Asuagbor The Death Monger

By Fritz Ngale Ilongo

On friday evening Mrs Asuagbor was saying to her husband: “I was thinking that we should pay a visit to your brother’s wife who has just put to bed twins at the Catholic Mission Clinic.” “Forget about that. Since mother and children are doing fine, they neither need our financial assistance nor our presence. Going there will be a waste of time. You are forgetting that we have to attend four wake keep ceremonies today. Boy O boy, how happy I am to attend so many funerals.”

Just then the phone rang and Pa Asuagbor picked up the receiver. His junior brother Egbekor was saying: “Big brother, your wife has just put to bed twins, but since she went through a caeserian section, we need about two hundred thousand francs to clear the bills. Since it is weekend, I can only get money from the bank on monday. I was wondering if you could borrow me some money.” “No way old boy. In fact I was just thinking of asking same from you. We are in a hurry to attend some funeral ceremonies. See you later.” Egbekor was shocked at his brother’s indifference and total lack of concern for his in-law and nephews.

Mrs Asuagbor was saying: “But Pa Asuagbor, you received a “Njangi” of five hundred thousand francs one week ago. Why can’t you lend some to your only brother?” “Forget about them. I am preoccupied with the amounts to contribute during the wake keeps we are attending tonight. I will give the sum of fifty thousand francs to each of the families. You know one has to build a reputation in these funeral circles.” “Its your money Pa Asuagbor. But I think you are making a mistake.” “Mistake keh! What is wrong with helping bereaved families?” “And what is wrong with helping the living?” “Simple. They are not yet dead. Let my brother handle his burden.” Putting elegant black dresses, the couple attended all four wake keeps, being acknowledged in each of them as veritable funeral stars, especially when the generosity of Pa Asuagbor reinforced the macabre image they were slowly building. They returned home at 6 am on Saturday morning, to fall into a deep and exhausted sleep. By noon they were up, and Pa Asuagbor was scratching his armpits and complaining bitterly: “I wish we could double, triple and quadruple ourselves, so as to attend the four church services at once, partake in the burial ceremonies and share in the larvish receptions thereafter.” By some miracle of determination the couple made the rounds of the four churches, homes, burials and receptions. They went back home tired but exhilarated, following their feats of that weekend. On monday morning when Pa Asuagbor arrived his office, a colleague was saying: “Do you know there were four wake keeps in town over the weekend?” Puffing out his chest, Pa Asuagbor replied” “My wife and myself attended the four wake keeps and the burial ceremonies.” “Pa the funeral star.” Echoed one colleague. “By the way, any corpse removals coming up this weekend?” Asked Pa Asuagbor. “Pa na wa for you. You have not even rested from last weekend’s rounds that you are already contemplating another round of funerals for this week.” Said a shocked colleague. Before retiring for the night, the Asuagbors heard a journalist saying over the radio during the orbituary slot: “….. the death has been announced of Mr Ndegele. Removal of the corpse will be on friday, while burial will take place at his village on Saturday. The chief mourners of this funeral are Pa Asuagbor and his wife.” “Yes! Yes!” jumped up Pa Asuagbor, doing a few steps of some mysterious dance. “Aren’t we stars after all. Imagine our names being read over the radio as chief mourners. We do not know the dead person, but we are the most honoured of invitees. I can now sleep peacefully, knowing in which funeral we shall spend the coming weekend.” Weirdly concluded the old man. For the rest of that week, Pa Asuagbor was on a cloud, impatiently counting the hours before the removal of the unknown corpse on friday. Repeated calls from his junior brother informing him about his in-law’s discharge from the clinic, and subsequent home coming jubilations fell on the deaf ears of Pa Asugabor. The latter kept saying to his wife: “I have to save some money to use during the upcoming wake keep and burial ceremonies. What is a childish home coming event in comparison to a funeral in which we are chief mourners?” Come friday morning, Pa Asuagbor was in very high spirits, and the couple arrived first at the mortuary. The family members of the dead man were surprised to find the couple already seated for the past one hour. But surprisingly when it was time to travel to the dead man’s village, Pa Asuagbor realized that most of the latter’s relatives refused to accompany the corpse. Furtive whispers