The Funeral That Wouldn’t Die

When Ato Girma Tadesse finally “died,” nobody was surprised. The man had been threatening to die for ten years. Every time someone annoyed him, he’d clutch his chest and say, “Ahhh! I’m going! Call the priest!”

So when his housemaid found him motionless one Friday morning, eyes half open, hand on his heart — everyone assumed the old man had finally kept his promise.His son, Bekele, burst into the room, took one look, and sighed with a mix of grief and relief.

“Father, rest easy. I’ll handle everything now.”

And by “everything,” Bekele meant the car, the land, and most importantly, the bank account.

Within two hours, the entire neighborhood of Bole Bulbula knew Ato Girma had passed away. By sunset, the yard was full of plastic chairs, mourning neighbors, and relatives you only see at funerals or weddings — never in between.

The Rush to Bur

In true Ethiopian efficiency, the family wasted no time. The priest was booked, the coffin ordered, and the wailing committee (led by Bekele’s dramatic aunt, Almaz) began rehearsing.

“Ahhhh, our lion is gone!” she cried, slapping her chest. “Who will shout at us now for using too much electricity?”

Even the ferenji neighbor came by with a confused face and a small bouquet of fake flowers.

By midnight, the priest arrived to perform the first prayer. His phone wouldn’t stop buzzing — another funeral, another blessing — but this one seemed straightforward. He glanced at the coffin, muttered a few verses, and yawned.

Everything was going perfectly… until it wasn’t.

The Resurrection of Chaos

The next morning, as the family gathered around the coffin to say their last goodbyes, something moved.

Almaz froze mid-scream. “Did anyone see that?”

“See what?” asked Bekele, distracted by a phone call from the bank.

“The lid! It moved!”

Everyone laughed nervously — until a muffled voice came from inside.

“Can someone open this thing? It’s hot in here!”

The crowd exploded. Women fainted, men ran, and the priest dropped his cross like a microphone. The coffin shook again, and the lid popped open. There sat Ato Girma, sweaty, furious, and very much alive.

“Why is everyone crying? I was just sleeping!” he barked, glaring around.

Wubit, the maid, trembled. “Sir… we thought you were—”

“Dead? Do I look dead to you? Get me buna!”

The Funeral Continues Anyway

Once the screaming died down (figuratively), Bekele called off the burial. But by then, people had already arrived — distant cousins, coworkers, even the kebele chairman.

And because cancelling a funeral in Ethiopia is apparently harder than planning one, Ato Girma decided, “Since everyone’s here, let’s continue. But this time, I’ll attend it myself.”

He sat proudly in front of his own coffin like a guest of honor. The priest, still pale, stammered through the sermon.

“Uh… today we… celebrate life… not death?”

Girma nodded approvingly. “Good! Say something nice about me now that I can actually hear it.”

Aunt Almaz sniffled dramatically. “We loved him—”

“Don’t lie,” he interrupted. “You borrowed 3,000 birr last month and never returned it!”

The crowd burst into laughter. Even the priest cracked a smile.

The Viral Sensation

Within hours, videos flooded TikTok and Telegram:

> “Old man wakes up at his own funeral!”

“Miracle in Bole Bulbula!”

“Zombie grandpa cancels burial, demands coffee!”

A local TV crew showed up, interviewing Girma in his front yard.

Reporter: “Ato Girma, what do you want people to learn from this experience?”

Girma: “Simple. Never trust relatives who rush the funeral.”

He even joked that he’d start a YouTube channel — ‘Dead but Not Gone’ — to share his near-death experiences and “funeral management tips.”

The priest tried to calm the media frenzy, insisting it was divine intervention. Bekele, however, was less thrilled — especially when his father demanded the car back.

“Return it,” Girma said firmly.

“But Father—”

“No buts! The only thing buried today is your greed.”

The Afterparty That Ended Too Soon

By evening, the mourning had turned into celebration. The yard was filled with music, laughter, and gossip. Someone even brought tej.

Ato Girma danced with surprising energy for a man who’d technically been dead that morning. Every few minutes, he raised his glass and shouted, “To life — the thing my family tried to take early!”

People roared with laughter.

At one point, Aunt Almaz whispered to Bekele, “You know… maybe this is a second chance for him to change.”

Bekele sighed. “Or for us to suffer longer.”

But just as the crowd started clapping for another dance, Girma leaned back in his chair, clutching his chest again.

The music stopped.

Someone gasped.

He smiled faintly. “Ah, now this time, it’s real.”

And just like that — the Wi-Fi of life disconnected.

The Ironic Ending

The priest didn’t believe it at first.

“Not again,” he muttered.

They waited a full ten minutes before anyone dared touch him. No movement. No breathing. Finally, Wubit whispered, “He’s really gone this time.”

A stunned silence filled the air — followed by Aunt Almaz sighing dramatically,

“Well… at least we don’t have to move the chairs.”

Everyone burst out laughing and crying at once.

They buried him the next day — for real this time — but some neighbors swore they saw the curtain move in his house that night.

“Maybe he’s checking who cried the most,” someone joked.

And thus, Ato Girma Tadesse became a legend — the man who attended his own funeral twice.

Moral:

In Ethiopia, never rush a funeral. Death might be final, but embarrassment is eternal.