Of ‘passovers’ and New Year

In the name of the Almighty, the Gracious the Merciful
Verily, the number of months with Him is twelve months (in a year), so was it ordained the day He created the heavens and the earth…” (Q:36)

BRETHREN, contrary to the popular trend, I do not rejoice each time the calendar reads 31st December. I do not celebrate the passage of days and months, the passage of my life. I do not indulge in any rambunctious revelry that usually accompanies the ‘death’ of one year and the ‘birth’ of another.

Rather, I usually seek an escape from this dystopia into an utopia: a place where the real meaning of life and living nests. I usually seize the moment afforded by the transition of one year into another to count the uncounted, to count the uncountable. The uncounted is the number of years that have passed away and passed me by since the day I emerged from my mother’s womb; the uncountable – for unknowable – being the number of times I breathed in and out since the day I was violently separated from my second ‘paradise’ when the umbilical cord which tied me to my mother’s womb was put to the blade.

The uncountable is equally the number of moments of life which takes away memories of the past in order to obfuscate all efforts to penetrate the future. On occasions such as this, therefore, it might be better for us to laugh and rejoice only a little and wail and bewail our destinies and inadequacies many times over if only we know (Q9:82).

The day I came to the world, I came in silence, in ignorance; the day I would leave this world, it would also be in silence. The man who celebrates the beginning and the ending of the year is as ignorant as I am: he knows not what lies in wait for him tomorrow; he is ignorant of what is happening in and to him in the present.

But brother, that I put on the garb of the ascetic in a season of fun and revelry does have no functional impacts on the reality around me. In other words, since more than a month ago, celebrations of the New Year had become visible all over the country. In fact, it started for many in this city since the last week in November. During the said week, a private recreation outfit launched a musical carnival very close to the campus (University of Ibadan) here. Thus every night, your compatriots and mine, most of whom are youths congregated at the centre and engaged in dance competitions in which young girls paraded their femininity and sexuality for the highest bidder, for the highest prize.

Each time I heard the music penetrate the serenity of the night, it felt as if the whole neighbourhood had been transformed into a bazaar of the baboons where insanity, inanity and lewdness became legal or a cathedral of the faithless where chastity and piety became anathema. Even in the course of writing this essay, music still sounded very close to the campus; very close to my heart thereby robbing me of my sleep, my innocence and my paradise. To that group of humans, the end of year is meant for dancing, drinking and merry making.

But ironically, brother, the real ‘year’ had come to an end for some who met their deaths days and weeks before December 31. Thus, I began to wonder how that friend of mine would be marking the end of the year once he remembers all those with whom he started this year but have all transited to eternity.

A couple of weeks ago, two young children suddenly became orphans: their mother, who had stood by and stayed with them after the demise of their father about a decade ago suddenly passed on to the great beyond. The other day someone asked me about the meaning of life, I responded quickly by calling his attention to the food on his table, to the bed on which he lays his body at night, to the tears that cascade his cheeks each time he is extremely happy or sad. “Exactly what is life brother?” It is the search for stability in a ship which is constantly rocked by waves and storm. Sister, tell me one single pleasure in life which is not preceded by struggle or strife. Is it not true that the sweetest sexual experience is that in which we moan and groan in the experience of pleasure mixed with pain? Is it not true that 2016 would be ‘happy’ when we constantly keep this in mind that the ups and downs that we shall have to experience this year and throughout our life are meant to keep us going just as the curves not a straight line in an E.C.G. means we are active and alive.

While putting this together, a colleague mentioned his preparation for the pass-over night to me; that magical moment in which, in our reckoning, 2015 would ‘die’ in order that 2016 may be ‘born’. Again, this set my brain on ‘fire’. I wondered: ‘what about pass-over days?’ I thought the day precedes the night in the scheme of the divine; I thought when night falls, it ‘buries’ the day together with all its fortunes and misfortunes, together with its moments of happiness and sadness. No day has ever been prolonged just because of its extra-ordinarily fortuitous contents; no night has ever refused to dawn because of its calamitous portents. Thus, we are actually ‘condemned’ to experience constant ‘pass-overs’: pass-over days and nights, pass-over happiness and sadness. But I thought whenever night falls it takes the day on a journey into eternity in order to deposit the account of humankind twelve hours before then with the Almighty. He who knows the last year was the ‘pass-over’ of some would merry with caution and run to His creator in penitence. He who knows he is passing over his youth would prepare assiduously for eternity.

Brethren, as I ponder the above, I ventured into the city. I took my car for lubrication. On the way I beheld wastes and garbage on the mid-section of the road. It felt as if the roads in the city were in a ‘celebratory’ mood; they were ‘observing’ their own pass-over night and day of debris, garbage, detritus and filth. Could this mean nothing has been left behind in 2015 as far as failed governance is concerned in this city? Does the presence of dirt, scuz and smudge all around the city means we are passing over incompetence to 2016? Tell me of a city in the East and the West where its citizens are so pretentiously ‘holy’ and catholic even as they are constant neighbours to slime and gook.

Please remember to pray in your ‘pass-over’ sessions for the death of the ‘idea’ that led to the ‘birth’ of scum on our major roads in these cities and of corruption in our polity. In the New Year, prepare to fight your vices, to be in peace with your neighbour and to live for your Creator. Without Him, you are like a paper boat at the mercy of the tide. (08122465111 for texts only)