My mother used to disagree with me about this.
I can't remember when I made the decision, but make it I did. You have to understand, burials here are a big deal - especially if you live till my age. I was probably a teenager - I have vague memories of my grandfather's burial, and the money my pops spent on it. Money we didn't have.
As I grew older, what started as a vague idea crystallized into a plan. My functioning organs would be going for medical emergencies. My non-functioning ones would go for 'science'. The rest would be cremated, and my ashes would be kept with my family. It was a good plan.
Seeing my children follow my wishes made me happy. The burial was a small, private affair by request. There was no debt incurred to give me a 'befitting burial'. It probably helped that our family was no longer in the land I grew up in. My own parents were buried on our property here, as was my wife and her parents. This is our land now.
My youngest was the last to retire. We'd always been close, and it shames me to admit that I was always jealous of her uncanny resemblance to my sugar. The woman could at least leave me my favourite to look like me, no? Greedy woman.
She finally broke down in the arms of her husband. Even now, her tears made me feel an unpleasant amalgam of helpless pain. Trying to pat her head like I used to when I was alive did absolutely nothing. Her husband patted her back as she wept into his chest. He's a good kid. He never gave me reason to use the shotgun I bought when my eldest got married to a pretty boy from the city. Unfortunately, I can only admit that now that I'm dead.
What? It's a Nigerian thing. Really.
My baby was putting her arms around the boy's neck and pulling him down to… Okay, I did NOT need to know this about my sweet and innocent princess.
I'll get back at that boy.
Allowing myself to yield to the slowly increasing pull concentrated on my - Chest? Soul? Whatever - I relaxed, allowing myself to be yanked. Everything blurred, and I was in an office.
Don't tell me that those anime got it right. Just don't.
"They did and didn't. What you're seeing is how your soul interpretes what's before it. It varies from soul to soul."
The speaker was an unassuming man - or only appeared to be, if what he said was correct. There was no need for plenty talk, so I asked him straight.
"What's going on? This isn't the eternal rest I imagined."
"It never is," he replied. "You arrived at a strange time."
"The Nigerian in me doesn't like that statement," I said belligerently.
"Still, it is true," he countered. "Policy changes have come through."
"I should have guessed that red tape is eternal," I muttered. I deserve eternal rest, damn it - being a Nigerian was hell enough. "So, what now?" I asked.
"Policy is that all souls who are neither in Heaven nor hell are to go back to their bodies."
"Okay," I replied. "I'm going to heaven though, yeah? How does this concern me?"
"You're not there yet, are you?"
I stared at the man. He stared right back.
"I'm going there, no?"
"That's not the point. You're not there yet, so back to your body you go,"
"That's convenient," I snarked. "What about those of us who have no body?"
The insufferable man shrugged. Shrugged!
"Think about it as your testing," he said. The smirk in his voice was as dense as a black hole.
"You just had to be a Nigerian civil servant, didn't you?"
A food flask appeared in his hands, and he looked up at me, a spoon of jollof rice that wasn't there a moment ago now halfway to his mouth.
Even in the afterlife, I was getting trolled. Wonderful.