"Terram in terram, cinerem in cinerem, pulverem in pulverem”.When we receive the news of a dead friend, our first reaction usually is a shock followed by ”What happened to him?” And then we say things like, “I spoke with him just yesterday.” Or “Death is cruel.” Humans are never short of words when they hear the news of someone’s death. That was exactly the case when friends and family heard the news of the death of Adam.
During his requiem mass, the first person to read a tribute was the wife. She said; “Adam was a good husband, a father and a quiet companion. He didn’t say a lot but did a lot to show love for humanity and his family. He would be missed…this vacuum he had left in my heart would be difficult to fill.”
She cried and could barely utter the final words of her tribute to her loving husband.
Her daughter was next to ascend the altar. Her’s was simple; “Dad was a good man. I’m going to miss the times I’ve shared with him. His words of caution and his unconditional love.”
She cried too. She walked closer to the casket, bowed and uttered some discreet words meant to be the final goodbye.
The next person to give a tribute was Adam’s younger brother. The priest called out his name when it got to his turn but he was nowhere to be found. They screamed his name several times but he didn’t appear.
“What next?” The priest asked. The widow signaled him to continue with the requiem. But before he could continue, he saw a hand up from behind the pews—a worried-looking woman, dressed in white cloth matched with a white headscarf. She signaled the priest to allow her to say something. The priest asked her; “Are you a family?” She nodded her head and started walking towards the altar.
When she got closer to Adam’s casket, she removed her headscarf, placed it on the casket and made a bow to the Jesus crucifixion. She placed the tip of her index finger on the casket and drew a line as she walked past the casket up to the altar. Everybody was silent.
Nobody knew her name and from the way she was dressed, she looked out of place. White cloth to a funeral where everybody was expected to wear black or red? But everyone was silent, waiting for her to say what was it that she wanted to say.
She looked through the faces gathered there and cleared her throat; “Adam…how could I ever miss your funeral but something tells me I’m at the wrong funeral ground so I want to be sure, is this the funeral mass for Adam Bebuna?” The congregation chorused, “Yeah it is.”
She was silent—for close to a minute, she kept looking through the congregation as though she had lost her words. She cleared her throat again and begun; “Adam was a loving husband? I see. Adam was a quiet companion. How did I miss that? I met Adam in 1992 at the market square. He was a new teacher in our village. He looked flashy and considerate. When he said he loved me I said I loved him too. The proudest moment of my life was when I took Adam home and introduced him to my parents. They loved him instantly. He was a teacher and teachers were honorable.
Four months later, I was carrying his baby. Three months after I gave birth to Efe, Adam disappeared. That was the last time I heard of him. He made me a mother and then disappeared with his fatherhood.”
Now the church was quiet. The priest was restless and didn’t know what to do. The tears in the eyes of the widow dried up immediately. Her sorrows turned to “What-the-fuck-is-going-on-here.” The church members had already started murmuring among themselves. ”Adam was the catechist of this parish. How could he?”
The woman continued; “I heard the glowing tribute from his daughter. I heard her say how she was going to miss the times she’d shared with her father. How I wish my little girl Efe could also say the same but she can’t and you know why. She had a father who was busy being a loving father to someone who wasn’t her.
I’m sorry to rain on your parade. Adam wasn’t the Adam you thought you knew. He destroyed my life. He brought shame to my household. He made my daughter fatherless. How dare he deserve all these glowing tributes you are showering on his dead body?”
She broke down and started wailing. At this point, the church got divided. Those who believed her story were full of sympathy. Those who didn’t believe her story started casting aspersions. And then there was the widow who didn’t know how to feel about the whole thing.
The woman was ushered out for the requiem to continue. The priest stood in front of the congregation and said; “A man’s life has three different versions—the version you know, the version he wants you to know and the version only himself and his creator know. Adam is dead and gone. If what this woman said be true, let the angels bear witness and let only God be the judge.”
At the graveside, the priest picked some piece of sand from the earth, threw it onto Adam’s casket and said, “We therefore commit his body to the ground; terram in terram, cinerem in cinerem, pulverem in pulverem” The choir sang their final hymns and left the graveside.
The widow stood at the feet of the grave and silently prayed; “Adam, indeed a man’s life has three versions. The version between you and your creator came out today. It’s sad you didn’t get to know the version between me and my creator but let me tell you. Adwoa isn’t your daughter. Her father is the priest who prayed for your soul today. I hope you forgive me because wholeheartedly, I forgive you too. Let’s make it easier for the almighty to forgive us. Farewell.”
Abakisi Derrick-NoiyengRadio.
