Death is a mystery

DEATH IS A MYSTERY😔... BUT IT OFTEN SEND SIGNS BEFORE IT COMES 😔
(Episode 1)

The sun cast a golden hue over the village of UJUALA as the rooster's crow signaled the start of a new day. Elder Nneka, known for her wisdom and kindness, sat on her porch, sipping her morning tea. Children played nearby, their laughter echoing through the air.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the village. A messenger arrived, bearing news that the village's oldest resident, Papa Obi, had passed away peacefully in his sleep. The villagers gathered, mourning the loss of a man who had been a pillar of their community.

As the funeral preparations began, Elder Nneka felt a stirring in her heart. She realized that many in the village, especially the younger generation, feared death and saw it as a taboo subject.

Determined to change this, she decided to share stories and lessons about death, aiming to inspire understanding and acceptance.

The morning after Papa Obi's death, the village square was full. Not with noise, but with presence.

Old women sat on mats, chewing kola nuts slowly. Men gathered in quiet corners, whispering in heavy tones. Children played unaware, but watching their mothers' eyes.

A message had gone out “Come. It’s time to talk about life… and what ends it.”

Elder Nneka, though quiet, had sent for ten people — people whose lives had been touched by death in strange ways. Some had lost loved ones suddenly. Others had battled sickness. And a few… had seen the shadow of death but returned.

No one knew why she chose them. But she welcomed them one by one into her small compound, where the mango tree stood like a silent guard.

The first to speak was Mrs. Chinelo, a woman who had lost her husband to stroke in his sleep. “He didn’t cry. He didn’t shout. Just turned… and left,” she said, wiping tears.

Next was young Ebuka, who had survived a fatal accident. “I saw myself floating above my body. It was like sleep, but deeper. Peaceful. But a hand pushed me back — I heard my mother’s voice praying.”

Others shared stories — some painful, others strange. But all of them pointed to one thing:

And then Mama Nneka stood up.

She looked around, her old eyes sharp and knowing.

“My people,” she began, “We fear what we don’t understand. But death is not always the enemy. Sometimes, it comes as a friend to the tired, a release to the suffering, a reminder to the living.”

She bent down and drew a circle in the sand.

“This gathering is not just to mourn Obi. It’s to prepare,” she said slowly, “Prepare not just for death—but for the truth behind it. Some of you think you understand life. But until you understand death, your eyes are only half open.”

She looked at each of them — the widow, the boy, the pastor, the herbalist, the quiet girl who hadn't spoken.

“Each of you was called for a reason,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper.

The wind suddenly blew stronger. The mango tree above them shook, and a single fruit dropped... not on the ground, but squarely in the middle of the circle she drew.

Everyone gasped.

Elder Nneka's eyes didn’t move. “That,” she said, pointing to the fallen mango, “is the first sign.”

“But of what?” someone whispered.

She looked up slowly, her face shadowed by the evening sun. “Of what death is truly coming for in this village... and who it will visit next.”

Silence fell.

And then she said,

“Tomorrow, at this same hour, one of you… will not be here.”

To be continued…

We are not WEALTHY but we are HEALTHY.

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