a picture showing moyo okediji poised for the camera



Oladejo Okediji, 1929-2019.

Death knocked on the door, ko ko ko ko; ko ko ko ko.

My father got up from the bed and went to the door and, very boldly, opened the door, saying, “Here I am. I’m ready for your very worst.”

Death: It’s not my fault. It’s just a job. This is what I’m paid to do.

Baba: I understand. Do it. Let’s get it over with.

Death: (Hesitating). Isn’t there anybody you need to call before I do this?

Baba: There is no need getting Etisalat involved in this business. Just do it.

Death: But you can use MTN, Glo, Airtel, Visafone….

Baba: (Interrupting Death) Does Visafone still operate in Nigeria?

Death: I think so. You can google it. May I sit down for a minute. Your room looks really cool.

Baba: I’m not your friend. But I can offer you a drink if you want.

Death: No, I don’t drink. Last time I drank, I got tipsy and forgot to kill the fellow.

She lived to be 120 before I could return to her house again. How old are you?

Baba: I’m ninety.

Death: Ninety is a good time to go, my friend. You are still hale and hearty. You sound coherent,

even articulate. I was going to knock last night, but I didn’t want to disturb you because

you were intimate with your young wife.

Baba: Ha, ha, ha, ha. You are just jealous. I bet you don’t have a wife.

Death: That’s not funny.

Baba: Ok. Let’s do it now.

Death: I hate to do this. Sit on your bed. Close your eyes. Stretch out your hand. Smile. Let’s go.

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