to the effect that the man had been a notorious wizard meant nothing to Pa Asuagbor, basking as he was in his dark glory. The journey to Rotombi was uneventful, even though the roads were very dusty and bumpy. The little village had no electricity, and the dozens of candles and bush lanterns that covered the funeral grounds gave it the sinister aspect of a black mass organized in some underworld kingdom. Files of silent men and women, headed by Pa Asuagbor and his wife moved with saintly demeanour around the open casket, wiping invisible tears from dry eyes, sniffing unfeelingly, looking like heathen priests as they contemplated its painwracked contents. Pa Asuagbor and his wife were given front place seats near the coffin, while the villagers sneaked out, to watch and wait with vulture-like patience for refreshments. The reason for the aversion of the villagers for the central room was quite evident. The form that lay in the coffin was capable of sending the jitters down the strongest spines. Its shrunken state made it look two hundred yeas old, while the stroke with which the man had been battling for the past two years, had pulled his face out of shape, giving it a grimacing look of endless, soundless agony, hate and anger. Soon an announcement was made to the effect that refreshments would soon be served. The mass of people suddenly came alive as stomachs rumbled and tongues wagged, in anticipating of the feasting orgy in the weird half light of the village of Rotombi. Pa Asuagbor and his wife were served pounded cocoyams and vegetable soup, pepper soup, bread, tea, and fruits, with the latter eating huge protions of each item in a hairraising mixed-up menu. The next day burial took place with no incident, but as the convoy was leaving the village, the skies suddenly darkened ominously, and before long a violent tropical storm slashed and shook the vehicles like match boxes caught in huge, merciless elemental jaws. The previously dust covered roads suddenly became impassable quagmires. As the car in which Pa Asuagbor and his wife were riding in was negotiating a tricky bend, it suddenly skidded and went somersaulting down a steep incline, spinning over and over, before coming to a heart-wrenching stop by a boulder that prevented the vehicle from plunging into the bed of a fast flowing flooded river some fifty meters below. It took four hours for Pa Asuagbor and his wife to be rescued, by which time they were shivering with cold, shock and exposure. At the general hospital in Komla, it was discovered that Pa Asuagbor was suffering from internal bleeding and two fractured legs. His wife had acute pneumonia and dysentery. The hospital staff asked for a deposite of two hundred thousand francs before carrying out any treatment. As soon as he was informed about his brother’s accident, Egbekor traveled on Monday morning to komla. After expressing his sympathy, he added: “I am sorry to inform you that robbers broke into your home yesterday night, and made away with all valuables.” In agony and total despair, Pa Asuagbor was weeping like a child: “My dear brother, you can see that I am finished. Have pity on your brother and his wife. In God’s name borrow me the sum of two hundred thousand francs.” In response his junior brother handed him a typed sheet of paper. When Pa Asuagbor had gone through it, he shivered violently and threw the paper away from him, saying: “But what are you giving me like that? It looks like you are doing costings for expensive funerals.” “You are right my dear brother. What you just saw are estimates I have made to bury you and your wife.” “Egbekor, how can you be so unfeeling? I need two hundred thousand francs so that we can be treated now, and all you are talking about is our death and funerals.” “All the money I have and can borrow you is budgeted for your wake keeps and burials. Now both of you are still alive, and as you know there is no need wasting time, energy and money on the living.” “Please Egbekor, I am on my knees. I now appreciate the value of life. Do not let us die.” Pleaded the weeping old man. “Oh, before I forget”, unfeeling continued his junior brother: “I have some wake keeps to attend today. You know it is important to become a funeral star. See you later.” “I want to live! I want to live! I want to live!” Trailed Egbekor, as hiding a smile he walked down the long hospital corridor to pay the deposite of two hundred thousand francs. He was saying to himself: “At last, he knows life is more important than death.”

Comments

[MengoloLikenya]

The status of death over living as done in our society, helps create the many Pa Asagbors we have. Death is serious mater but the celebration of life should be even more. This story allows us to ponder on these facts.