When I Die,follow this – Manasseh Azure Awuni Writes

In 2006, I bought a copy of the Presbyterian Church of Ghana hymn book, circled Hymn 468 and wrote boldly above it, “My Burial Hymn.”

My colleague teachers of the Junior Youth Fellowship at the Victory Congregation of the Presbyterian Church of Ghana at Old Dansoman (Camara) knew about it. I told them that should I die, they shouldn’t forget to tell the funeral planners about my wish, which they thought was weird. Why would a young man in his early twenties be planning his burial? But I ask, why not? Once you’re born, you will die.

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My Gurune (Frafra) people say, “Asaala dage kugre.” And they are right; the human being is not a stone. We will all go. It’s not a question of if. It’s a question of when, a question we don’t have answers to unless those who plan their suicide.
We cannot beat our chest and say we will be alive tomorrow because death can take everyone by surprise – the rich and the poor, sick and healthy, sinners and the righteous – name them.

When I met my wife, I told her what I had told my friends at church, this time with two additional pieces of important information. I have told her that I don’t want anybody to read a tribute at my funeral. I don’t also want anybody to open a book of condolence when I’m dead.

People are free write or say whatever they want to say about me and publish it on whatever platform they choose, but at my funeral no tribute should be read. This is my wish.My wife told me that a dead body belongs to the family, and not the wife, so I should communicate that to them. But my life goes beyond my family. I’m not sure companies and professional bodies often get permissions from families of their deceased colleagues before opening books of condolences.

One of the biggest regrets of my life would be to die without writing all the book ideas I have in my head. It would even be worse if I fail to write about how I want my departure done even though I have had it planned for many years.
So let’s settle down for the details and reasons, where applicable.

My body should not be laid in state for public viewing. And the following are the only people who should view my body:
My parents (father, mother and step mother)
My siblings (the biological children of my parents)
My wife
My child/children
My wife’s parents
The biological children of my wife’s parents.

To the rest of you, I don’t have anything against anybody. But I want you to remember me on the note of our last encounter. If our last encounter is laughter, let that be the abiding memory me when I’m gone. If it is something else, let’s remember “each other” that way.

I have mentioned that I do not want a tribute read at my funeral. Not even my wife or siblings should read a tribute. My funeral brochure can also contain just my history or the chronology of my life without any attempt to paint a saintly picture of my character.Thankfully, the day was successful and I went to shoot, but when I got home, she was in tears. It was her birthday. And I did not remember.

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“I said it,” she would tell me days later, “that if you’re to choose between Ghana and me, you will choose Ghana.”
The pastor who preaches at my funeral should emphasise salvation, the essence of life and the need to make Ghana and all of humanity better, the kind of sermon preached at Komla Dumor’s funeral by Rev. Father Wisdom Larweh.

He later told me his sermon was inspired by a tribute I had written when Komla Dumor died.
My tribute, I told him, was inspired by “The Drum Major Instinct”, a sermon preached by Martin Luther King Jr. in February 1968.

I love my country, but I am not proud of it. I have travelled a bit and know we are still hundreds of miles behind how a civilized nation should look and behave. I worry about the kind of Ghana my children will have to endure.
So the preacher should not waste time eulogizing me. The number of degrees or awards I may have won won’t matter any more. My trophy cabinet is full of awards, but when I’m dead, nothing will matter any more.

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.

I love music and my funeral should not be without a borborbor performance. The choir should sing danceable gospel highlife and police band, if they are present, should play patriotic songs. And when it’s time to go to the grave, it should be borborbor highlife with the first five stanzas of the Twi version of Presby Hymn 468:

1
Kristo mogya ne ne trenee,
Ne me ntama, m’ahyehyɛde,
Na da a Nyame bɛfrɛ me no,
Mede manya n’anim makɔ.
2
Enti kristo mogya no nko,
Ne me nkwagye ne m’ahotɔ,
Miwu oo, mete ase oo,
Me de me ho meto noso.
3
Na sɛ me bɔne haw me a,
Memma ɛnhyɛ me so koraa;
Na mekae sɛ saa bɔne nti,
Na ɛma Yesu huu yaw pii
4
Sɛ m,akɔnnɔ bi gyigye me,
Na wiasefo daadaa me
Na ɔbonsam sɔ me hwɛ a,
Meguan metoa Yesu daa
5
Mesrɛ no sɛ ɔmmoa me,
ɔnhyɛ me den ɔko no mu
ɔmmma mennyɛ nea ɔmpɛ
na ɔmma menyɛ nea eye.

The writer, Manasseh Azure Awuni, is a freelance investigative journalist and editorial consultant for theghanareport.com. He is the author of three books: “Voice of Conscience”, “Letters to My Future Wife” and “The Fourth John: Reign, Rejection & Rebound”. His email address is azureachebe2@yahoo.com

 

Source: thenconnectmedia.com