FUNKE EGBEMODE
I was scrolling through Facebook and I stumbled on this yet-to-be-verified ‘data’.
Elumelu’s mom is 97 years.
Otedola’s mom is 93 years.
Jonathan’s mom is 88 years.
Dangote’s mom is 90 years.
Where are their fathers? Long gone in most cases.
Did you notice the unsaid and unwritten insinuation that the women are somehow at fault and should be found guilty of ‘long life’? But I won’t let the insinuation distract me, after all, my father has celebrated his 90th birthday and my mother died five years ago. There are men who are also 95 whose wives died 20 years ago. We are largely not in charge of how long or short we live. The Supreme Being, the Man Upstairs, Orisa Oke, is the only one who knows who will wake up tomorrow.
I am here to encourage men to do everything to wake up tomorrow.
Now, read this.
He had been waking up every day with this headache.
It would start from the back of his head, then it would feel like it would slice his head in two. He told himself maybe his pillow was bad.
Maybe it was inadequate sleep. Nothing cold water and two tablets of Panadol couldn’t fix. He turned on the shower full blast, stayed under it for five minutes.
A steaming cup of tea and two tablets downed and he felt better, really.
He jumped in his car, joined the early morning city traffic.
He wound down his windows to let the cool breeze further clear his head.
All day he worked.
Every day he pushed the headache away with pain relief tablets.
During the day, he helped himself with energy drink when the files piled up.
A couple of cups of coffee helped him through meetings.
That was the way he had been pushing himself for months,
Telling himself he would rest during his next annual leave.
Then one day, on his way home,
He angered other motorists
It was at the last traffic light before his estate.
The light had gone from red to amber and then green.
But our friend did not move his car.
They thought he was on his phone.
They all, as if in unison, put their palms on their horns and honked like crazy.
Whatever oga was doing, he did not budge.
One of the drivers approached his car
He is not moving o.
His head is on the steering wheel.
His eyes are closed.
That was the end. Eni’re lo. Yeah. A good man. A responsible husband was gone just like that, leaving behind four bewildered children and wife. How are they supposed to go on without him, pick all those bills he had been picking, fix all the problems he had been fixing?
This point in life, and when tragedies of sudden death happen, always reminds me this song by the Everly Brothers.
Why does my heart go on beating?
Why do the eyes of mine cry?
Why do the birds go on singing?
Don’t they know it’s the end of the world?
It ended when you said goodbye.
I wake up in the morning and I wonder,
Why everything is the same as it was.
I can’t understand, no, I can’t understand
Why life goes on the way it does…
It was not written to be a dirge for death, it was written to mourn a broken heart, a broken love. But it fits perfectly, doesn’t it?
When the head and breadwinner of a home dies, life goes on, sadly. The birds wake up and sing in the trees, the sun will come out the following morning like nobody died yesterday. But once the man of the house dies, nothing is ever the same. Not that the woman of the house is less missed, it is just what it is, the way the universe is wired, the way God designed our world. Men are important whether they are gone all day or missing all night. They are the traditional providers and they take their roles seriously. Maybe too seriously. They are wired to give and are never at peace unless and until they are giving, at least the traditional men. And so they work their fingers to the bone, their backs until they are bent and then expires. That exactly is where I am led to intervene again today.
Dear men, listen here, we are grateful for your services but what is it with the dying untimely and dying in active service? You are embarrassing the women community, like we are the ones killing you.
Jide knew a day of reckoning would surely come. He was known as a multi-millionaire real estate mogul. But he did more than trade in properties. He was a drug kingpin. In his cartel life, he was brutal. At home, he was the great husband and generous father. When the day of reckoning finally arrived and he was hauled off to jail in handcuffs, his wife discovered that he had made adequate provision for his family. The family mansion was in his wife’s name. He’d set up an adequate trust fund for his kids and to provide an income for when he would not be ‘around’, he gifted his wife a five-star night club for her birthday.
