MONDAY broke with the tragic news of my brother-in-law’s passing. Brother Niyi, was, (whao, just like that; compelled by syntax to use past tense in situating their relational) husband to my immediate younger sister. Sunday night, he was headed to a vigil service when five reckless boys from Northern Nigeria, doing devil-catch-me-if-you-can on a bike (imagine five people on a motorbike), crashed into him, with devastating impacts, sending him to an early grave, and ending a blissful marriage of just 24 years for my sister.
Strangely, only one of them, was hurt enough to be admitted to the same public hospital which morgue was initially used to store my in-law’s remains before he was moved elsewhere, preparatory to his burial.
Their own, arranged, and moved the other four to an unknown location. While security agencies are claiming to be on the case, we, as a family, are moving on, trusting God to receive the one who served him conscientiously here on the earth and preserve the wife and the three children, all undergrads, he left behind.
Death, they say, is a necessary end except for those who may be extended the grace of Enoch and Elijah, by God. The duo, didn’t see death, before they saw eternal life. Aside the duo, the third biblical figure that is said to never have died is Melchizedek, the ethereal priest-king of Salem. His name means King of Righteous and his title; King of Peace, which compel analytical parallels with Jesus.
In Genesis 14:18, Melchizedek apparently materializes while Abram is speaking to the King of Sodom, blesses Abram, and then following the exchange of a tithe, apparently disappears, while Abram continues his conversation with the King of Sodom in verse 21. This fleeting encounter caused the author of Hebrews 7:3 to write concerning Melchizedek, “Without father, without mother, without genealogy, having neither beginning of days nor end of life…”, which further reinforces the mythos that Melchizedek never died.
I always struggle with commiseration. I would be feeling the bereaved’s sorrow so much I would not know what to say, so I don’t end up with the wrong words. Now, I must console my sister this Monday and what a task it was, even praying for her and the children, and trying to recollect beautiful memories of her husband, especially his manifest spiritual fervour. But thank God for a woman of faith, despite the natural expression of emotions that is bound to follow such sorrowful news. Even Jesus wept.
Our family eldest had called early in the morning after apparently noticing I had not read the WhatsApp message she sent breaking the heart-breaking news. After realising how much one’s morning can be consumed by internet offerings, I purposed like Daniel to work my week days’ morning differently, in order to not defile myself with the endless unpleasant news and information, from Nigeria and the world beyond.
My big sister was almost whispering “Niyitiku. Iyawo e wanibi ko timo” (Niyi is dead. His wife is here with me and yet aware) Such news hardly sink at first mention. I was aghast. My sister was out of their base for a brief medical consultation and was already aware of the accident, after their church members called her to demand the whereabouts of the husband who would never miss out on such a prayer meeting.
Endlessly, Sunday night, my sister called her husband’s line in vain. Not connecting. Guess the phone smashed into pieces due to the impact of the crash. Then she reached a neighbour who told her to return home because her husband was in an accident. Our youngest sister who already knew about the unfortunate passing informed our eldest sister, who kept it away from my younger sister until she got home and met sympathisers, from their church and neighbourhoods, as well as our family members, waiting to receive her.
Yoruba will say oloro a betididi (the affected being the last to know). After big sister told me she was with her on the return journey, yet to know, I was very depressed. How can a moment just dramatically change the life of a person. One moment, you are all life and alive, bubbling with optimism of a better tomorrow, planning for the next page of life-book, then, just like that, all vanishes.
After the new phase of her life was finally made known to her, I was so heartbroken, that I would just call that Monday to ask how she was doing and our eldest would respond, “just like anyone who just lost her husband, but she is holding up well”.
Monday night through Tuesday, sleep eluded me. I tried seeking answers from the Holy Spirit who should know why a spiritual delight like Brother Niyi, should depart when he did. My last visit to them which was the last time I saw him alive; he would drop everything to guide me through scriptural understanding. His prayer sessions were always long (laugh) and sermon-esque. And the children, both husband and wife, had modelled into spiritual youths. After a night or two, I got used to the prayer sessions. How much I would miss this sold-out-for-God brother.
During my meditation, Isaiah 57:1 kept jumping out to me “The righteous perisheth and no man layeth it to heart and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from evil to come”.
Strangely, that was the testimony of my sister. She had asked our eldest in the course of the return journey if her husband was dead, to which she asked her to remain calm. The bereaved later told me that in the vehicle the scripture that kept coming to her, was the same Isaiah 57:1. It can only mean God has called His saint home. But what a way to go.
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