Obaba Museum

Let’s take a walk down to, let’s say, four years back, in the early hours of September 2017 somewhere within Agodi Gardens, Ibadan, Nigeria. An old man, in a bid to make ends meet, meets His brutal death. This reminds me of the Yoruba prayer asking God to prevent us from being eaten while searching for what to eat.

What happened in the early hours of September 30, 2017 will forever leave me thinking about Death’s extreme cruelty. Let’s jog our memories: you perhaps, heard the news or read it in the papers, that man that was torn in pieces by lions at Agodi Gardens. Yes, my write-up is focused on that unfortunate incident. I call it my ‘dedicative thoughts…’

If it were to be that we all chose the way that we would die, death would be a more pleasurable experience. It is said, ‘man is a free moral agent. He has the right to choose his fate.’ If this is the case, why is Death an exception? We hear expressions like, ‘snatched by the cruel claws of Death, visited by Death, so must follow’, etc. Why does man remain helpless when relating with Death?

The prohibition of man to determine his death experience has led to catastrophic incidents, eerie situations, and pitiable events. The gaudy events of the early hours of the last day of September 2017 will forever be etched in my memory. This very incident will forever leave me thinking, though not as strong in years to come, how cruel and ruthless Death is. I do not have exact graphic images, but my imagination has proved indispensable. I stare at it as though I were present, gazing directly at the savagely mutilated body of a septuagenarian who left his house some hours before to make ends meet for himself and family.

How would he have reacted if someone had told him that the lions that he had been feeding for 5 years were the same agents Death was going to employ on its behalf that same day?! The reports read, ‘Man attacked by lions, dies later from injuries.’ Justice! He was eaten by lions! What injuries could he have sustained to later die from?! If only he had that chance! At least, he would have kicked the bucket in a hospital, surrounded by people who cared.

He was the unfortunate meal for hungry lions who dealt with him the same way they tear apart goats. They didn’t ask him, ‘any last words?’ Of course, he died… that’s how we will continue to report: ‘ The old man is dead.’ How he died is another story entirely.

I wept, but the dead is not here to see. The only thing one can hope for is rest in the other world. I pray for consolation for his family- no wife, six children!

Time will pass, people will forget, the sands of time will bury it deeply, but his family will never forget.

As for the messengers of Death, Death demanded their lives too- gunned down and burnt up. Funny, one would have expected a reward. This isn’t enough. The dead isn’t back, but that’s the most justice can serve, even in the eyes of his family.

Tradition had to be put aside because his remains required a coffin; a horror if put on display. Old man, I’m sorry you had to die this way.

I wonder what his last words would have been if he had been given the chance. Maybe they would have been, ‘ Happy Independence Day…in advance!’

A minute silence would show a great respect to the departed. That’s part of humanity. Here, I drop my pen.

DEDICATED TO THE DECEASED: BABA OLORUNWA (FAREWELL FOREVER) and THE FAMILY OF THE DECEASED.