There is a novel I read many times in high school and also later at university. Besides the moving love and tragic storyline in Tess of the D’Urbervilles, the lines that left a permanent impression me are in the preface to the 1985 edition. There, Thomas Hardy, recalls that when the novel first appeared in 1891, it was met with an incredible amount of anger and vitriol for the things it said, especially about Victorian England being superstitious and invested in voodoo! Many didn’t like this portrayal of an otherwise Christian English society. Five years later, Hardy and his intellectual adversaries – after many bitter exchanges – had “gone down into silence,” while the novel lived on. Hardy concludes that the silence was a reminder to one another “of the infinite unimportance of their say and mine.” Something like, naye twali tuffa ki? In the Islamic tradition, we are taught that the Almighty God gave us treatment for all sorts of illness. Except old age. (Science is behind as some of the treatment is yet to be discovered, but is surely available). Old age is considered illness in Islam. Obukadde bulwadde as the Baganda say. Indeed, the original notion of age-limit is God’s notion. One could have a long life – maybe up to age 150 – but there is a limit. At one point, without illness or accident, every sinew, every vein is so loosened and exhausted that the body finally shuts itself down. But before death, God put an age-limit on almost everything that humans so voraciously love: giving birth to children, travel, intercourse, etcetera. A time comes when the body cannot respond. This limit is so humbling – almost humiliating as it subdues the arrogance and appetites of men. Again, Islam instructs us that to refresh their Imaan – as long as they are alive and well – to visit either (a) hospital or the bedridden or the cemetery. Visiting the bedridden softens our hearts, and reminds us about the bounties we would be enjoying already. In the cemetery, one finds graves – marked and unmarked – of men and women who were once oracles of their time; folks for whom the world stood when they arrived: Julius Caesar, Napoleon, King Leopold II, Captain Lugard, Queen Elizabeth II. Had the dead had the chance to somehow see their own tombstones, they would surely appreciate the “infinite unimportance” of all their labours and aggressions. Dear reader, I am not proselytizing, but two recent deaths of men with power and status have forced me onto this journey: In the week that we buried Gen. Moses Ali (may Allah be pleased with him), we also buried our LC I chairman in Maganjo B, Haji Jaberi Musoke Ssegujja (may Allah be pleased with him, too). Like Moses Ali, Haji Musoke was 87. He had been Local Council chairman for over 40 years, having started as member of the Resistance Council in 1986. Both men were still in office to their last days. While Gen. Moses Ali was decrepit in his last days, Haji Musoke was just sickly but fairly steady. Aging. God gave these two men a long life, and being men of industry and high standing, they had accumulated some wealth – mostly through rightful channels. Being Muslim, both men were buried in plain earth. Muslims do not bury in coffins. Indeed, both men left behind all their worldly possessions – both material and relational – which they had spent years earning and building. Consider their titles – a General of the UPDF, and a chairman of the village. These titles had value in the material nature of things: the signatures of both men had power to turn into money or earn one a promotion or recognition (say as a citizen of Uganda). Except to previous signed documents, their signatures became useless forthwith. They left behind automobiles, estates, children and beautiful wives. Thinking about these deaths – in the context of life more generally – those lines in Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the D’Urbervilles even became more powerful: the “infinite unimportance” of our excesses, and aggressions. Many men have accumulated immense amounts of power and wealth simply through dispossession. But why kill another for power or wealth when you are also a walking body simply waiting your time? Why not insist on fairness and goodness to other humans? Why not simply be good to other creations of nature, including the environment, knowing that, once the last breathe runs out, all your aggressions, and accumulation become entirely useless? Indeed, lucky to beware of this reality – of absolute immortality – men and women with power choose to spend their time worrying about their tombstones, and the memories they will live behind for their children and grandchildren. Although one may not care or even be affected by that which is said after they are gone, the collective mental health of their children and grandchildren ought to concern them immensely. Besides, all humans cherish the idea that chroniclers of history will be kind to our legacies and memories. There is no mortality in more accumulation as American-type capitalism has come to delude humanity. Those who die don’t die because of limited accumulation, but rather because every soul shall test death (Quran, 3:185). Consider the recently deceased NRM-Chairperson for Kayunga District, bwana Moses Karangwa. Watching jubilant crowds in market-squares and on social media platforms rejoicing in his death – as a ruthless landgrabber – was such an ugly sight. I sympathize with the relatives he left behind. Down this road, I could not help but think about the men and women in President Museveni’s government who seem to find pleasure or even safety in torture, abduction, and absolute ruthlessness. Surely, “every soul shall test death”– and will be humbled, subdued. Even humiliated. Buried in different locations, thousands of mourners went to pay their last respects to Gen. Moses Ali and Hajji Musoke, not out of cynicism but love and sadness. May their souls rest in eternal peace. yusufkajura@gmail.com The author is a political theorist based at MakerereThe post Death is very humbling appeared first on The Observer Media Ltd.