Life After Death!Life After Death!
10/11/2015
11:52 AM
I met Kofi in 2015 on Facebook. He was a Ghanaian who shared the same writing zeal as I.
Kofi was a graduate with a good grade and no job- a circumstance he found himself entangled in that wasn’t his fault. Nevertheless, Kofi was a hard worker who tried all who could to stay afloat in this stormy world of his.
We started by sharing writings and trying to chip in ideas into each other’s piece, and as long as it lasted, it went well and we both benefitted from the arrangement. None of us bothered to try and employ the services of an editor because we couldn’t even afford it. As struggling youths from different countries, we tell our stories in our writings, and we erase every form of depression through expressions in writing. We almost shared the same style of writing as our poetry is mostly inspired by darkness, a negative muse due to sadness around our intended gladness. With hands well held together, we were surviving and laughing. We know that one day, a door will open.
Then suddenly, I stopped seeing his mail and I got worried when he didn’t reply mine. His mobile number was no more available. That scared me because it was running into weeks since I heard from my dear friend!
So, I logged into my Facebook account and tried to contact some of his friends who happened to be my mutual friends too. I told them I was worried about him and someone promised to help me trace him.
Three days later, a strange number called, and the voice was Kofi’s. He sounded dead and distant like a soul from hell.
“What happened, Kofi,” I asked, dreadfully, hoping the answer will be positive. But it wasn’t, Kofi was dying and the worst part was that he was willing to die!
He said, “I just found out that my fiancé of five years has been sleeping with her neighbour who works in a bank.”
“Did you confirm that?” I asked, trying to pacify him.
“Yes, I did,” He replied, to my horror. “The worst part is that this guy claims to be very religious, and my girlfriend…sorry, my ex, is the chief usher from her church; a very religious lady who never misses any of the church services. I thought I had myself a gem, but my friend, I am so depressed that I don’t know what next to do. I have stopped writing and I think I’m going to die!” He screamed and started crying like a baby, much to my annoyance.
“Dude”, I called on him, “as much as I sympathize with you, I must admit that you are a fool!”
The crying stopped abruptly, and I continued.
“If you die because of this, will that stop them from having sex and talking about your stupid life? Did you consider the fact that this revelation would have been more painful if you guys are already married? This you realize that you should be grateful that you know that your ex- wasn’t a saint she claimed to be? Didn’t you feel good that a problem of many years was brought to your notice this day? Didn’t it feel like you just saw tomorrow? Why are you so myopic that you forgot to see that aside her, there are others humans with boobs and hairy triangles walking to be noticed?
“If only I was in your shoe, I would have called you today and tell you how I used my situation to write as many poems as I could. How I wish this could be your opportunity to tell a story that you can relate with. Dude, send me your address so that I can attend your funeral as the last respect to a friend if you still insist on dying!”
I knew I was too harsh, but it worked because it was just the truth. He was silent, and then he disconnected. I didn’t hear from him until someone sent me a mail containing a link to a website. Lo and behold, there was the picture of my friend as a winner in an international writing contest. He will even be travelling to England for his chapbook launching.
There was a little page for a dedication. It reads:
“People who left you while you were struggling for air in the waters were just helping you to float to the surface. Because they do not have a mind of their own, if you insist on carrying them along then you might just have to sink with them.
“Do not worry about the things you cannot have, but be anxious about the great ideas you were unable to write about.
“This chapbook is dedicated to my only friend, Oluwadamilare. You are the one who made me realize that there indeed life, after death.”
helping
