“Let's give a round of applause to Rotimi as he come up on stage” you hear and your already boiling blood heats up a little more. You stare at Rotimi and the man who called him up on stage and, the man who is about to give a speech to praise Rotimi's achievement. If stares could kill, there would be three more funerals this week asides from Joseph's.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the great academic achievement of our very own Rotimi here. A true son of the soil. One who made us proud by honoring us with such achievement” the chairman of your village's council starts.

“And not just any type of achievement, but an international one. Rotimi did so excellently well in his scholarship application, that he got the scholarship from not just one, but three Ivy League schools in the United States. Harvard, Yale and Princeton— the three best! Omo lo mo can even do shakara in picking the one he wants” the Chairman said and the audience laughed, though you were sure that most of them didn't understand fully what was being celebrated.

You grind your teeth together in an attempt to keep yourself from speaking or doing worse. But this gains the attention of your mother and friend Banke, who are seated to your left and right.

“Stop it. People will see you” your mother says.

“Let them” you say through gritted teeth.

“Joyce” Banke called but you ignored. Not that you didn't hear, you didn't want to open your mouth. Not when everyone here was laughing and having a good time.

“...honestly, this is a great thing that has happened in the history of our community. That is why we can't let this go just like that. You see, acts like these need to be rewarded” you scoff at the statement. “We reward acts like these, so it can encourage others to do so, and even greater”

“Really?” you mutter.

“Truly” he starts as though he heard you. “Good should be rewarded. Given the time we live in now, when education is belittled, and good in general is mocked, we need to--”

“Reward them?” you say cutting him off. Everyone turns to look for who is speaking, but those in front can't see you because you are still seated.

The Chairman looks a little confused and offenfed, but tries his best to be civil and endulge you. 

“Ex--”

“I'm asking YOU Mr Chairman, are we to reward them?” you ask again, sounding louder this time and then you get up as the chairman tries to find the right words. Now, everyone can see who is talking.

“Young lady I don't understand what you mean, also, it was rude of you to interrupt me in such a manner”

“You don't know what I mean?” you say and your mother looks to you.

“Joyce sit down. Gbenu dake! (Shut up!). Stop this!”

“Mummy fi mi se le (Mummy leave me alone). I want our Chairman to answer me today. You believe in rewarding good that was done yes?”

“Yes” he says slowly as he nods his head in accordance.

“So, where is Joseph's reward?”

“Who is Joseph?” the Chairman asks as he looks between Mr Tim, the first man who spoke, and Rotimi, asking who Joseph is. This question disconnects all the wire's in your brain.

“Who is Joseph? You don't even know who he is? A man that died for YOU! You don't know who he is?” you ask feeling like your generation has been wiped out before your eyes...and it has. Banke reaches for your hand but you angrily remove it and walk into the pathway separating the town hall into two.

“The audacity”

“Young lady!”

“The effrontery ”

“Joyce”

“The mind!”

“Excuse me young lady”

“You are quite excused Mr Chairman. I have some things to say to you and we will not leave here till I've said them. They are rude and very painful things, but they must be said” you say and your mother mouths “ayemi o” as she and Banke watch you.

“You stand there giving speeches every time someone does something scholar. You praise them, you put them on a high peddle stool, and I'm not against that. But you somehow always seem to forget the other things. The people that dug wells so we can have water, the people that drilled boreholes so we could have better water. The people that stay awake while we sleep, watching our community, you forget them! Because it is not educational. Because it is not international”

“Err, young lady, that is not how we do things in this community. Maybe you just came here some months back and--”

“Which yeye months back. Emi, awon daughter of the soil? Okay, if this is how it is done, I ask again, where is Joseph's reward? You don't even know who he is. Hey! Ayemi o” you exclaim as you put your hands across your head.

“And everyone is silent. Like we all don't know what I am talking about. Joseph watched over this community with his life! Day and night he fought for the peace and well being of this community” you turn around and face every angle as you continue.

“Joseph is the reason why Rotimi and other children in this community even have a chance at good education. Somebody that stood for us when the neighbouring community wanted to take our land. What about when our girls were being harrsed? And our boys being molested? Who was there for them? Answer me now, or shey it's not the entire community that is here ni? Now we are all silent abi? As silent as his funeral”. You turn to the Chairman.

“Joseph died of lung cancer two weeks ago. He got it from the burn pit in the community which he had been writing several letters to YOU about and other officials. To have our dirt carried away in those trucks, than burn them and then it affects our health. Even in death, he was still writing. Even in death...” you say as you begin to sob. Your mother and Banke come to your aid but unknowingly, you turn around abruptly to face the people.

“And no one had the decency to even show up for his burial?!”. “I'm not even mad about the fact that no one did a thing to help him during his last days, every body was just forming busy. No health care, no nothing. No one! But I'm not mad. But that you didn't see it fit to honour him in death? Even though he efforts were little and not publicized? Shame on you, shame on all of you...”

“Eni suru. (It's okay)” your mother says as she tries to console you, tears swelling in her eyes for her beloved son.

“Mummy, e jor, e jor. (Mummy please, please)”

“Farabale Joy. (Calm down Joy)” Banke adds.

“He was a son and a brother and a friend. He was a husband and a father...” you say as your cries increase and people now notice the little bump on your abdomen that could pass simply for a big tummy.

“He was everything!” you say and finally sucumb to your mother in-laws arms. She wraps them tightly around you and you know she knows exactly how you feel. She lost him too. Banke stands on the other side of you, consoling you too and they take you out of the hall. And no one seems to recover from the disruption.

* * * * 

“We are gathered here today to celebrate a life well spent. Gone too soon we would say. He was a man in his youth, he was just 28 years old. But he lived fully and went all out for the community. Today, we honour Joseph Falana for his good deeds. And we present this medal of valour to his unborn child, which would be received by his mother and this is done, in honour of dear Joseph” you hear, then get up to receive the medal. You appreciated the effort, irrespective of how it came. But more than ever, you wanted him to be here to see for himself.

“Live a life worthy of rewarding” you whisper to your child as you place your hand on your tummy and the ceremony continues.

The end.

#cashback