An Adored Grandfather’s Funeral Exposes Painful Realities of a Beloved Country

0:00Today on State of the World, an adored grandfather's funeral exposes painful realities of a beloved country.

0:12You're listening to State of the World from NPR, the day's most vital international stories, up close where they're happening. I'm Christine Arismeth. Today, a deeply personal postcard from NPR's Emmanuel Akinwotu. Emmanuel recently attended the funeral service of his beloved grandfather in Nigeria. Funerals there are often huge celebrations of life with music and dance, and this memorial was no exception. But the event also brought painful and unwelcome demands of the family by the surrounding community, a situation that's all too common. Here's Emmanuel with the story. My grandpa, Augustin Bolaji Banjoko, was 91 when he passed away a few months ago at his home in the southwestern Nigerian city of Ibadan.

1:01He had seven children and 16 grandchildren, and he died peacefully, surrounded by his family. He lived a full and long life, and in Yoruba tradition, we are to miss him, but not mourn him. So his burial was a festival.

1:21And over two days, we danced and danced. A band of pallbearers were in full groove, twirling with the coffin hoisted on their shoulders. they led a large parade through the streets of his neighbourhood, from the mortuary to his home, while a band with trumpets and talking drums played renditions of gospel songs and hymns. Later that evening, we held a service of songs under a canopy outside his home, full of moving tributes, including from his eldest child, my mum.

1:56Then, we partied late into the night again. But throughout the festivities, there was a slow drumbeat of greed and exploitation, intruding into the celebrations like uninvited guests. Funerals can bring out the best and the worst in people, which affected many of us, but particularly my mum, Antonia Banjoko, at Kimotu. My mind was all over the place already. I couldn't think. It wasn't nice. It wasn't nice at all. It came to a head on the day of the burial, right at the entrance of my grandpa's village. A group of young men blocked the road. They'd heard about the funeral and they were waiting.

2:32We got to the entrance, they blocked it. Number one, why are you blocking us from coming into this village? We weren't allowed in unless we, quote, settled them first. And they were like, oh yeah, we have to pay for the community. We haven't done anything to develop the community. For me to be paying you to bring my dad's body into the village, it was born and bred. Then, another obstacle, this time from the church itself, where the ministers were waiting outside. They pulled me and, like, the envelopes that we prepared. The church had told us we had to give each of their ministers a cash gift before the service could begin.

3:12That what are we going to do for the church? Maybe we can do the sealing of the church because there is a leak, or maybe we can buy you a motorcycle, or you're seeing the state of the church. Maybe there is something you can do to uplift it. But what followed was even more painful.

3:35As the final hymns and rites began, and the coffin about to be lowered into the grave, a representative for the village chief suddenly pulled my mum aside. He said we had to see the chief before the burial continued, to pay respect and to pay him his dues too. I came to bury my dad. I had to try and blank my mind because at that point I could snap. I lost that moment where I needed to say my final goodbye to my dad. What we went through is far from rare in Nigeria, where funerals can be seen by some groups as opportunities for profit. This dynamic becomes even more intense when families from the city make rare returns to their villages.

4:25My grandpa's funeral ended on a high. We held the reception in a large hall draped in white and gold. The party was overflowing with food and drinks, and like many Nigerian celebrations, it featured an impressive range of souvenirs, mugs, notebooks, towels, Tupperware, printed with my grandpa's image, and messages like, celebration of an icon. The highs and lows of the funeral were tough, but a guiding light was that we were honouring his final wishes. He wanted to be buried wearing the traditional clothes he wore when he married my grandma. That was 60 years ago. It's not good anymore. But he still dry cleaned it.

5:03And he wanted to be buried in his village and laid to rest beside his mom.

5:17Emmanuel Akinwoto, NPR News, Ibadan.

5:33That's the State of the World from NPR. Thanks for listening.