When I'm Dying

When I die, bury me in a frozen lake of ice! Don’t mind me jare, I’m just mimicking 2 Chainz and Kanye’s song “Birthday Song” which I found very catchy, the beat that is. I just can’t bring myself to say “Bury me in a Gucci store” Seriously, is that the highest level we wish to attain, being buried in a famed tailor’s shop? I bow o. Maybe my ignorance is bliss given my deaf ears to lyrics of the songs I generally listen to, or does my subconscious mind pick up more than I am aware of? If they were lyrics about what to do with itches and gardening tools – for digging up yams - then yes, that I could understand and make good use of by playing role play romps with my significant other in the bedroom or the sitting room or maybe the kitchen while checking on the muffins or boli (grilled or baked semi ripe plantain) in the oven, or, wait for it, shut up in the boot of the car! See why I love writing? It sometimes dredges up things you never knew lurked in the recesses of your mind. Two things I’d have to keep handy to safely accomplish that feat though: my car keys (remote car locks of course) and a sound theme of a large dog’s bark to be activated in the very likely event of an attempted car theft Hmm, stringy meat to chew on another day. My meat for today is yes, a little off the beaten track but no less important to yours truly, the way I would like to die.

When I die and how I’d like to die are of little concern to me as whatever puny control I may exercise over the when and how of my demise may only be effected through prayer or due diligence regarding my security and lifestyle. What I would like to do at the point of my demise is a matter I have given my imagination free range to roam to its heart’s content. I have come to accept that there is, and may remain a childlike and playful side to me, and I would love to keep it that way till I’m a hundred, hopefully plus. At the moment, to my shame, I have so far only managed to envisage any of the three things I’d like to do just before kicking the bucket, which even so few, still give me a warm glow on the inside.

Like the Okinawa residents in Japan, I would love to still shag my wife at a hundred and two years old, and she, mmm, maybe between eighty two to a hundred years. Of course by then we’d have sensibly begun investing in lubricating gel, strictly to jumpstart her of course, and I, by God’s divine will, will still be rising to the occasion on demand, give or take an hour or two of prompting or stimulation, at this point, of any kind, oral or any sensible otherwise. Anyway the meat of it that we’d have been at it for any length of time ranging from four minutes to thirty – yes, I am that ambitious, the software program chosen being the lovemaking application so I can remember she’s the woman I love who has borne me these wonderful initially troublesome children who have left us to our rapturous delights and our unfathomable petty squabbles – the kind no one dares intervene in the knowledge that both of us are just looking for an excuse to have make up sex - I digress. She’s busy with her electric toothbrush buzzing away downtown between us, her wrinkled face – still as beautiful to me as the day I married her – distorted in concentration and I roger on as manly as possible, LLCool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out” playing in the background to aid my rhythm and vigour until she stiffens suddenly and begins to let out an almost eerie low but slowly rising moan as my own fever begins to take over me in paroxysms of blurred vision, my glasses almost falling off my nose, convulsions radiating from my loins as they take over my body in ever powerful waves as now a hundred million half lives course their way up from my bejewelled orbs, my centenarian roar sounding like it’s coming from the adjoining room as we cling to each other in our torturous bliss as we are suddenly levitated to celestial transports, God’s throne. Oblivious to our new environment, we look at each other and gasp, “Wow, that was some banging!”, before we notice our celestial surroundings, angels and all, and I, seeing the Almighty and quaking with fear, blurt out, “Banging at, sorry, on Heaven’s door!”. Sharrap all of you, it’s not blasphemy; we widowed each other in matrimony!

Second, I’m at my deathbed in my home hopefully and not the hospital, still at a hundred and two, surrounded by my wife (she should outlive me – I love being pampered), children: biological, in-law and adopted, grandchildren and hopefully the greats. I call our children to draw closer to me for the last blessings and admonishment. As I bless each one and their future genealogies, I punctuate each blessing by spitting into their open mouths, yes there is an Igbo community where this form of father-child blessing has long been practised – and, hehehe, you never deny a dying man his wish. I would have made it seven spits per mouth but that would be greed, and I may expire before getting to the third child, besides I don’t know how much saliva I’d still be able to muster at that ripe age so I’ll dispense my treasures sparingly.

Thirdly, if God tarries His hand at taking me away to Him, I would bless the rest of my beloved gathering and save the last for the one most alike to me in personality or maybe the youngest. I would call him/her to me very lovingly, pray for the beautiful child, bless him/her with a tremulous voice and trembling hands, give him/her some life serving advice and ask him/her to put his/her hand under my thigh as they used to do in biblical times. When they obey me, I’ll ask them to move it up further a bit, just under my bottom whereupon I’d take a deep breath and unleash the most ferocious fart I can muster. Hopefully the force generated will be enough to propel my soul and spirit from my body to eternal bliss leaving behind a mischievous grin on my face. I must remember to maintain a strict diet of raw broccoli and beans for when the beams start to tremble and the bulb starts to dim to give me enough wind for my sails- note to self.

