When The Trees Fall
August has been a month of transitions, particularly in the creative and media space.
One prominent name after another has exited the terrestrial realm, leaving behind memories, works and, perhaps most importantly, questions about what becomes of a person when the applause has stopped.
When The Trees Fall
We lost the veteran journalist, public relations guru and cultural icon, Oloye Lekan Alabi, an Olubadan-in-line whose presence not only in Ibadan’s social and intellectual landscape but also across Nigeria was unmistakable.
Immediately after, composer and singer Iyun Janet Ajilore, popularly known as Saint Janet, also passed.
Whilst still reeling, another popular Nollywood actress, Temitope Osoba, bid the world goodbye.
Then we lost the renowned actor, Taiwo Hassan, popularly known as Ogogo Omo Kulodo, a veteran thespian and familiar face whose contributions to Yoruba theatre and film spanned decades.
Almost the next day, we lost Chief Alabi Ogundepo, the Yoruba artiste, communicator and chanter, whose voice and artistry were part of our cultural heritage and media history.
Across the Atlantic, the world bade farewell to the legendary singer, songwriter, actress and philanthropist, Dolly Parton, whose remarkable career spanned six decades and whose music, generosity and unmistakable personality made her a global icon.
Her passing at 80 was yet another reminder that even the brightest stars eventually take their final bow.
Here again in the media space, we lost a fine gentleman, Dotun Oladipo.
For those of us who encountered him or followed his work, the passing of Oladipo was another reminder of how quickly familiar faces can become memories.
Of course, people are born every day and people die every day. This is the natural order of existence.
Yet, some departures cut deeper than others.
Perhaps, it is because of the prominence of the people involved. Perhaps, because their voices were familiar, their works visible and their contributions woven into the fabric of society.
Or perhaps, their passing simply reminds us of something we are often too busy to contemplate: that no matter how accomplished, celebrated, wealthy, influential or powerful a person becomes, nobody negotiates immortality.
We all leave.
The sobering reality is that life is temporary, no matter how long we live it.
Some depart young, some after what we consider a long and fulfilling life.
Some leave at the height of their careers, while others leave after years of service. But eventually, the curtain falls.
And that is where the real question begins.
How did we live?
We are often quick to describe life as vanity. Vanity upon vanity, we say, quoting Ecclesiastes.
And indeed, there is much truth in that. The houses, cars, titles, clothes, applause, social media recognition and material possessions that consume so much of our attention eventually become things of the past.
But perhaps, life itself is not the vanity.
Perhaps, it is what we choose to make of it that determines whether our existence becomes meaningful.
Because when the noise dies down, what remains?
A person may not leave behind the greatest fortune, but may have raised children who remember them with gratitude.
Another may not have occupied the highest office, but may have mentored people whose lives became better because their paths crossed.
Someone else may have entertained millions, informed generations, preserved a culture or simply been the kind neighbour who showed up when somebody needed help.
These things may not make headlines.
But they matter.
Legacy is not necessarily about monuments, statues or streets named after us.
Sometimes legacy is simply the imprint we leave on the people we encountered while passing through this world.
The names we mourn today once woke up, made plans, went to work, laughed, worried about tomorrow and perhaps assumed there would always be another tomorrow.
Yet, here we are, speaking about them in the past tense.
It is a reminder to live deliberately.
Not perfectly, we cannot. Not without mistakes, we will make many. But deliberately.
To be kinder where we can. To do our work with integrity. To appreciate people while they are still here. To apologise when necessary. To encourage rather than destroy.
To use whatever gifts we have been given in a way that outlives our physical presence.
Because eventually, every one of us will become a memory.
And when our names are mentioned after we have gone, may there be something good to remember.
August has taken some remarkable people from us. Their departures have saddened many, but perhaps, they have also given the living a quiet invitation to examine our own lives.
The question is not merely, how long will we live?
It is, what will our living mean?
At the end of the day, perhaps, that is the only legacy that truly matters.
