The Eulogy

"My friend Femi Oliwo was a great man…." I started to doze off. I had a long night the day before, preparing for the interview with Frank Dumebi, the son of Tunji Dumebi, CEO of the multibillion naira oil company. As Frank finished eulogizing his friend, "…I'll miss you Femi, rest in peace", everyone, including me, gave him an ovation. I didn't hear the entire eulogy, but I could tell it was a beautiful, well-written one from the beginning and the end of it. Plus, everyone else was clapping, so it'd be impolite if I didn't. But, honestly, I wasn't excited to be interviewing this guy. It seemed like a boring story. People die every day. I would instead cover a report on a kitten stuck in a tree than another obituary. But I have to pay the bills somehow, so here I am. After the burial ceremony, I caught up with Frank to introduce myself.

"You're the person they sent for the interview?" He asked, almost as if he was disappointed at whom the paper chose to send. "Yes, Sir," I replied. Even though I was older than him, I knew my place: the customer is always right. So, after a brief but thorough security check, I got into Frank's limo with him to do the interview. As the drive began to Frank's home, he began to reminisce about his friend, his best friend, Femi Oliwo.

I remember the first time I saw Femi on the first day of school. I mistakenly stepped on his foot, and I said I was sorry, but he just walked away as though nothing had happened. He was a skinny little kid with a large head. He was also an only child, and his father died while he was still very young. His mother was still alive, though. They seemed to be very close. Femi never really talked to anyone; he was what you'd call a shy introvert. So, saying he kept to himself would've been an understatement. I remember the day we were put in the same group for a class assignment, and I got to know him more personally. Imagine my surprise when he turned out to be an adorable, quirky, funny person. He was so easy to make friends with, and over time we grew close, and soon enough, we became best friends.

However, Femi never had it easy when it came to his social life. He always had a problem making friends, especially with girls. One time, a girl came up to talk to him, and he got so nervous that he wet his pants. Everyone laughed at him so hard. "Look at Femi, the introvert, he's done it again." That's what they called him, "Femi the introvert". People made fun of him a lot. I usually asked if it bothered him, but his response was always the same, "Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

I didn't give it much thought; he said he was fine. Although, he seemed to be getting worse in what became his final few months. Usually, Femi was never one for parties or social gatherings, but it got to a time where he just stopped going out altogether. Sometimes, he'd get real moody and drift off, but when I called his attention and asked how he was doing, you could guess his response already, "Don't worry about me, I'm fine." I'll never forget the day he died. We had a party that evening, so I went to his room to ask him to come with me. He refused. I got angry and started shouting at him, "Really?! Come on, bro, you're such a bummer," I scoffed, "Every time, your own is just to come and be killing everyone's vibe. Well done o mummy's boy. Hey guys, come look at Femi the introvert, he's done it again." I added a "Killjoy" at the end out of spite. After my rant, I stormed out and went to the party.

The car stopped, so did Frank. We had arrived at his father's house. I didn't realize we were already in his compound. All the while, I had assumed it was an estate belonging to multiple people or a club for the higher class of gentlemen. We had passed a golf course and what looked like a park. I tried to hide my amazement in the midst of it all. I was there to do my job, nothing more. He invited me in to finish the interview over drinks. On the way to the dining room, I started thinking, and something felt very weird about this story. He said Femi didn't have many friends, yet the funeral hall was packed full. Another question that bugged me was, "Why didn't Femi's mother attend her son's funeral?” As soon as we sat at the table, I asked Frank about Femi's mother. He took a deep breath and continued:

Throughout the year, Femi's mother had been battling cancer, and on the morning of his death, he received the news that she had lost the battle. I didn't know that at the time. I felt terrible for yelling at him during the party, so I left and went back to his room. I knocked, but there was no answer. "Come on, man, open the door." Still no response, Bro! Come on, it's me, Frank,” I said. When he didn't respond, I started to worry. "If you're not going to open the door, I'm just going to come…” I opened the door, and there he was, hanging from the fan with a sign on his chest that said, "Look at Femi the introvert, he's done it again."  I took a sip of my drink. The reality of Femi's death finally dawned on me. "So he died because he was depressed", I said. Tears started streaming down Frank's face. "No," he said, "he died because he had no real friends."

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