My point here is who says dying can’t be fun? It is inevitable so why not, instead of being so petrified all the time of it, have fun with it and making your exit as memorable as possible, both here and beyond? Cowards have the misfortune of dying many times before their death but the creative ones have the luxury of enjoying theirs many times before it comes. Death is naught but a gateway so I enjoin everyone to enjoy this life, its passing and the life beyond this one. Have a great week everyone and don’t forget to eat your fruit and veggies!.

Armageddon

A good week to my good people on the net. I hope everyone had a great weekend. It’s night time here and I’m just licking my wounds from a weekend long battle with my girlfriend through absolutely no fault of mine. And no, I am not taking advantage of the fact that she’s not here to defend herself to try and drag you to my side of this tug of war game. I’m just trying to lay it out as objectively as I can and leave it to you good people to judge. Truth be told, this is one of my very rare chances of getting back at her – she always has to win in all the arguments and fights we have. When I am at fault, and believe me, I hear no end of it, I apologize. When she is at fault, and she finally sees the error of her ways, she apologizes, and then I apologize for hurting her feelings! I have since learnt never to attempt to win an argument in a verbal swordplay with the woman, especially when she’s your significant other. She’ll duck, dive, shout, weave, feign, stab, sneak, double cross, cry, ‘hurt’, shift the goal post, mess with your head – anything at all to be ahead of the game and make you feel you’re the worst bully or dolt in the world and make you see how vulnerable she is. Well my dear, this is my riposte – my pen triumphing over your swordy tongue, in a place where you can’t touch me! Hehehe! Don’t worry baby, you know I love you.

What happened? Absolutely nothing that I can call my fault except for her extremely intelligent over analytic mind that on the one hand has helped me surmount huge obstacles with relative ease and on the other, sees conspiracies where there is none especially where it comes to the womenfolk. Okay, so I made a call to a friend in the middle of the night at about 3:30am and some stupid demon decided to choose that very time for her to call me and get a busy tone – no, I’m not saying you were influenced by the Devil to call me o! Before I go and add that one to my many sorrows. I was bored, couldn’t sleep, didn’t feel like reading or watching TV or surfing the net so I called my female buddy that I have known for four years now. We usually hang out and while one or two things may have happened between us in the past, we still got back on track and have been fast friends ever since and I told her so! Did she want to hear that? Oh noooo! “Kalu, I know you mean well and everything and your mind is open and all and I know -if you know what’s good for you - you wouldn’t do anything funny behind my back but what if there’s a teeny weeny longing for her buried deep in your subconscious? Do you realize cheating is not just sexual? There’s also emotional cheating as well.” At this point I just blinked and stared at her. There are some things my simple man mind just can’t comprehend. “I mean you guys have been close all this while so there must be some bond between you two (which I mean to break! – interpretation)”. Then here’s her next line of attack. “Besides I’m a woman and I know what we women can be like. You don’t know if she has designs on you and has been wanting to have you for keeps. Women can be very patient you know; they are capable of any kind of machinations and can blend into anything you want them to be just to get their hooks into you.” Now can you imagine what would happen if we were to have an argument about who has the right of way on a particular matter and I were to quote this very statement she made? Bloody hell! Burnt food for the rest of the day plus I wouldn’t be served; I’d have to go to the kitchen and get it myself. That’s not all o! Oh, I’m loving this!

I spent the best part of the day AND night trying to pacify her and eventually went to the sitting room to watch my favourite TV series, CSI Vegas. I was in the middle of the show when she came out to begin making hints at having make up sex. Perfect timing! I gave her mine too! I told her I wanted to finish what I was watching first. The result? Cold war III, series II! We didn’t speak to each other for the best part of the next day until the evening when we finally talked, apologized to one another and then uh hum, uh hum! The rest of what happened you do not need to know, thank you!

I find the battle of the sexes to be one the true spices of romance in a spousal relationship, rather like sibling rivalry where each party loves to hate, hates to love, hates to hate and loves to love one another – I love it! I celebrate the romance( even though I’d die before I’ll call myself romantic), fights, make ups, talks, the highs and lows and challenges in a relationship especially when each party is committed to seeing it work, love and have a mutual respect for one another. The tremendous benefit this adds to both people’s personality and character is unquantifiable and there is no limit to what they can achieve as a team if they set their minds to it. Families that sprout from such unions will invariably be very stable, cohesive and unified. This one’s for you baby; I love you; you’re the best. Have a great week everybody!