By Odolaye Aremu
“If you have 24 hours to live, what would you do?”
– Mase, in Harlem World, 1997.
I know it wouldn’t make much sense to you as it is to me; that’s a reason this note is more to me for personal digestion- a reasonable, indigenous thought for me to snack on. But in fairness, join me if you would or could to chew cud on it, as it suits you.
If I have just 24 hours to live, I wouldn’t do much in rebranding myself, since “teaching an old dog a new trick” is essentially a conventional exercise in futility. I would only do enough anyhow to accommodate the slim allowance given.
I shall pay all, or most of the outstanding debts on my personal ledger- for the worst thing I could do to further harm Muni’s sanity, in my absence is to turn her home into a Mecca of a sort-for chronic debt resolution or reconciliation or even for its consolidation. Added to all that is dealing with the kids on her own, which could as expected be- highly stressful.
I would visit Karimu Kafinta- the best Fiditi Casket maker and pick up a befitting one. One as simple as my way of life. A piece of furniture dedicated to the essence of a life spent not groping about needlessly on the flight of missed opportunities, but to the appreciation of the peace, joy and the unbridled moments of uncanny exuberance nestled to that unassuming address at the Alarinkinrin Street, of Fiditi.
I have to take Waki and Joko on a long walk- a special one-for the ages! I must act naturally as I fill the blanks on topics I’d missed unconsciously or deliberately to bring to the table before then. Though we take regular walks, it’s instructive this one stands to be different in all ramifications. In my emotional advancement and in expressing a very strong core, it would be foolhardy to deny a strong separation anxiety that’s already co-existing-side by side the ebullient spirit of detachment, that I must readily befriend- a necessary evil helping me cope with my own fear of the unknown and the loss of myself unto myself and ultimately to my wonderful innocent kids!
I shall make a quick stop on our way back from our walk to treat myself to a haircut- of course the last one! I am sadly catching myself stealing glances at those kids from that huge wall mirror in “Ganiyu-De International” modern Saloon, at each spin of his newest hydraulically-powered chair. It’s definitely hard seeing those two kids counting speeding cars from where they’re sitting, entirely oblivious to their father’s internal turbulence and his impending sorrowful plight.
A shower to cleanse my being of the feeble, rootless, stray strands of hair clinging to me is reasonable, as much as preparing my spirit for a full, symbolic ablution is. Each moment I have to spend with myself, to reflect back on a relatively long life; either in justification of, self-vilification on certain past actions or rationalizing others are commodities so invaluable at the present time. Followed by a good meal, a bottle or a couple of icy-cold ’33 lager beer, and a good moment with Muni- where I am bound to regurgitate all the things I have been holding back from her all these years. I would with tact, reiterate my love for her a bit slower, more passionately than I used to, and to apologize for my notorious moodiness; for the errant moments of selfishness displayed when all she wanted to do was only cuddle, but I mischievously took liberty, till I take more for myself. I know I could be damn too difficult to live with, but Muni made living with me so smooth and so easy.
I would change into clean underwear, in adherence to the wisdom of my mother- “Odolaye, always wear fresh underwear! You never know, accidents happen!” Thankfully, there’s a couple of nice outfits in my wardrobe I am sure I haven’t touched yet. Muni could help choose one more befitting for the occasion. If she’s acting too nosy or too suspiciously, I could coyly ask her for a dance to a cool, Ligali Mukaiba number- one of her favorites! That ought to distract her from being too “oversabi!”
I think with all that done- hoping I’ve momentarily prepare my most beloved to the impending news of a glorious exit- in just a few hours. It is however impossible to prepare humans for Death; even in the ample time of a Century! I will abrogate the little remaining time to revisit my own “quiet-time”, try putting my emblematic imagination to diligent task; wise to paint outlandish pictures of my destination; of what it would or could be like. Would I be received warmly- in songs and dance like John Hopkins- in the movie: “Meet Joe Black” or the other way round, with discordant chants of curse-words and the endless flailing of whips, like it happened to Tafa Oloyede in the old Nollywood TV series: “Arelu?”
If you have 24 Hrs To Live What Would You Do?
For the unimaginative mind- this is not a death wish; far from it, just something for you and me to ponder over.
Painting by Artist Sofiane Dey Via Artist Carole Brown on African Voices.
Courtesy of Aderemi Adesoji Ajagunna
