There is no amount of religious training, philosophical reading, or mental exercise that can prepare one to absorb the pain of losing a loved one. The deepest joys, but more precisely pains, are experiential.
Joys are easier to share, for the body thrives on good hormones. No one aspires for the condition of pain. Words can’t interpret the pains of the heart. Tears may soothe the external personality, but the heart bleeds.
During such trying times, many, out of love, empathy, and experience will sympathise and condole with one – for they understand the situation – and that’s the best they can do.
Hundreds, especially those who have experienced it, would make contact to pray and offer condolences and hope to provide relief.
Some will use the opportunity to preach, most often confusing religious teachings with internal egotistic anxieties.
Kids would still be jumping joyously around, for they are in a free state – unselfconscious and oblivious.
In all the chaos, the purpose of tranquility, which aims to invite peace from the outside to the inside, does its best, but little to the bereaved mind. Serenity, the desirable, helps peace flow from the inside to the outside. What the heart is seeking during bereavement is more of serenity than tranquility.
Probably, that’s why it’s hard to speak ill of the departed, as one mentally starts creating scenarios and starts enquiring to ensure they tick all the boxes for serenity’s purposes.
The first mental scenario is theological. Just three days ago, I recall a discussion with his bosom friend, Ismaila Agaka, alongside Abu, my other brother, who was seated on the left, and with Mukhtar on the right, on the importance of one’s heart being in a state of Iman in Islam, whether one is awake or asleep – as one departs the world.
From Mukhtar’s external practices and reflections of his actions and relationships with all, that box would be ticked. He fits what the Sufis call Khuluq – people of good nature.
Good relationships with people could also signify a good relationship with God. When asked which believer was better on account of his or her belief, Prophet Muhammad (Peace and Blessings Be Upon Him) answered, “the one who is better in conduct.”
So when you believe that your loved one passed away in a state of Iman, you get some consolation. Also, if what people have been saying are of benefit, then there is little to worry about. For us, his siblings, though, his one ‘flaw’ was his excessive patience
Does it make one feel good? Yes, because the hopes are high that he is at peace with His Lord. It could also be the opposite, because we are trained to accept Allah’s decree, as the sixth principle of faith, Qadr. If everyone was given the option to recall a loved one from the beyond, what would be our choices? To recall or accept Allah’s decree?
That’s why I sometimes feel the phrase “ayi hakuri” is confusing. One does hakuri when there are choices. In the case of the death of a loved one, what are the options? If one breaks a leg during a football match, how much of hakuri fixes the femur?
Fortunately, for all Abrahamic traditions, one has to be in a state of acknowledgement that it’s God’s prerogative to decide what to do with his creation. We own nothing. So we have no right over anything. Those of higher station call it Rida – showing no rancour or rebellion against misfortune. Understand this and have episodic solace.
This leads to the second scenario, which is psychological. Have you ever lost a pen? It is easy to replace, even though one still feels a sense of loss, especially if one likes writing. What about a pet? As long as you tended and cared for it, you will weep when you lose it.
Now, when it’s a human being, and not just anyone, but our beloved brother – who became our father even while our father was still alive – the good memories suddenly become a problem, for when you remember, it dawns on you that it’s now only about memories. This is extremely hard to bear.
Nothing beats good relationships. It builds love and trust, and as one ages, you would realise that the good relationships are better than mountains of gold.
We all had a beautiful relationship with him. Which was at the same level as what he had with his kids and spouse. It was the same with all those who worked for him and those he worked for. His level of emotional intelligence was excellent (A+).
It’s hard to write about him in the past tense. When the news broke early on the 16th, I could not get to script a message to anyone. How? In what format? To inform who? That what happened? I received the news from his sister compadre – Aisha, and his bosom friend, who had become way more than a brother to him, Mohammed, who we all call Monguno.
To digress a little to his friends. He valued his friends highly and was very passionate about them. Mamman (Monguno), MAWO, Snooper, Agaka, Alhaji Funky, Rimsa, Mr Jarvis, Hamza Sani, Ali Muazu, Adilu Dewu (of blessed memory), Shehu Dalhat, Abu Dasuki, Jafar Wahab…et al, he cherished them all.
There was an Indian friend he had lost contact with, after leaving Nigeria over 20 years ago, who he asked me to trace a while back. As I was delaying in getting this done, he called a few weeks after to tell me that he had traced him to somewhere in the Middle East. I can’t recall the name, but I remember him being the son of Abdulrahman Doi, a sound Islamic scholar who was in ABU and Ibadan decades ago.
His friends were in different categories. The first Brigade was the Capital School, Kaduna folks. He loved them, but I think he loved the second Brigade – the Barewa Platoon – the most. I didn’t like them, for they always thought they were special people. At every opportunity, I would remind them of how their Old Boys (mis)managed Nigeria. Abu says I’m jealous of Barewa College. Then came the SBS guys. I learnt that it was tough then, so they probably had little time to build friendships, or maybe because I know just a few of them. Then there is the ABU crew. Some members of both first and second category also strolled into the ABU crew.
When they are together, its always banter and discussions of supporting one another.
I believe that he loved our dad more than he did any other human being. Dozens of examples abound, but one deft move was to relocate, in peace times, from Kano to Kaduna, to be close to him during his years of senescence. Most of the medical sojourns of my dad were with him, the oldest kid. He was simply a humble and responsible person with logical foresight of what was appropriate. He barely explained himself. He just took positive actions.
I also noticed how he maintained the relationship with our dad’s kith and kin, after he passed away in 2012. On a regular fortnight basis, he picked up Abu, his closest brother in every sense, for visitations and support to those our dad kept in touch with and supported. He was always visiting our dad’s age mates, like Mallam Salihu and Awalu, and taking care of them. He always checked up on Uncle Rabs, Baba Tijjani and Baba Ma’aji.
No one psychologically supported Habiba, his baby sister, like he did, especially when she lost her husband. Aisha loved him so much and expressed it in different ways that he was well aware of, for him to have named his own beloved daughter, Aisha. Everyone who knew Mukhtar knew the beautiful relationship between him and Abu.
Man usually transmits love from the one he loves to the one whom he loves to be loved. We shall love all those you loved. We are free of ‘transferred dislike’ for I don’t know of anyone that you disliked or harboured any ill feelings towards. You lived the life of a stoic.
Like Abu said, there are no worries in terms of taking care of his family. Nothing shall lack in terms of material things. Matters are usually easier when one is dealing with angelic souls like the indefatigable Dr Farida, the first, and Aisha, the third and upcoming lawyer. Sweet Saudat and lovely Zikra shall soon finish secondary school. The way Mukhtar loved his dad, his four girls, like most daughters, equally love him to the moon. Ahmad, the second, is bound to achieve greater heights and exceed limits. By their character and positive attitude, all they need are prayers and guidance.
When I was around the age of six or seven, I vividly recall asking him what to say between the two sujoods, of which he taught me, “Rabb ighfir li, Rabb ighfir li (Lord forgive me, Lord forgive me).” Once or thrice? I can’t recall his response. He taught me a lot.
As he taught me this practice and prayer, I shall continue to pray for him. We shall always pray to Allah to grant him Rahama, for I know he loved the name, AbdulRahman.
Don’t know how to end this long piece, but this is the little I can say so that others may understand his virtue and nobility.
Yakubu writes from Abuja
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