OH STUPID FRIEND

THE IMPOSSIBLE GOODBYE

CHAPTER THREE

The funeral came too quickly. Too suddenly. The kind of speed that made everything feel unreal.

Daniel wore a dark native attire—plain, simple. His eyes were red, his face tired beyond his years. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words all day. He couldn’t. Every word felt like a burden he no longer had the strength to carry.

The funeral had started early. A slow procession from the church brought the bodies home. Sirens wailed through the streets, the sound cutting through the air like a warning. People wept as they followed on foot and in cars, holding posters with the faces of the dead. Some raised the portraits high, some clutched them to their chests like life preservers. Gunshots rang out sporadically—respectful but sharp. A bitter announcement of finality.

When the convoy reached the house, drummers were waiting. So were photographers, hired to capture grief. A large banner with “A Painful Exit. Final Farewell to Mama and Papa Ayoola” hung near the compound gate.

Under the tent, plastic chairs were arranged for guests, most of whom wore black or dark-coloured Ankara. Women fanned themselves while murmuring quietly. Some cried loudly, wailing into handkerchiefs. Others simply watched Daniel, shaking their heads in pity. A boy that young should not be burying both parents at once.

Daniel sat in front, beside his Aunt Rebecca. The smell of native incense still clung to his clothes from the church. The choirs had sung of heaven, of peace, of divine timing. The priest had spoken of life’s mystery and eternal reward. But Daniel couldn’t hear it. He was there—but not present. His world had collapsed two coffins ago.

Mama. Daddy.

Side by side.

Gone.

It was time to read the tributes, and Daniel had been called forward. His legs felt heavy as he stood, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Slowly, he stepped up to the microphone, clutching the paper with trembling hands.

As he began to read, his voice cracked with pain and love.

"To my beloved parents, the ones I love so deeply and dearly, I still can’t believe you’re gone. Every day I pray silently, hoping this is just a dream—and that somehow, I’ll be gently shaken awake. How could this be true? Who will call me Danny like you always did? Who will cook the delicious meals like you, Mummy? Who will drive me to school? Who will push me to keep going when the road gets tough, reminding me that success only comes through struggle? Who will laugh at my jokes, both the funny and the not-so-funny ones?

I miss you both more than words can say. It breaks my heart that this is the end, and there will never be another like you. You were the best parents anyone could ever ask for. It pains me that you never got to watch me grow into the man I dreamed of becoming—a doctor, fighting to make you proud.

But even now, I carry you with me—in every breath, every step, every heartbeat. Your love is my strength, and your memory will guide me forward, always."

Tears rolled down the faces of those listening—relatives, old school friends, business partners, church members, club members, and even students from Daniel’s school. One by one, they came forward to share their memories, their grief, and their love.

People greeted each other with long hugs and drawn out Yoruba, Igbo, Hausa and pidgin condolences

“Ah! This life is nothing.”

“Poor boy. Only child. God will help him.”

“We just saw the parents last month. Who would have thought?”

As the bodies were lowered into the ground later, Daniel stepped forward. His small hands gripped the handle of a spade. With trembling arms, he scooped a barely filled spade of loose earth and let it fall into the graves. Then again. And again.

His sobs broke free—raw and loud—shaking his whole body. He cried with a pain so deep it seemed to tear through his very soul. He hoped, with every tear, every barely filled scoop of earth from the spade, that somehow his parents might hear him—might come back. But the silence around him was heavy, unyielding.

He dropped the spade, buried his face in his hands, whispering broken prayers into the dust. The crowd around him watched quietly, some with tears in their eyes, others too stunned to speak.

For Daniel, this was not just a burial. It was the impossible goodbye.

But after a while, the tone shifted. The mood lightened like someone flipped a switch.

First came the drinks—bottled water, Maltina, Coke, Fanta, and for some, small bottles of spirits passed around quietly. Then the food—coolers of jollof rice, fried rice, swallow, pepper soup, and meat: plenty meat. People gathered in clusters as the food was served. Caterers moved through the crowd with trays and coolers, dishing out portions to seated guests, while others stood around, chatting and eating.

Daniel watched from a distance. He couldn’t eat—he couldn’t even try. The scent of food churned his stomach. Yet the people ate on, unfazed.

Laughter started to slip through the air.

Some guests who had earlier cried at the church were now smiling as they chewed, lifting plates and calling friends on the phone. Others shared gossip, talked politics, and compared burial ceremonies from past months.

One woman, with bright red lipstick and oversized sunglasses, pointed at the cooler. “That jollof was sweet. Do you know the caterer?”

Another older man leaned back in his chair, toothpick in hand. “They did well. The canopy was well-arranged. This is how a proper burial should look.”

And just like that, the crowd turned the pain of death into a social event.

By 4 p.m., people began to leave. One by one, the chairs emptied. Cars started driving off, guests waving casually like they had just come from a wedding or child dedication.

“God will comfort you, okay?” they said to Daniel, barely looking him in the eye anymore. “Take heart. You’re strong. Very strong.”

But strength didn’t help him sleep at night. It didn’t make the silence at home go away. It didn’t fill the growing emptiness inside him.

Then came Auntie Rebecca.

She walked over to him, dressed in full black, her head tie tall and stiff, her perfume too strong for the moment. Her eyes were dry, her face smooth with makeup that hadn’t smudged all day.

She squatted to Daniel’s level, cupped his face gently, and smiled. “You’ll come with me, okay? You’re not alone. I’m here now.”

Her voice was sweet. Too sweet. Like tea with too much sugar. Her smile stretched too wide, and Daniel couldn’t tell if it was real or practiced.

He didn’t respond. He was too tired to resist anything.

Behind them, the cleaners began packing chairs. The last of the drinks were being distributed. The DJ had already switched to soft Fuji music. Life was moving on.

But Daniel wasn’t.

In his heart, the funeral wasn’t over. The pain had just begun