Once in a while, I used to go into introspection with loads of questions about life and about lack of it; about the circumstances of the living and death.
Indeed, I am not wrong, because even God Almighty, and His beloved Prophet, Muhammad (S.A.W) recommend that we, the living, should always engage in such introspection. Such introspection should be the source of reminder of the temporariness of the sojourn on this side of Allah’s creations.
Besides the question as to why God Almighty in His infinite mercy, hides the date and time of our death from us, I have, most times, journeyed into recounting how many people have so far gone, within these some sixty something years I have tarried around here on earth. Sometimes, for the purpose of close analysis, I would narrow the number of those I interacted with in one way or the other, that have passed on. And I discover the number is overwhelming. Such people include my father, my mother, my immediate younger sister, immediate elder brother, the last male child of my mother.
Others are my six uncles, eight aunties, more than a dozen cousins and other siblings, including Alhaji Idris Ondeku who died while performing Hajj in Makkah in 2018, and Abdulazeez.
There were also friends like Sadiq Aliyu, Ibrahim Ozovehe, Haruna, Isah, Solomon, Mike, Peter Uzodinma, Kabiru Yusuf, kola, Augustine, and several others. There were also more than a dozen of my colleagues, either in the same profession with me or those who worked with me in the same organisations. They are countless, so to speak.
There was the recent one: Professor Nuhu Omeiza Yaqub! And there was a friend’s big son, Muhammad Alhassan Yusuf that occurred just this week.
Within the same areas in which I grew up and in which I worked all through my journey in this life were many people that have similarly gone underground. They are big and small, males and females, rich and poor and so on. And when I reflect, I discover that I have nothing to show that I could not have been one of those who should be down there – underground. Afterall, there were many occasions things happened that would have probably taken me there.
It suffices for me to mention just three of such incidences, from where I emerged, still breathing, walking, talking, laughing, eating and so on.
The first one was what was to be a fatal accident in Kano in 1984. I was driving my Volkswagen car, with my cousin who came visiting from home (Okene) on a holiday, to a nearby village to buy some foodstuffs. There was a narrow, delapidated bridge which could take only one vehicle at a time. Just when I drove into the middle of the bridge, there appeared from nowhere, a huge trailer, entering the same bridge with mad speed. The trailer and my car headed to each others in what was clearly a head-on collision course. Seeing that I was not going to escape the worst, I quickly said my last prayer with closed eyes. Alas, nothing happened. There was no metal touch or loud sound as I concluded. I opened my eyes to find that I was out of the bridge. My car was still moving, and I was still driving. Allah, the miraculous worker did it at no cost to me!!!
The second incident was when I boarded a luxurious bus, on a night journey, from Kano to Lagos. I was going to the headquarters of THISDAY newspaper where I was working as Kano State Correspondent. I was going to receive my salary and to take instructions from my bosses on certain news items I was working on (being an investigative reporter, with all the risks involved).
The luxurious bus was on high speed amidst heavy downpour, around Pandogari in Niger State. Every passenger seemed to have slept off as the bus meandered its way through the not-so-good road. It appeared that it was only I that was not sleeping. I engaged in silent prayer, from the very point of departure in Kano. It was about 2.30am.
All of a sudden, the vehicle swerved off the road and headed to a huge river. The driver, who obviously was dozing off when it happened, woke up in panic, forced the vehicle back to the road, but it was on the bridge the vehicle landed. And the banging of metals, the screeching sounds of the engine, the screening by passengers who woke up in panic from sleep, the shout of Jesus and all that, took the centre stage. We didn’t know what happened but the next thing was that the long bus made a sudden halt in the middle of the bridge with deafening sound. It did not fall on its side, but crossed the bridge horizontally. Many passengers jumped in panic into the river below, others jumped onto the bridge while I remained seated where I had sat before the commotion started. I quietly climbed down the bus gently through the window and walked away from the bridge.
The deafening sound of the cranking metals must have woken up the people in the nearby village. They rushed to the scene in that wee hours of the night to render rescue assistance. The scenario can only be imagined.
The third escape, in my own human estimation, was when I was driving home, Okene with my new wife besides me. The drive from Abuja was dotted by incidences of missed accidents, three of which were to be with trailers, driven obviously by drunken drivers.
The last one occurred right in Okene town, a few metres to veer off the main road to my house. As a matter of fact, there, at the junction where I was to make the last turn, appeared a trailer that was on highly dangerous speed: meanwhile, I was already negotiating the bend. How I was able to quickly turn the steering to dodge the trailer that was clearly heading to my car could only be the work of He who knows what we can’t fathom. However, in the process of panicky dodging, my car rammed onto another car parked by the roadside. My car and the other car I rammed into were badly battered. I was made to pay some money to the owner of the other car to repair it.
The funny part of it was that the panelbeater who I invited to take the car for repairs, had an accident the following day with another car. Message got to me that the panelbeater was on danger list in hospital.
I ended up driving my car, the way it was battered, with my wife, back to Abuja.
The incidents as narrated, are just a few of what would have led me to be among those who have transited to the other side of where we don’t know. My people call the other side we don’t know “market.” They, my people would say: “it is a market to which one goes without ever returning home.”
If really it is a market, or whatever it is, definitely, it must have filled up now; from the day I was born to date. Consider the people that have died in our homes, in our localities, in our villages, in our towns and country, and around the world, you should be able to imagine the magnitude of the number of the people in that market.
In my little perception, it presupposes that when eventually I transit, I will be in the midst of familiar people. In other words, I will not be lonely.
That as I am surrounded by members of my family here, so I will also be surrounded by members of my family there. In the final analysis, either way, I find that I don’t have to fear: I don’t have to fear to live because I have loving people around me, and I don’t have to fear to die because I have loving people to welcome me.
I hope my calculation is correct and true? If it is, then I can infer that I will meet and be welcomed by my father, my mother, my brothers, my sisters, my aunties, my uncles, my friends, my colleagues and others over there?
I perceive that place to be as populated as even more than this place (where we are now, temporarily). I’m curious however, as to whether they are together in one peace there?
Just thinking aloud ni ooo!!!
