amazement stems from the fact that, on one hand, there is this frenzy as regards who gets what in the political space – yet the mind cannot but wonder at the futility of it all.
The immediate foregoing probably explains why the poet was of the solemn view that: the paths of glory lead but to the grave. As another thinker has memorably put it: Whether president or pauper: the end is the same. But in spite of this and other verities, the Nigerian politician can be trusted to provide for himself an extravagant resting place, as if this matters. On this note, it is instructive to appreciate that another poet has memorably remarked that: ultimately nothing matters.
Dear reader, why is my disposition like this as I prepare this Friday diet on a quiet Thursday morning within the relatively calm atmosphere of a first-generation university. The reason is not far to seek. In line with the new technology, which pervades the land, I belong to a platform where the then boys were in the same class set in a particular school. The name of the set goes thus: the 1967/71-73 boys. A little explanation is in place here. The 67-71 refers to those boys who entered in 1967 and some of them left in 1971 for the wider world. Some stayed back for the higher school programme, to be joined by other boys – hence the appellation: 1967-71-73 boys. I must state here that this is a very accomplished set from an equally accomplished school. So the discussion on the platform rarely descends to the tawdry level.
In recent times, one of them has gone to the great beyond. His name is Dele Idirisu. When he was on this side of existence, he was not there in the public space. And so, to that extent, he was relatively unknown. Even then on account of this, we may as well summon one of the poets again who deposed thus: And some there be, who have no memorial, they are buried as though they have never been. But their soul liveth forever and ever more!!
At a wider level, it may as well be mentioned here that in reality, Dele Idirisu was not the first to go. Rather, it could be said that he was about the first one to go since the inception of this platform. Indeed, the episode provided the occasion for a head-count as regards those who have gone and those who are still here on this side of the divide. When this particular exercise was conducted, it was found that 23 of the 1967-71-73 boys, out of a total of 60, have already died.
The reaction on the platform was very touching. Perhaps the most important one was the fellow who, in awe, recognised that so nearly 50 per cent of us have already died. It was very sobering. The rest, for all it is worth, can only thank God by saying: one could well have been one of those departed 23. This I suppose is one of the inexplicable ways of God. One never knows who is next. For this is really the prerogative of the Divine.
This is why for all the insularity, which appears to hallmark this piece, there is a general and universal dimension to it. In other words, dear reader, even if you have never met or heard about Dele Idirisu, who is being buried in Ibadan today, chances are that you will more than be able to identify with his current status. For the absolute hallmark of all humanity is that we, at different times, will one day, surely go the way of all flesh.
Read also: Dealing with Grief
Incidentally, at the dawn of life, this is one feature of existence, which does not immediately become obvious. It creeps in slowly, very slowly. The individual hardly gives any thought to it. The scenario for most of us goes thus. The grim reaper in those early years would hardly make its presence felt.
There could well be that rare occurrence of a fellow pupil in primary school who passes on. Very much the same thing can be said for similarly exceptional occurrences in high school and even in the university. So that final call continues to remain a distant and even unimaginable phenomenon. Still father time creeps on and somewhere along the line, your grandparents and their contemporaries pass on.
Still you are not thinking along such lines, until probably your own parents pass on. Then you know, if you are sufficiently discerning, that you are next in line as far as the strains of mortality go. By this time, like most of the 1967-71-73 boys, you are retired, and you begin to appreciate that those next in line for this final call are in reality and in fact, you and your contemporaries.
This is why as Dele Idirisu goes forth today, the pertinent question is: who is next? Again, one must turn to another poet, who, with a measure of clarity, has deposed along the following lines: Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee, and it tolls for me.
However, in these sad and dreary times, and at the risk of sounding perverse, this much is clear; Dele Idirisu can be deemed to be lucky. He will not be here to watch or feel bizarre happenings, like the impact of the N100 million bazaars, the incestuous and perfidious paddy-paddy presidential pardons and the ongoing ASUU strike.
So, Dele Idirisu, rest in peace. As for us the living, we continue to grapple and contend with these inclement features by a wayward ruling class.
