Aliko Dangote: He bore our pain

As he walked towards the podium, I knew he was a broken man. His shoulders slouched, his head bowed and his cap failing very woefully to hide his greying hair. You see, Herbert’s death is historic and phenomenal. It is almost the very first passing that has seen the rest of the world mourn more than the family.

The outside world is ground zero of pain with Aigboje, the chief priest. Nothing has been this painful for a whole sector than this passing.

His death crisscrossed boundaries muting divisions both ethnic and social as it spread its mad gloom all over the place.

The traffic to the Eko Hotel venue was expectedly horrendous. I walked, I walked from almost Ikoyi and when I got to the pedestrian entrance, the security people were trying to debar us from entry – I screamed like a madman and threatened to jump the fence.

Aliko read his prepared speech with no energy… Mbok where will you find energy when u have just lost your son? Herbert was like a son to him like I heard and he said as much.

Herbert would have given him so much courage during the horrendous dark days as he pushed towards the refinery.

Aliko kept reading in a monotone that made me pity him. He was so sad and I wondered why they even allowed him to go through this torture.

As he read, I began to realise why elders don’t attend the funerals of young people. How can Aliko be man enough when he wasn’t even prepared for this?

Then it happened. His voice broke and the richest black man in the world stumbled. The hall went silent with a lot of people having their heads bowed.

Aigboje, the chief priest, stood up and walked to the stage to give him strength. Patted his back and beckoned him to continue, the world was waiting.

He looked into Aigboje’s eyes, found a little modicum of strength and continued. But this wasn’t the Aliko we knew. He was dead to the world, his skin ashen and his voice quivering. Aliko like the rest of us was broken and even more so.

Aigboje stood by him as he spoke and when he gained a little bit of composure, Aigboje moved aside but remained on stage just in case.

Aliko cried our cry. He drew all our tears and cackled under pressure in front of the world making bloggers and media men pounce like ravaging piranhas on him in their eternal quest for attention and ‘likes’.

Then he finished and you realised that there was a lot he didn’t say. A lot he couldn’t say even if he was allotted the whole day to speak. This for him was pain, more than pain and it showed.

As he descended from the rostrum, I felt pity. Would he be able to get over this? I asked if would he be able to move on like Nigerians normally do, I doubted as I watched him take his seat not before immortalising his son.

Aliko bore our pain. He took leadership and cried our tears and I loved him for that. There was no shame in it and no weakness in showing weakness.

He showed tremendous strength by breaking down. He needed to exhale and he did it with dignity. Herbert falling from the sky was just too much to bear and the pain showed.

Last night was a different kind of night. The black suits, the black gowns, the elegant crowd, Nigerians watching online and the global audience, we all bowed our heads the moment the billionaire cried.

He cried our cry.

Pain.