Don Ebubeogu
It was a massive gathering of crème de la crème of Onitsha Business Community, to join one of our own to pay his last respect to his Father-in-law who died after a protracted illness. Onitsha emptied to that town and intimidated the hell outta the villagers.
The town knew it was not a usual burial. We came in large numbers and dressed well for the occasion. Nothing was left to chance, including the choice of meals, air-conditioned Tent set a little far away from the venue of the burial, and choicest wine and spirits along with Tiger Ginger Health Drink which is becoming an indispensable beverage to make private cocktail with spirits and can be taken on its own.
The only ceremony conducted within the canopy was item number 7 which connotes “eating and drinking”. The comedians and DJs were at hand to keep us warm and laughing, forgetting we were part of the internment that was happening about 100 meters to where we were entertained. The Convener of this sparkling occasion came into the canopy much later after interment. He was wearing a long, angry face. I was later told that the bereaved family ignored him totally and refused to recognize his presence. He was not welcomed in their midst. He was regarded as a renegade. He was accused of maltreating their daughter, and did not care nor visited the father-in-law throughout the months he was on the sickbed. They denied him the courtesy of informing him officially, according to Igbo tradition, that the father-in-law was dead.
Most of the people that graced the occasion were not aware of the Cold War and near-physical conflict that happened during the internment. Our man was clever enough not to invite us to witness the interment. His choice of venue of our entertainment, 100 meters away from the burial compound, took us out of the occasion and created an atmosphere of merry and debonair.
Now, this is where the story starts ...
While he was moving around the tables, greeting all of us, he was accompanied by 2 men dressed in similar costume with him, and carrying large purses big enough to contain half crate of Tiger Larger Beer. Those purses were destination for envelopes containing condolence gifts (Cash) from sympathizers. He was collecting those monies with the precision of Julius Berger, carefully separating the heavy ones and deciding which purse holds which envelope. Each envelope collected was rewarded with a rechargeable lamp or ceramic tray bearing the face of the smiling dead in-law.
Onitsha ate and drank to full satisfaction and emptied their pockets. Nobody cared to meet the bereaved family. They didn’t matter. They don’t even know any of us. News on the street was that our friend made a profit of about N4 million after deducting his total expenses. He was very happy. It was a good blood business. The mother-in-law is now on her sickbed fighting to live. Our friend is ecstatic. He is getting ready for another burial and does not want to be taken unawares. He is stocking up Whiskies and wine. His target this time is N10 million profit. And he can’t make that profit while the woman lives. As the wife prays for the recovery of the Mum, our friend is praying for the “Will of God”.
This is becoming another part of new business in this town. It is not raising eyebrows. It is now a norm and part of life. Money has to be made whether we live or die. I wish I can make this topic a series. Blood money is been made in several ways in this town. Knowingly, we have all given this a seal of approval. If your parents are alive, find out the prayer point of your husband and brothers-in-law. There may be money to be made when any of your parents die.
Twitter: @donebubeogu
