My mum and some close associates have wearied me with incessant complaints over my bodily emaciation. I was advised to reduce fasting. But that Black Friday wasn't just seemed like a day of eating -- I just felt I should deny the body again-- as fasting for me is a therapy and an exercise to awake spiritual alertness which takes me beyond this terrestrial environment.
Apart from the self loss of appetite, and some feeling of saying a 'no' to daily gluttony, the day was bright enough that you can't suspect any evil. So, I had set out for a trip . Buki, whom I consider a consummate reporter broke the news by a phone-call, so no need for further inquiry--besides, a convoy of staff were waiting for me at Berger which was to lead our way to Ado-Awaye, an interior of Oyo state, so there was no time for disbelief. It was a bad news from a veritable source.
"It was High blood Pressure" the caller said. " High blood Pressure?" If not that the school was on break, HELEN and AGBABIAKA ought to be held responsible. The former did always give him tough time in class and sometimes to a point of squeezing life out of him while the latter frustrated him, then forced him to laugh again. Even Bherro. But come to think of it is there any lecturer Helen doesn't wahalalize? Leave the girl jare and accuse the death, I concluded.
Then I began to muse over the vain struggle of man through life, a torrent of phone calls barraged my cell-phone. I did not pick any since I knew why the called. Why are we all weeping? And for whose sake are we weeping? If it is for Chris, I think we shouldn't waste our tears, but if it is for ourselves, let us all continue weeping for everyone of us would taste this bile of death.
I switched from a somber look, to that of a baby whose mother just arrived from market with goodies. I picked the tale of Tortoise, who began to scatter ground when it bumped at leopard. "Why this?" asked leopard and tortoise said whoever that would pass through that path after its death would know that two mighty animals had fought on that spot. I envied Chris' stoicism; he did not beg death, he had taken that bold step many of us are running away from, since he knew he would later go.
After that I remembered Edwin Arlington's poem 'RICHARD CORY' which I read long time ago. It is a poem that best explain the mystique of his sudden exit which happened without much noise. Richard, a fine gentleman, imperially slim and educated, who was an embodiment of good-living; one night, went home and put a bullet through his head! Richard Cory explains the irony of life when people that appear calm and cool are nursing a bleeding deep gash in their hearts.
A lot has been said about him on Facebook, even Tene,
my Pardi said good things about the deceased--his gentleness etc. They are correct but there is something they forgot to say that Mr. Chris was either a deceiver or too secretive or maybe he doest want to spread his dirty linen in the public or too considerate to avoid been a burden to others. But why did he always pocket as if life was good? A question he would need to answer when I see him in apparition or at heavenly atrium.
It is therefore high time we started appreciating the few lecturers and everybody around us that are good, not until when they are gone we begin to bombard their cenotaphs with sweet words. Those good songs we composed on Facebook may have moved Mr Chris legs to dance.
I can't really say Chris was a good man, but I don't think he has ever threatened any student with carryover like that tyrannic computer madam in a movie I watched, who promised my friend a carryover and ensured the evil was fulfilled. And unquestionable book keeper whose required principles transcended beyond ordinary strictness to an unnecessary sadistic umbrage. Where Chris went should humble us all.
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