Village people and winches are minding their business. That headache, that dizzy spell, that palpitating heart are not from them. They are signals for you to slow down, rest and see your doctor. Now.
Okay, that is from a movie I am currently watching but isn’t that how men are, generally? They take risks, hefty ones to pamper their wives and children. They work all hours to provide the best lives. Those who are blessed leave huge sums and estates for their loved ones. They work until they drop, in death or into a wheelchair. Many don’t live long. Some end in jail or exile because they are or were breadwinners. Like we have established, it is the way they are wired and they feel like their manhoods have been chopped off without anesthesia if they cannot provide.
The desire to give and provide, isn’t that what kills men? Women are only beneficiaries of that desire. We do not kill men.
I heard that number one killer of the black man is prostate. Have you read up about it? When last did you check your PSA (Prostate-specific antigen) or you are one of those men who keep side chics to achieve 21 ejaculations per month?
According to National Cancer Institute, ‘PSA is a protein produced by normal, as well as malignant, cells of the prostate gland. Both prostate cancer and several benign conditions (particularly benign prostatic hyperplasia, or BPH, and prostatitis) can cause PSA levels in the blood to rise. This blood test is used in several different ways: to monitor the progression of prostate cancer in men who have already been diagnosed with the disease; to follow up on prostate symptoms, such as painful or frequent urination, blood in urine or semen, and pelvic and/or back pain; to screen for prostate cancer in men who do not have symptoms of the disease.’
You still think frequent release of your boys into different streams is the alternative to getting checked? It is not. Go and submit to your doctor. Read everything you can on Men and their Prostate. If you are 50, the best time to check what is happening to you downstairs is today. But if your father, grandfather or uncle died of a ‘downstairs-related’ ailment, 40 is when you should have your PSA run. Do not think foraging under different skirts will save you.
The same way women don’t feel guilty about outliving men is the same way we do not feel guilty that you share your success and wealth with us. It is left with the sharer to keep the shareholders within manageable limits. At 50, with a 45-year-old wife that you have thoroughly used and who has thoroughly used you, it is not a sensible choice to go after 17-year-old undergraduates. At 60 or 70, do not choose your side chics from the ranks of 30-year-olds. You are no longer fit to satisfy them in bed. Drinking Iya Sikira’s concoctions of unknown ingredients will only paddle your rickety canoe towards a rock. Only a tragic smashing end is possible. If you have worked so hard all your life, why do you want to end it ignominiously on top of a girl who is not a stakeholder? It does not matter how many blue pills you swallow, each time she screams ‘harder, harder’ takes you closer and faster to the grave. Why do you want to kill yourself just so one pretty young thing can tell you ‘gosh, you are hot for your age, baby’? Hellooo, you need to book a couple of sessions with your psychologist to fix your insecurity.
So, your friend who recommended the ‘power’ herbal mixture has been drinking it ‘in the past five years and nothing has happened to him’, do you know the level of his organ damage today or how badly 35 years of city life has already compromised your own organs that you now want to start assaulting with ‘fenuja’ sachet drinks? Hasn’t anyone told you that you risk heart attack, stroke, liver and kidney damage and even that embarrassing one called priapism where your erection refuses to lower its flag even when you are in the throes of death. Only unwise men risk painful erection all in the bid to prove they are still young and able. Bros, putting brand new tires on an old vehicle will never make it drive like a tear-rubber.
Check your blood pressure and blood sugar levels. You must own a glucometer and digital BP machine. Check regularly. A timely check can mean the difference between life and death.
Start hanging out with the boys on golf courses, tennis courts, and jogging tracks. Slow down on the liquor. The hours you have worked all these years have already done enough damage to your system. Don’t worsen it with whiskey and women.
Village people and winches are minding their business. That headache, that dizzy spell, that palpitating heart are not from them. They are signals for you to slow down, rest and see your doctor. Now.
*Egbemode (egbemode3@gmail.com)
