“After everything… when the crowd goes, when the chairs are packed, when the last visitor leaves—that is when the real matter starts…the living will quickly forget, leaving the families of the dead to their fate.”
There is one deep Yoruba proverb that says you should close your eyes and imagine you are gone, then see who will truly mourn you.
That proverb no be small talk—it carries plenty truth. Because if we are honest with ourselves, we will realise that in this life, people mourn loudly, but not for long.
Here in Nigeria, once somebody dies—especially if the person is known or loved—the whole place will shake. People will gather, condolence visits everywhere, phones ringing non-stop, social media filled with long tributes.
Burial ceremonies will be loud and colourful—aso ebi full ground, big tents, plenty food, music, everything complete.
But after everything… when the crowd goes, when the chairs are packed, when the last visitor leaves—that is when the real matter starts…the living will quickly forget, leaving the families of the dead to their fate.
Because the real pain is not even for the dead, it is for the families they left behind.
That is when the widow begins to feel the emptiness. That is when the children start to understand what it truly means to lose a father or mother—not just emotionally, but in school fees, in guidance, in everyday survival.
If the parents of the deceased are still alive, their own pain is on another level entirely. Yet, many of those who were shouting “we are here for you” have quietly moved on with their lives.
This is where we are getting it wrong as a people.
We like to show love, but most times, it ends at the burial ground. We contribute money, we attend ceremonies, we post online—but we don’t stay. We don’t follow up. We don’t carry the burden with the family.
It is easier to cry for one day than to care for one whole year.
But we have seen real examples in this country—people who lived differently.
Take Chief MKO Abiola, for instance. Forget politics for a moment—this was a man who touched lives. He helped people in ways many didn’t even know about.
Abiola paid school fees, supported families, gave people reasons to keep going. Till today, people still talk about his kindness because it was real, not for show.
Same thing with Abdul Azeez Arisekola Alao. In Ibadan and beyond, people felt his impact. He was not the type to make noise—he simply showed up for people. Many families stood strong because of him.
That kind of help no be something person go just forget.
When these two men were alive, the people they helped always showed that they didn’t just love them—they were ready to lay down their lives for them and even for their children.
But today, can you imagine that an Arisekola son will be looking for a ticket to contest an election, and it will be denied by the same person his father once sponsored his education?
Have you ever imagined that a day will come when MKO Abiola’s children will be denied access to see the same person their father helped bring to the limelight?
These men understood something very important—helping people is not about moments, it is about consistency.
Imagine if all of us start doing small, small. Not just showing face during burial, but checking on the family afterwards. Calling them. Supporting the children. Making sure they are not stranded. Even if it is small, it goes a long way.
Because the truth is simple—life no get duplicate. Today it is somebody else, tomorrow it can be anybody.
That proverb is not just talk—it is a warning and a lesson. It is telling us that what really matters is not how many people cry when we die, but how well the people we leave behind are taken care of.
At the end of the day, noise will fade. Crowd will disappear. But the families left behind will still be there, facing life.
And na how we stand by them—that is the real test of humanity.
•Mogaji Arisekola, Publisher of The Street Journal Newspaper, writes from Ibadan.
