By Abdul Mahmud
But for a poem or two written during the early
years of my writings, I find elegies difficult and tedious to write. The
emotion that goes into writing often leaves me distraught that I find it
difficult to gather myself together long after the elegies are done with.
Beyond the emotions, composing the first line-a
task every poet sets upon- becomes arduous when it is about a departed friend,
brother or comrade. So, I seldom venture into it.
Death forms one tragic aspect of the Nietzschean
moment of crisis. So profound that when it draws its dark curtains, it eclipses
the physical life and all that comes with it and diminishes humanity. Thus,
every personal loss becomes the loss of humanity.
In a way, death transcends the personal when the
absences it brings become part and parcel of the meaning we collectively attach
to our individual lives. Life can't be life without death, so we own death as
an integral or incipient conception of our own nature- as nature's sad gift and
as a sad reminder of our own end.
So, when I received the telephone call from my
friend and comrade, Uzo Nwaogbe, in the early hours of Thursday 9th April,
2015, I knew something was amiss. "Mahmud, we have lost Oronto", Uzo
quietly announced before he hung up the phone on me. I felt the pain in his
voice as the name, Oronto, dropped. I broke down in tears and wept at the edge
of my bed. "So we have lost Oronto?” I repeatedly asked myself.
I first met Oronto late September 1991. I had just
been released from the Maximum Security Prison, Kirikiri, and was struggling
with my health when I turned up at the Students Union Building of the
University of Lagos after the all night journey from Jos to attend the Senate
Meeting of the National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS).
“I am Mallam Mahmud, President, NANS” and “a
graduate of the Maximum Security Prison, Kirikiri”, Uche jokingly screamed as I
introduced myself to Oronto Douglas, who stood with him on the flight of stairs
of the imposing building.
Oronto was particularly impressive during the
debates; he came across as a peace-loving fellow who stubbornly insisted that
NANS trod the path of peace when activists of an ideological section of the
students movement were intent on decapitating those they claimed had
compromised the students protests of that year. In later years, our paths
crossed as colleagues in the Civil Liberties Organisation (CLO) and the
Democratic Alternative (DA).
Just over seven weeks ago, precisely on the 13th
day of February, 2015, I saw his missed call. I immediately sent him a text. I
received a reply from him the very moment the successful text delivery report
was delivered to my phone. In his usual laconic style, he texted: “Mahmud Baba,
how bodi? You dey kontri? I am fine. If you are free and in Abuja can we see
briefly at 6pm in my house. All the very best”. That evening, I stopped over at
his Asokoro home and I was informed by his staff that he was asleep. I left. A
few meters from his house, he called. "I am very sorry, Mahmud. I fell
asleep on the couch. Where are you? Come back”, he said.
“OND Baba”, I hailed him as we shook hands at the
sentry of his living room. "How bodi? How are you feeling now? Are you
getting any better?” I asked him in quick succession. He didn't answer my
questions. Untypical of Oronto, he pretended he didn't hear any of the
questions I asked him. I took a furtive glance at him as he led me to the
dining section of his modest home where we spent time on civil society, the
elections, President Jonathan, etcetera. He looked pale. He had lost weight.
But, his mind was fascinatingly sharp. I thought about the best way of putting
my earlier questions across without sounding intrusive.
“The cancer has become malignant”, he said as if he
had read my mind. The slow manner he counted the letters and the vowels of the
adjective, Ma-Lig-Nant, came like an electrifying jolt to every conceivable
joint on my body. I broke down in tears. “Mahmud, come on, don't do this to me;
you should comfort me”, he said with his right arm slung across my shoulder. I gathered
myself together.
All I could utter to was: “Christ will heal you,
have faith, don't give up, Oronto”. “Amen. But, I am ready for death. All I am
doing now is putting things together”, he said with a certain assurance that
shone bright in his eyes. A little while later, we parted and I drove into the
Abuja night a broken man. That night I called our mutual friends, Uche
Onyeagucha, Uzo Nwaogbe, Sam Amadi and Tony Akika and pleaded for intercessory
prayers for Oronto.
Oronto was a good man. In spite of our disagreements over some policies of this government, he didn't for once take our disagreements personal. "It's better to engage me as you often do as a scholar and activist than resort to attacking us on the pages of newspapers as many of our friends who have access to me do”, he once told me in his office.
Oronto was kind hearted. To my embarrassment on a
certain day in September 2013, I received a text message that read: “Mahmud, I
have just been told you are feeling poorly. I am sorry to hear about this. Hope
you're getting better. Abeg send me your account number”.
I hadn't finished reading his text message when
Uche Onyeagucha called to inform me that Oronto asked after me and that he had
told him I took time off work because of my poor health. I didn't respond to
his text. Later that day, he called me and literarily asked for my account
number which I graciously passed to him.
Next day, he credited my account. Later, in
December of that year, another unsolicited sum was credited to my account by
his Personal Assistant, Okumo Ipigansi. I called Oronto, he didn't take my
call. I sent him a thank you text message. He replied: "I am in
California. Abeg, you dey embarrass me. Get a flight ticket and return to madam
and kids in London and rest for the Xmas. They've missed you”. Bless his kind
soul, Father!
The death of Oronto is a huge personal loss. The
pain and the grief which come with this loss not only compound the miseries his
physical absence brings to those who knew and loved him but are also remain as
those unforgettable feelings the passage of time carries into memory.
I am thankful to God for the eventful forty-nine
years he lived, the love his good heart nurtured and showered on humanity and
for the pleasure of knowing him! To
friends, brothers, comrades, wife and his two young boys, I paraphrase and
commend Rabindranath Tagore's “Say Not in Grief that He is no More” to them:
say
not in grief that he is no more
but
say in thankfulness that he was.
death
is not the extinguisher of a light;
it's
only putting out the lamp...
Goodnight, Oronto Douglas.
*Abdul Mahmud is President, Public Interest Lawyers
League (PILL), Abuja.
No comments:
Post a Comment