If you don't want to live forever, don't read this...

From the desk of  I. C. Clinton       
Subject: How I cheated death at this time last year. 

Exactly one year today I was involved in a fatal accident that threatened to claim my life (or that purportedly claimed my life, but I reclaimed it after about an estimated 30 minutes sojourn on the other side of the divide). The accident took place in Benue State of Nigeria, on 30^th March 2013. I was barely two weeks old on my first visit to the Middle Belt state popularly called “The Food Basket of the Nation.” In Makurdi, the Benue State capital, like most other Nigerian cities, motorcycle is a popular means of transportation. But one dangerous thing about this odd means of commercial transportation is the recklessness and unprofessionalism exhibited by the commercial motorcyclists. Whenever driving in Nigeria, I always imagine that I am the only sane road user, and I am always extra-careful, always on the lookout for the mad motorcyclists who could rear out their ugly heads from any angle at any time and meander the road as if they were the kings of the road or the only ones with legal right to ply the roads. However, on this fateful evening, I was neither driving nor being driven; neither riding in an automobile nor on a motorbike. I was standing by the roadside waiting to cross over to the opposite side to get a haircut. I remember standing there with my shaving kit in hand, patiently observing vehicles on both sides and waiting for a clear chance to cross. I remember vividly that I did not make any effort to cross yet, and I was standing very far from the thoroughfare. This is about the last thing I remember! The next split second there was a blackout and then I was back in the apartment where I was staying. Back in the apartment I continued with the things I was doing before the time I left with the intention to go get a haircut. I had been writing and composing a song. I continued this activity. But I noticed something strange: If I decided to stand up from the sofa where I was sitting to go over to another part of the room to pick something or do something, the movement and the action took place in split seconds. If I thought to move from the room where I was presently located to another room, the sitting room, or the kitchen or bathroom, the movement took place at the conclusion of the thought – everything happened as I thought it – without a moment’s delay. I realized I was now feeling unusually light and also moving at the speed of light. After series of activities in the apartment within what still seemed like a brief moment in time, I thought “Oh, I had wanted to go for a haircut. I had better do that now.” At the conclusion of this very thought, I found myself at the edge of the narrow road I had emerged from to stand on the spot I had stood with my shaving kit in hand waiting to cross over to the other side where the salon I had intended to visit was located (Normally it would take between 6 and 8 minutes to walk from my apartment’s location to this very spot). Once at this place, I looked and before me was a mammoth crowd under a rowdy atmosphere. Some were crying while some were indiscriminately exclaiming in shock. As I drew closer in the same light-wave-like movement to see what was going on, I saw another me lying lifeless on the ground, with bruises and wounds all over my face, neck, and shoulders. A man was holding firmly onto my lifeless body, repeatedly calling God and relentlessly shaking the outstretched still body amidst a heavy downpour of tears.  Now in a state of bewilderment, I began to ask myself what my body or other self’s doing on the ground and why people re crying and the man shaking my body and crying, too. While I was still questioning myself in my thoughts, I saw and heard a young chap among the crowd say, “Look at how he just killed this handsome guy!”  At this point I began to wonder to myself “Why is he saying that? He is actually referring to my body!” Remembering the belief I have always had (I have always believed and told myself and whomever cares to listen that I am going to live forever), I said to myself, “This must be a dream….and if this is a dream, then I have got to wake up from it, because it’s not a good dream.”  Next I said, “The only way I can wake up from this dream will be to enter this bruised, wounded, lifeless body of mine on the ground.” The moment I concluded this very line of thoughts, there was a transitory moment of blackout, and then I began to feel heavy as I attempted to move my body in a bid to wake up from a dream I had thought I was dreaming. Just before I was able to open my eyes, something strange happened: My memory went blank like a computer system whose memory chip has just been removed. I could recall nothing at all! Then after what seemed like three minutes in normal timing, I began to hear voices and see people in shadowy forms. Some of the voices I was hearing were of thanksgiving and some, of plain praise, and some, of animated shouts. As my memory started to reload partially, the words and beats of the song I had been composing started to fill my brain in torrents. As I silently sang along in my heart, there was an interruption in my brain and then I thought “But I have awakened from this dream… why then am I still lying here with this same crowd gathered?” At this moment in time I could still feel nothing save heaviness and numbness. However, a short while after, I began to see people in normal human forms, and without directing my inquiry to any person in particular, I asked, “Where is this place?” The man who had been holding my head in place calmly replied, “This is Markurdi in Benue state.” I tried to think but couldn’t think out anything. Gradually, thoughts began to snake out of my brain: “Where is Benue state…. when did I return to Nigeria… what am I doing in Benue state?”  While these thoughts were still ongoing, I began to hear sirens blaring in the distance; and in a few seconds I saw two Indomie branded vans pulling over right in front of me as a section of the crowd shuffled aside. The first recognizable figure I saw was Mr. Usman (One of the Multi-Pro supervisors) who hurried out of the first branded van and started to make his way towards me. As he stared at me in shock and bewilderment, exclaiming “God! Sir….Sir… God!” the first police vehicle arrived. Apparently there had been an accident, and I was the chief casualty.

