By Dr. Aliyu Tilde
This morning I travelled to Zaria to attend the funeral of Malam Abubakar Ladan, one of the greatest poets Africa has ever produced. Arguably, he is the most travelled among them, for, as he once told me in 2001, he visited all but six countries in Africa.
I was the last visitor to see him apart from his relations. I visited him from Bauchi just six days ago in his house at Zaria. I met him bedridden by illness. He said, “Tilde, see what has become of me. I cant walk. I am only carried: Old age and illness.”
My children couldn’t withhold their tears as he tried to speak with difficulty. They came in with my camera but he was in too a bad shape for any photograph. We tarried a while before bidding him farewell, praying for his condition to better, not knowing that it will be our last sight of the exceptional and inspirational talent.
This morning Fatuhu wrote on our poet’s forum that Abubakar Ladan has died. I didn’t need to think before knowing that I must attend his funeral. A quick shower and a fast ride to Zaria made me among the earliest people to be there. As I drove on the highway, I kept reciting his Africa Song, from the first episode of discovery of the black continent to slavery, to emancipation, to the role of Africa in the second World War and finally to independence. I could hear him speaking through my voice. I have the gift of memorising his songs, and he was always amazed during his life at how easily I could recall every verse. He was my guest on many occasions as I was his. I was all tears from Kano to Zaria.
I saw the body brought out of his house on a wooden open box and him wrapped in the usual white piece of yard. I followed it until we arrived at where the funeral prayer was said and farther to the graveyard. There, as shown in the picture, the Pan-African poet was laid to rest, and rest he will forever, in sha Allah.
Thereafter, I visited their family house to condole his relatives, the House of Maccido, who are really many. Then I reached his house where I met his wife, the mother of nine of his eleven children sitting along with many other women. She was at the door of the same room I met him six days ago.
Poetry is a centuries-old property of Northern Nigeria. Like in other parts of the world, poets are simply amazing. Their gift is among the highest endowments of mankind. Measured on this scale, Abubakar Ladan will remain counted as one of the most outstanding, not only in his country but in the whole of Africa.
He died at the age of 82. He didn’t hurry, for we aren’t late either. Soon, we will join him in an abode that will be everlasting. We will be committed to the beloved soil of Mother Africa and recycled as was done to our parents and ancestors.
Death reminds us of the hardest reality in life: that it is our ultimate destiny. Malam Ladan was only ahead. May his soul of my mentor rest in perfect peace: In Gardens and rivers: in an abode of truth, before an able King.”
