This is one column I wish I am not writing. But write I must. I can imagine the horror of it all. A horrific scene, the one that breaks my heart and fills me with grief—giant waves of grief, hitting me so forcefully and drowning me in the ocean depth of sorrow, misery and more misery.
I wish it is a bad dream from which I will wake and thank God that it was just a nightmare manufactured in my troubled sleep, a product of a bad, bad, dream. But this is real. The reality of it all hits me again and again. Like those lethal, concussive blows thrown savagely by the young Iron Mike Tyson in the boxing ring of death. Is that how people die? Just like that?
I can still picture him. There in the ICU is my pastor. There in the death chamber lies he. Alone, all, all, alone. Alone, struggling vigorously between life and death. Alone, carrying his own cross. Alone, fighting his final battle for life. Alone, struggling and struggling for dear breath drawn from an oxygen tank that costs close to a million naira per day. Alone for a fortnight, breathing expensive oxygen running into millions of naira. Ah, if only money can buy life back, my pastor would not have died.
There in the hospital bed, on life support he lies wired with all kinds of gadgets, with doctors and nurses monitoring his heartbeat, his pulse, his blood pressure, his body temperature, how fast he is breathing, how much oxygen his blood is carrying, how much pressure is on his brain and how much carbon dioxide he is breathing out.
Life is an irony. The one we turn to for prayers in times of difficulty, in times of sorrow, in times of bad news, is unfortunately the one lying down there, on danger list, needing prayers himself. The one we look up to, the one who will speak the word of faith and give us hope in times of hopelessness, the one who will comfort us in difficult times like these, is the one in the ICU, fighting his own battle, dying, dead! Pastor Danjuma Tafawa-Balewa is dead.
Like the psalmist wrote in the moment of grief: “The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: how are the mighty fallen! Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon.”
Ah, my pastor is gone. Gone with the pandemic. The pandemic he often rebuked and fought with the words of faith, asking it to go to hell where it belongs. Like Peter the Apostle, so was Pastor Danjuma, a man of faith and a man of war. Pastor Danjuma was a soldier of God and a soldier of the sea who abandoned the Navy to serve the Lord, to work in God’s vineyard, to win souls for God, to build for the Lord. He was a strong man of God, a spiritual architect who dreamed big and put in every effort to achieve his dreams and goals. Come to our church, the Redeemed Cornerstone Church (My Father’s House), Okota, near NNPC Petrol Station and see the marvelous edifice and auditorium which was built under his visionary leadership. He did not live to see the commissioning of this great House of God which is his own legacy and would forever be remembered for.
Two weeks ago, he was on the pulpit, preaching, regaling us with laughter as he usually does. There is no boredom and no sleeping when Pastor Danjuma is preaching mixing word of God with the funny side of life. Little did we know that that was going to be his last sermon. Little did we know that the deadly new wave of Covid-19 will take away our pastor. May God have mercy on us all, because this could have happened to anyone. It could have been me. Beloved, let us watch and pray against this evil, deadly pandemic that respects neither saint nor sinner. Let us do whatever we can to defend ourselves spiritually and medically by taking our vaccines and observing all the protocols and precautions.
Ah, Pastor Danjuma is gone. When will there be another? He is gone to the Lord who has prepared a special place for him in Heaven. For someone who worked so hard, who served God so diligently with his heart and soul, God will definitely welcome him and tell him: “Well done my son.”
My heart goes out to Pastor Mrs. Vera Okpe Tafawa-Balewa, our mother in the Lord. The Lord will surely be with you the remaining years of your life. You will not walk alone. You will not lack. God will bless and uplift your family. God will send help and helpers to fill the void your husband left behind.
It’s so sad that Pastor Danjuma died around the time of his 61st birthday. About this time last year, we were celebrating his 60th birthday in style, not knowing this will be his fate a year after. May God have mercy on us all. It’s even sadder to think that he just finished burying his mum who lived for almost a century, dying at the age of 99. May we not bury our children. May our children be the ones to bury us as Danjuma at least lived to bury his aged mum.
Ah, Pastor Danjuma, thank you very much for impacting positively on us. You did your best. You run a great race and a crown of glory awaits you like an Olympic athlete. Rest in perfect peace, O man of God. We love you but God loves you more. May the Good Lord receive you as a VIP in Heaven. We will surely miss you, our friend and our pastor now gone. Good night and God be with you till we meet again.