By Muiz Banire SAN
Fellow Nigerians today, permit me to invite you to reflect with me on a subject that transcends politics, religion, social status, ethnicity, wealth, profession, and every other earthly distinction that often divides mankind. It is a subject that confronts kings and commoners alike, presidents and peasants, judges and litigants, employers and employees, the rich and the poor. It is the certainty of our mortality and the invaluable lessons that this certainty ought to teach us, particularly those entrusted with positions of authority and public trust. On Saturday the 18th of July, 2026, while aboard an aircraft en route to Nigeria, I received the shocking news of the demise of my wife’s brother-in-law.
The news came with all the force and suddenness that often accompany death. It was difficult to comprehend. He was not only younger than I am, but he equally exhibited no visible signs of illness. There was nothing about him that suggested an imminent departure from this earthly existence. In fact, the week preceding his death, he was still at his desk till Friday. Yet, within a moment, the inevitable had occurred. Once again, life reminded me that death is perhaps the only certainty over which no human being has negotiation rights. The Holy Quran, and I believe the Holy Bible must have declared the same;death is a certainty. In line with Islamic injunction, the very next day, which was Sunday, as family members, friends, associates, and sympathisers gathered at the cemetery to commit his remains to Mother Earth, my mind became overwhelmed by thoughts that refused to leave me. Standing before an open grave has a way of stripping life of its illusions. It compels even the most powerful to confront realities that everyday activities often suppress. One thought in particular lingered in my heart throughout the solemn ceremony.
Today, we all came to the cemetery as visitors. Tomorrow, whether sooner or later, every one of us will become its permanent resident. The cemetery is perhaps the only real estate from which nobody can secure an exemption. It welcomes every race, every religion, every profession, every ideology, every political persuasion, and every generation. Its gates are permanently open, yet no one is eager to enter. Nevertheless, every human being possesses an irrevocable appointment with that destination.Another striking reality confronted me. Beyond the body that is gently lowered into the grave, absolutely nothing accompanies the deceased. Not accumulated wealth. Not magnificent mansions. Not fleets of luxury vehicles. Not titles painstakingly acquired over decades. Not political influence. Not bank accounts. Not investments scattered across continents. Not even the closest of blood relations can accompany us beyond that final point.
They escort us only to the edge of the grave, offer their final prayers, shed their tears, and return home. The journey thereafter becomes intensely personal. As I watched the solemn proceedings, I found myself asking a question that perhaps every living person should ask periodically: if ultimately nothing accompanies us beyond the grave, why then do we struggle so desperately over things that have only temporary relevance? Why do brothers become enemies because of inheritance? Why do public officers mortgage their integrity for wealth they cannot take beyond this world? Why do leaders sacrifice the welfare of millions merely to extend their stay in office? Why do individuals destroy lifelong relationships in pursuit of possessions that will eventually belong to somebody else? Why do people engage in evil rituals to accumulate what would not profit them beyond the ephemeral? There is something profoundly instructive about every burial ceremony. Irrespective of social standing, people appear clothed not merely and mostly in black garments but in humility itself. Faces that ordinarily radiate confidence suddenly become sober. Voices become restrained.
The arrogance that frequently accompanies earthly success disappears, if only temporarily. Even those accustomed to issuing commands become silent observers before the undeniable authority of death. At such moments, everybody becomes philosophical. Everybody speaks about the brevity of life. Everybody acknowledges that wealth is transient. Everybody admits that power is temporary. Everybody remembers God. Everybody agrees that life is vanity. Sadly, however, that awareness often expires at the cemetery gate. Before long, many return to precisely the lifestyles they momentarily condemned. The same humility gives way once more to pride. Compassion gradually yields to selfishness. Public resources again become objects of personal appropriation. Political office is transformed into private inheritance. Merit gives way to favouritism. Justice becomes selective. Truth becomes negotiable. Conscience is silenced by convenience.
One is therefore compelled to ask: why should the lessons learnt beside an open grave remain imprisoned within the boundaries of the cemetery? Why do we fail to carry that consciousness into our daily decisions, particularly those privileged to exercise authority over the lives of others? The Holy Scriptures perhaps answer this question more eloquently than any philosopher ever could: “Vanity upon vanity, all is vanity.” Few passages have captured the essence of human existence more accurately. We entered this world empty-handed, and we shall depart in exactly the same condition. Every possession that appears indispensable today will one day belong to somebody else. Every office presently occupied by one individual will eventually be occupied by another. Every title that commands respect today will ultimately become a mere inscription in history. Indeed, death remains the greatest leveller of mankind. It neither recognises political influence nor respects economic status. It does not distinguish between professors and artisans, between Governors and ordinary citizens, between celebrated lawyers and humble farmers. It recognises no immunity clause, grants no injunction, and entertains no appeal.
