What is there to fear about fear?

Fear is probably the one thing in life that we would never truly win the war against. But really why bother about winning the war when you can successful win the battle each time it arises?

I remember when my paternal grandfather died. I was just eight. And that was the first time to lose anyone that close to me. (We will fast forward to the burial to save you from the agony of the unnecessary narration.)

The day before the burial was of cause the wake-keep. And grandpa’s body was laid in state for the last time; The casket was left open the entire night, for whoever wanted to pay their final respect.

Not me. Not because I didn’t love my grandpa, well the concept of love was really vague to me back then, but because I was scared shit of seeing dead bodies. I was growing up afraid of the darkness and sick people. Now knowing that grandpa was dead, at least I understood that to mean we won’t need to drop our voices or stop running around the house because he was sleeping, and that he was laying there immobile and stuffed all over with cotton wool, even though I had played in the house all day before the casket was brought in, I moved my playing outside and kept it there the moment I sighted the hearse that brought the body in from the morgue.

The wake-keep service ended and yet I would not dare go in for the fear of catching sight of the body. So I was outside in the huge compound feeling lonely because even my brothers and cousins were much too busy indoors to have time to play with me, outside.

Eventually, I was coerced to come through the back stairway to the house. I managed to dodge the living room where he was laid because there was a door from the outer part of the house through the dining room to the back of the house to the stairs and up.

Everything was okay till I remembered there was something I need to do downstairs, or so I must have thought. So I strode towards the inner staircase and took the mighty steps down. Halfway down, I realised my silly mistake. Right there by the side of the staircase was my grandpa in ‘Sokoto and Dashiki’ looking regal but stiff, and wool sticking out of his nose.

I am sure you are asking yourselves how I managed to comprehend that sight if I had been afraid all evening? Well I don’t know but that very instant I nearly went into a seizure of sorts as I flew back the way I had come and out into the veranda shaking like a leaf in a storm. It wasn’t funny then and just thinking of it now still doesn’t make it so.

Well I have flown a few more steps because I had seen a few more before I was ready. And ‘Am I ready now?’ Really cannot tell. But having my maternal grandma die right in front of me has given me a whole new, enlightened if I may say, perspective to living. Watching her take her last breathe and just giving everything up, was for me an awe inspiring moment.

So the fear of death is gone. But I still have to deal daily with the fear of Living; of not Living LIFE!