The first dance takes your breath away. All the deceased left behind, dance in a line with pictures of him on their hands. They dance and cry, disturbing the air, till your feet and eyes get used to it. Solid grounds are no longer at ease. Minds wonder too, who will mourn the deceased? Death has no where to run. Not when life still is the starting point. So who will mourn the deceased? Who will come to speak of their name, their honor? Who will wear precious clothes, those gold or royal for the deceased? Who will cradle all their steps like trees rustling in the wind? Who will sing of all the ways they survived? Who will join those they loved to keep moments of silence?
Last night, I saw who, with many that wore blue. Some wore clothes red and royal. Others simply looked regal to keep their pact with you. There were backs bent to the ground in your honor. Money sprayed around for your honor. Many came to tell death of how you lived. Death saw you belonged to a people. Death saw your children welcome all the people that knew and loved you. Death saw Umuada, daughters dancing for you. Death saw a hall full of people for you. Death saw them seated at tables red, white and purple for you. Death saw all sorts of geles worn for you, in reds, gold, purple and blue. Death saw a room full of Ichies and Iyoms for you, all dancing and singing for you. Death saw lions and lioness chanting for you, their great lion. Death heard prayers too for you for grace, for rest, for perpetual light to shine on you. Death saw all this people dance and dance till the break of dawn for you. Tell me, are you really dead?