On Death and Investment: Preparing for financial crisis

Photo Credit: Thought Catalogue 

I met an old friend yesterday. 

We talked. And talked. Years of distances merged in minutes. We had a lot of catching up to do.

It was getting late. Maybe it was for lack of time or because of the grief in our hearts but we spoke hurriedly when she told me of her friend who had just lost her Chevron father.

We called him the Chevron man because that was what he was. A man that works in Chevron. He made enough money to feed his generation in one table sitting and clothe them afterwards in the most lustrous gold. 

By now, you must have realized that we can 'roughly' categorize young rich men into two. The modern ones who behave like the white men and will not eat in the public. They are often surrounded by bodyguards and worried when their names come up too often. They kept away from the public and shook hands hesistantly as if deciding if you have a tactile bomb there. We thought they were more westernized than the west. Those ones usually had few children.

There are the traditional rich men who went home to acquire all their village’s chieftancy titles and chair all the festivals. They buy lands everywhere and people soon begin to tell his wife to be more careful before he buys another. Those ones usually have many children. Many more if indeed they buy wives too.

Photo Credit:  Micheile henderson 

It was difficult to categorize this Chevron man. We didn't know which he belonged to. What we did know was that the worst had happened.

We shall also begin to realize that there is more to wealth than the number of titles or bodyguards. There were other things like your number of assets, investments. Even more, the size of your heart. By now I suppose you know what I am driving at. 

We spoke in whispers that the winds strained to hear and the birds drew closer to listen. We hushed even more. Just in case he listened. Spirits linger.

We didn’t want it to seem like we were gossiping or had no respect for the dead. He can’t know we dished out a good portion of the blame to him when he insisted he cannot have a working wife because he earned so much. When he boasted that he earned enough for their descendants. Why didn't he pay attention to his body until he was diagnosed with a late stage cancer? Did he not know that generations relied on him?

Photo Credit: Sandy Millar

So we mumbled. Trying hard not to blame him for closing his eyes so easily. Two weeks notice. That was all he gave his family. No time for a quick flight to let his cool money take care of him in the best hospitals. Even more, why his assets were not more than the ready cash in the bank. Did he not know of investments?

You see why his category didn't matter. However different they decide to spend their money. Or react to wealth. Few extended their assets beyond their current bank account. Still at the height of their youth, I imagine them saying, 'why bother? I am still young. With my whole life ahead of me'.

We dished out a generous sprinkle to anyone who told his wife to ‘relax’ each time she spoke of starting something small. 

"Oriaku! they will hail. If he says he doesn’t want his wife working. Then, relax. At least, for now."

"Until when? She will ask. I am done nursing. I have already put my last child in school."

They will narrow their eyes and clench their teeth. "Submit! It can’t be that hard. Do you want another woman to look after your children?"

They will know they've struck the right cord when they hear her whimper. "Don’t worry, they will continue. We won’t let that happen. Make it easier. Go back and build your home." And she left.

Photo Credit: Rhodi Lopez

We hushed even more because we assumed she must have said so. That she did not just sit around at home without trying. If we must respect the dead. Then, we must value the living. So we didn’t speak much of his widow. Or his last child still in nursery school wondering why their house suddenly had so much visitors and why there was so much tears. Or his oldest waiting to process her admission into a top-tier private university because the public ones are no good.

"How could they have forgotten to give me Medicine, she asked?" Did they not know Dad works in Chevron?"He said to reject their admission while he worked on another. And reject she did. 

We imagined this widow somewhere ransacking her bags, wondering how she had so much clothes and where her SSCE could possibly be. 

Long after everyone has slept, we know she will soak her pillow wondering if Chevron gave retirement plans. What she would do with it? Where she should start from?

Photo Credit: Nattipat Vesvarute

It was so much to talk about. We didn't want to ruin the euphoria of meeting again after so long. But when we hugged goodbye. We understood words left unsaid. Even more; an impending doom.

To every Rose that grew from Concrete; Blossom!