To cut a very long story short, one more police vehicle arrived and we began to move in convoy. I still couldn’t move any part of my body on my own. I was bleeding profusely and even thought I was bleeding inside my head. My awareness was still partial. The first and second hospital rejected me. After what seemed like years of driving, we finally arrived at the better equipped and better staffed Federal Medical Center, Apir. I was eventually admitted and treated at this third hospital where the doctors claimed that only a miracle could have saved me. I later got the full gist of what transpired from the good samaritan who had stayed with what he believed was a dead accident victim while his elder brother who stayed in the same compound with me ran from pillar to pole to make all the arrangements that eventually rescued me. According to this good man, his elder brother, and the UAM student who had said “Look at how he just killed this handsome man,” what happened was crazy. A reckless commercial motorcyclist with a motorcycle overloaded with two oversized market women and their goods had lost control while over-speeding along the steep University of Agriculture Makurdi road where I was waiting to cross. As it turned out, I proved an inadequate wedge for the uncontrollable machine whose force swept me off my feet and sent me crashing with my head into the concrete gutter nearby. When my still body was pulled out of the gutter by the combined effort of some passersby, every eyewitness thought he had seen one dead accident victim and three badly injured survivors. Till today, despite the fact that no doctor was there to officially confirm me dead or alive, nothing will convince the major witnesses that I was not dead for the good 30 minutes they estimate passed before my miraculous resurrection. 

I hope to recount this experience comprehensively in a book in the future. But for readers of my blog, expect to read the next insightful and thought-provoking article to be titled “How death thought me the best way to live.” For now, I want to celebrate the first anniversary of my latest victory over death. 

By the way, this experience is about my third brush with death. If a man is going to live forever, why does he still have brushes with death? When you are destined for greatness, you are bound to encounter great challenges. My elder brother would always say, “Don’t say it is a problem, say it is a challenge,” and he is right. What do you do when you are challenged? You rise up to the challenge and defend yourself and your course! We are mostly taught to expect death once we approach certain age bracket or encounter certain situations. Most of us grow into adulthood expecting death than living life. And of course, “None of your imaginations will be restrained from you.” “Your expectations shall not be cut off.” That is to say you get whatever you ask for. People do not die because they must; people die because they think they must die. But have you ever paused to ask: What is death? Does man really die? Is death real? No, I think death is a joke. Or isn’t man a spirit?

Your enemy is not death; your real enemy is you, because you are the one feeding your heart with fear. I often tell myself that I will live forever. Even in my dreams, those thoughts dominate. “As a man thinks in his heart so is he,” and “life and death are in the power of the tongue.” What are your dominant thoughts? What do you say to yourself? You can change your future experiences by changing your thinking and your language! I want to live forever. What about you? Shouldn’t you hit the comment section now and say what you think or congratulate me for being alive? Your life is not about to end. Give up your fear!

NB: Since my experience a year ago I have always believed that if you are a moron on this side of the divide you will need a lot of education if and when you cross over to the other side.

You had better begin to develop your brain and train your mind here!

Oh, by the way, March is the third month of the year, and March 30^th, 2013 was Holy Saturday. When did Christ resurrect? No, no, not really what you are thinking, but this particular year I cheated it on Saturday He defeated it on Sunday. 

Until next time.


Your man,

- I. C. Clinton








 

Picture is from:

www.pastor-frank.com