Hello Friend, How’s Life On The Other Side?
When the month began, I was wondering why all I wanted to do was distance myself from people I really liked to talk to. I remember telling my friend that my mind feels heavy, and I just couldn’t place it. Then it dawned on me: it’s March, the month we said our final goodbyes. This is the kind of goodbye that has refused to fade with time.
March 23rd, 2020. I was walking towards OAU campus gate with Beatrice and Dorcas when we saw each other that morning. I can still vividly recall the happiness that lit up your face when you saw me. I remember we had an argument because of something I promised to do but didn’t. There was this joy on your face whenever you looked at me; it was just so pure. No one has ever looked at me that way. I’m sorry I never got to tell you this. I swear, I would have if we had more time. What you wore that morning is still etched in my memories: a black face cap, a black t-shirt, and blue jeans with a backpack on your shoulder. You said you were coming from an overnight reading, and I was like, “Favour, school just resumed.” We were all asked to leave school on March 23, 2020, because of the COVID-19 pandemic, remember? You walked me to the school gate and you said, “We’ll see when we resume,” and I replied, “we’ll talk on WhatsApp too.” Little did we know, that very day would be your last. I kept telling everyone I saw you on that day and it’s not possible that you’d be dead. What happened to texting each other on WhatsApp and seeing when we resume?
It’s been four years since we said our goodbyes. Let me tell you how life on this side has been here.
After we were all asked to go home, you wouldn’t believe that we stayed at home till the next year. Yes, we didn’t resume till February 2021. Favour, if I could turn back the hands of time, I’d convince you not to resume because staying back at home would have averted your death. Okay, I’m crying. I really wish I could turn back time; you didn’t deserve to die. You were just a 19-year-old kid whose future would have been bright.
After you died, I was in denial. I went through the stages of grief without skipping one. I kept telling people you were not dead. I called your aunt; don’t ask me how I got her number because I have my way. She said your mom also wanted to believe that her son was alive and not dead. She asked me to pray, and I did. I even called a pastor that I heard on the radio to pray for you. Now that I think about it, the pastor probably thinks I was insane. I read a lot of stories about people who died, but God brought them back to life to stir my faith, yet nothing happened. Then, I started questioning God, “How could He?” It was a really dark time. I checked your mom’s Facebook, and I saw that she deactivated her Facebook account as well. I really hope she’s fine today. You were her only child, and she was a single mom.
Favour, remember how I used to complain about my ICAN exams? I was in ATS 1 then, and I was already overwhelmed because I thought I wasn’t good enough. Remember when you said I should keep going because it’s going to be worth it? Yeah, I passed the ATS 1 stage; the results were released a week after your death. Not only that, I passed the next stage and then the next. I even did my AAT induction in 2021.
Favour, the year you passed away, there was a protest. It was called the End SARS Protest.
Although it was supposed to be a demonstration against police brutality, it grew out of control and many people sacrificed their lives defending what was right. October 20, 2020. We claim not to have forgotten, but I believe we have because some individuals supported the same administration that placed us in that predicament. Oh, well…
Just after the End SARS protest, we also experienced palliative lootings. I still believe that the palliative lootings distracted us from what was going on in the country at the time. But the fact remains that we must find a way to move on. Life goes on, just as it didn’t end when you passed away. Life goes on.
Favour, let me tell you something annoying. OAU has a pretty slow calendar. See, I’m still a student at this school. Four years after your death, I’m still in my final year. Well, we could have been in our final year together, but you’re not here anymore, Favour.
To make things even worse, we had an internal strike in OAU in 2021. This was because of a protest on the death of a student due to the negligence of the school’s health center. The school committee decided to lock the school and we were all asked to go home. I don’t want to relive the experience but it wasn’t a good one. Let’s just give God all the glory.
Favour, I’m a tech sis now. Who would have thought? Yeah, I never would have imagined it either. Sometimes, I wish you were around to support me too but not to worry; I have good friends here, and they’re doing an amazing job with that. Perhaps you too would have been a tech bro? I guess we’d never know.
Favour, I made fish stew today. I made it because I remembered that I was going to make you one whenever you visited me. You never did and I’m eating my fish stew alone.
Favour, months after you died, I was seeing you in my dreams, and you looked happy. I hope you’re happy on the other side. What’s the other side like? Is it another life? If yes, it means you’re already four years older than me now, lol.
Aaron is also doing well. I’ve not really been in touch with Dele and Abimbola, but I’m sure they’re doing well too. You remember them, right? Your friends in this life. I’m sure they miss you too. We all do.
Favour, I’m fine. I just miss you, that’s all. The permanence of death is sad. I’ll never see you again, but I’m grateful for the friendship we had. I’m glad I was a part of your life and you were a part of mine before death took you from us. Thank you for the friendship, it was fun.
Your death taught me to know that grief does not become any smaller, we only learn to grow around it.
As I pen these words, I can’t help but wonder if this will be my final letter to you. It’s not because I wish to forget about you, but rather because I fear that my well of words may run dry but if I ever have anything to say to you, I’ll write the letters in my mind, trusting you to receive them from afar. Till we meet to part no more, fare thee well. I promise to look after myself, just as you would have wished.
Love,
Esther Oluwaseyi (your “Iyawo”).
Thank you for taking time to read. ❤️