Perhaps one of humanity’s greatest misconceptions is the assumption that good health guarantees longevity. Experience repeatedly teaches otherwise. Many physically fit individuals have suddenly departed, while others battling severe illnesses continue to live for years beyond medical expectations. Certainly, it is not usually the turn of the person that is bedridden to die. Likewise, old age is no exclusive qualification for death. The young frequently precede the elderly into eternity. Death observes no calendar prepared by human beings.
This reality should profoundly influence leadership. Imagine a society where every political office holder constantly remembers that one day another person will occupy the same office while history writes the verdict on his stewardship. Imagine if judges remembered that beyond legal precedents there exists divine justice. Imagine if legislators remembered that the laws they enact will one day judge their own legacies. Imagine if business executives recognised that profit without integrity impoverishes society. Imagine if religious leaders appreciated that accountability before God extends beyond eloquent sermons. Governance would assume a completely different character. Corruption would diminish because no reasonable person would steal what he cannot retain forever. Abuse of office would reduce because authority would be understood as a temporary trust rather than permanent ownership. Public institutions would become stronger because leaders would seek to leave enduring structures instead of personal monuments. Posterity would become more important than popularity.Unfortunately, one recurring tragedy of leadership, particularly within developing democracies, is the illusion of permanence. Many leaders govern as though they would remain in office forever. They suppress dissent, personalise institutions, intimidate opponents, and accumulate enormous wealth under the mistaken belief that earthly power has unlimited duration. History repeatedly exposes the futility of such assumptions.
The palaces of ancient emperors have become tourist attractions. The magnificent estates of former dictators have become museums. The offices once occupied by influential leaders now accommodate their successors. Even the loudest applause eventually fades into silence. The Yoruba have long understood this truth. They wisely remind us: “A kì íje oba kí a má kú; a kì íje oloro kí a má s’aisan.” One does not become a king and thereby escape death; neither does the wealthy escape illness. Another proverb says, “Ayé l’ojà, orun ni ilé.” The world is merely a marketplace; our permanent home lies in the hereafter. The Hausas often aptly capture it as ‘Sarkigoma, zamani goma’, meaning ten kings, ten eras, just like the prime ministers change in the United Kingdom in an unprecedented frequent manner. These timeless sayings encapsulate a philosophy that modern society frequently ignores in its relentless pursuit of material success.Legacy, therefore, deserves greater attention than acquisition. At the conclusion of every human life, society rarely remembers the exact balance in one’s bank account.
Rather, history remembers character. It remembers compassion. It remembers justice. It remembers courage. It remembers sacrifice. It remembers those who used temporary opportunities to produce permanent benefits for humanity. When one reflects upon the lives of truly great men and women across history, what distinguishes them is rarely the abundance of their possessions. Instead, it is the richness of their contributions. They built institutions, defended justice, advanced knowledge, protected the vulnerable, promoted peace, and inspired hope. Their influence survived their mortality because they understood that life derives meaning from service rather than accumulation. This reflection, however, is not directed exclusively at politicians or public office holders. It equally speaks to professionals, entrepreneurs, religious leaders, academics, civil servants, artisans, parents, and indeed every member of society. Every one of us exercises influence over somebody. Every one of us is writing a legacy, whether consciously or unconsciously. Every decision we make contributes to the verdict that posterity will eventually pronounce upon our lives. Parents should remember that children inherit values more enduring than property.
Employers should remember that the dignity with which they treat employees may become their greatest legacy. Professionals should remember that integrity outlives brilliance. Community leaders should remember that genuine leadership is measured by service rather than dominance. Perhaps the most important question every human being should ask periodically is not, “How much have I accumulated?” but rather, “Whose life has become better because I lived?” The answer to that single question may ultimately determine whether our existence was merely successful or genuinely significant. As I departed from the cemetery that day, I resolved that the lessons learnt there should not remain buried beneath the freshly covered earth. They deserve to accompany us into our offices, our homes, our boardrooms, our courtrooms, our places of worship, our legislative chambers, and every place where decisions affecting other human beings are made. If we carried the cemetery’s lessons into government, governance would become more compassionate. If we carried them into business, commerce would become more ethical. If we carried them into the legal profession, justice would become more accessible.
If we carried them into our families, relationships would become more enduring. If we carried them into everyday life, society itself would become more humane. The inevitability of death should never produce fear alone; it should produce wisdom. It should make us humbler in victory, more patient in adversity, more generous in prosperity, more forgiving in conflict, and more responsible with every opportunity entrusted to us. For the true value of life lies not in its duration but in its contribution. May we therefore resolve to carry the lessons of the cemetery beyond its gates. Let every funeral remind us not merely of another person’s departure but of our own inevitable destination. Let the certainty of our last day inspire us to live with greater purpose, lead with greater integrity, serve with greater sincerity, and love with greater generosity. For when the final curtain eventually falls, and it certainly will, the question will not be how high we rose, how much we possessed, or how long we occupied positions of influence. The enduring question will simply be this: Did our lives make the world better than we found it? That, ultimately, is the only legacy that death can never bury.
