THE TRANSITION ORATION

It is only ironic and of course accidental in history that I have to face two separate great funeral audiences, portending a repetition of the unpleasantness of nature and the humbling of man even in his Olympian height and the summit of a vocation.

But even as it looks so, I have particularly adored the opportunities to compare the cradle, the processes and the final tumbling of the high and low (man or woman) in a world so drowned in material drive and which has now been stripped of the awareness of its inescapable lowly origin.

By the injunction of the Good Lord, man, little man, even as he schemes and flourishes, shall arrive the gates of no-return, where he relinquishes all that are dear to him but unwillingly accepts his or her fate in the world beyond.

F or me and by experience, life may have given more than the fabulous materials at the disposal of the fit and mighty. It may never have achieved the totality of its real meaning as in adding pleasure to the endless flight in fantasy if man (and woman) had bothered to be encumbered by the fear of the point of last exit the ultimate terminus.

It may, indeed, sound a bit unusual with you today that rather than engage in such emotion-laden outpourings which may force some of us to break down and weep, I have elected to engage you in the exercise of reflections of the grand terminus of man and woman.

.Again, by the injunction of the Holy Book, this vast nothingness called The World, amounts only to the dreams, the drives and the momentary victory of man and woman at a stage, which as appointed unto us shall, in its time, be vanquished and made to nothingness. These form the cyclical nature of our sojourn and the basis for the claims of accomplishment even as we are confronted by repeated failures in time and space.

We may not be too keen to confront the reality of our being if we are given to fleeting emotions and the acquiescence, which give room to merely dressing the surface while the core of the matter rots.

Of course, I acknowledge that my beloved grandmother lies there, on the cold slab and never to move her lips ever again. I am mindful of the pains of this juncture of terminus, as it must confront every man and woman, in his own time. I am mindful of the traditional value system, which demands of us the mournful mood of every reasonable fellow on the scene of terminus.

While I adhere to these, I am made more sober in appreciating the complex moment when it is declared that man or woman is no more and for all that she held dear, the imprint of the social court of justice - history - serves as the only reminder of the one that was and which shall come for judgement of man in the world.

I must confess to you that I am not too keen about the fanfare, the pomp and panoply, which mark the exit of the high and mighty. I am neither fascinated by the flight of fantasy as exhibited by the living who in ascribing veneration only to those who have had more ministrations in the hands of more mortal men, claim that the passage to the great beyond was paved as it may have appeared physically to man.

I am far more enthused by the lordly proclamation that man has no more aspiration than the heritage of our purpose on earth which, when piously pursued confirms us as the "...children of God, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ." (Romans 8:16-17)

In determining the heirs and joint partakers in the special grace of our lord, we most often abandon the admonition and spiritual directive of the Great Apostle Paul. He says: Not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble are called... but God has chosen the foolish (the seemingly simple and unfit) of the world to put shame to the wise: (1 Corinthian 1 :26-27).

What matters so much this time is the ultimate selection which if accentuated by the Merciful God, is proclaimed as representative of our mission on earth. Here derives the dominant properties of perpetual heritage. From this perpetual heritage, we build on the values, which form the beacon, the milestone and the hope for the perpetuation of the lineage.

In the case of our mother, grandmother and great grandmother, Abigail Owoeji Nnamani, the torch could not have been borne with less vigour and commitment' even as it was delivered with utmost sobriety and humility. Others may have been confounded by the depth of the enduring calmness exhibited if we consider the matriarchal stead of a supposedly key factor in the then imperial court of the

Baru nwoke egwu. Many may even be confounded by the simplicity and unfazed winsomeness of a mother of a foremost, indeed pioneering, intellectual and jurist, Augustine Nnamani, Justice of the Supreme Court of Nigeria (of now blessed memory). And added to the fact of "the womb which bore us the sovereign and for which our culture and expressions now assume more meaningful tones, the cradle of our heritage and the perpetuity of that which is dear to us shall be a drive. uninterrupted, from generation to generation. "

To me, much about life is heritage and she who had held the baton and handed the values from generation to generation would have performed the feat and sustained the race. This though, has its record challenge for the surviving generation; for what is bequeathed, the balance must be maintained; and for what are ahead, the teachings of integrity, sobriety, simplicity, banality, focus and prayerfulness shall never wane.

We may have indeed been humbled by the reality of the terminus of Madam Abigail, our dear matriarch, for today, we stand before her "open grave." Yes, we mark the irreversibility of her ultimate exit with the words of the great General Arthur Wellesley, the lord Wellington, . at the closure of the most prestigious military career in pre-atomic-age-Britain (that is at the graveside of Grand Admiral Ponche). He wailed: "We who had no role in the decision to come into the world, must live our responsibilities to carve out something from that vast nothingness. And, if we had such tempestuous ages as to design how best to extend the frontiers of God's claim of ultimate sovereignty, then we must surrender to be, as the Holy Book stated, guests with Princes of the Heavenly Host."

Madam Abigail, our dearly loved, had no role, in her coming into the world in that most tempestuous year, 1914. It was that year, in the larger world, when those unusually behaved extremists in Sarajevo plunged their hark in the breasts of Arch-Duke Francis Ferdinand. An action arousing the erstwhile gracious and fabulous Emperor Franz Joseph of the Austro-Hungary Empire to call the world to arms a dastardly exercise in taking a human toll of over 27 million, including our kinsmen. It was the beginning of the First World War.

But Madam Abigail certainly had a role, thereafter, in the shaping of her environment, the then rustic town of Agbani, our cradle and the signpost of our heritage. I doubt if we need to look too far to grace the stamp and evidence of her presence in time and this space.

Yet, she has to relinquish to the ultimate call, curiously, in an age when most of the imperial courts of the world have been sacked or ignored, and when we are irreversibly headed for _ culture of debate and dialogue. It is only pleasing to us that we had a cross between the two ages and a sampler in the exercise of meandering through the complexities of the jigsaw called the world.

If we adhere to the principles of glorious ending as proclaimed by the colourful General Douglas MacArthur, "every career has a beginning and everything started has an ending. If then it is time to draw the curtain, whether of career or the precious life, we accept whatever the God Almighty has appointed unto us. We do it, saying in true reflection and submission, thank!! be to God. "

On this note and for a life most preciously cherished as it extended our heritage, we say for Mama as we say in the large Enugu State:

To God Be The Glory.