The final Burial

By Austine Obogo (Enejist)

Its a story of an old poor woman who died and was to be married with an expensive casket in a well build and designed grave.

its not a real story but a vision and imagination, this article describe how the dead are being treated but often abandoned while alive.

Most of this people died from starvation, lack of care, medical attention which couldn’t have cost more than the drinks one will buy on the day of burial, but when such people dies in Africa, we spend a whole lot of money all in the name of giving the person a befitting burial.

Africans are good in celebrating the dead but abandon while alive, the value of human is only recognize in Africa at death that’s when you see all kinds of people feeling the condulence register saying good words about him or her but never care to say good morning to such person while alive. Don’t you think those words could’ve help that person live longer? Who then read the condulence register? The dead? Of what use is those nice words you put down of that book?


my son, I want to know why I died like a poor woman when I have a Son like you.

My Son, I wanted to bless you before I die, but now I have gone with my blessings.

My breakfast, my lunch and my dinner was one of my challenges when I was alive, but you spent money to cook all types of foods, meats and different types of drinks on my burial day.

My Son, you choose to spread and rubbed my dead body with costly fragrance when I was using groundnut oil as my favourite cream.

You dressed my Corpse with an expensive cloth when it was difficult to buy a wrapper for me.

When my Corpse was in the Mortuary you came to check on me from time to time, you care about my Corpse than when I was alive why ?

The most painful thing is the kind of expensive coffin you put my Corpse when I lived in an uncompleted house while alive.

When you were young I starved for you to eat and be satisfied, I wore one cloth in order to provide enough clothes for you. I thought you would take care of me when I grow old.

You completed the house, painted it and cleared the compound in one week just to celebrate my Corpse.

Now you wrote tribute to me saying “Mama, I love you so much rest in peace” – When I died with a broken heart.

Finally, my son, I wrote this to remind you that there is no other person that loves a child like a mother.
May God forgive you.

Wage War against “befitting burial”, to encourage befitting livelihood.

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