I see easter differently now

I See Easter Differently Now

I still remember the Sunday before Easter Sunday — filled with laughter and sunshine. Joy was everywhere, easy to pluck like ripe fruit.

There was a long queue of Christians from different denominations and doctrines, arranged according to hierarchy: Catholics, Pentecostals, Baptists, Cherubim and Seraphim, Celestials, and an endless list of churches — some of which no longer exist.

Palm Sunday was for unison walks, singing, and marching. It was a time for bonding with neighbours from different denominations. It felt truly special.

These days, I find myself spending Easter again in Ilorin, where the wind seems to blow in the direction of beautiful spiritual tolerance. Here, you marvel at the peaceful coexistence of Islam and Christianity. In a Muslim-dominated state like Ilorin, you wonder whether this level of religious tolerance has always existed. Wonder, it seems, never truly ends.

Easter in Ilorin means new clothes — often twice our size. It means meals prepared with extra love and thoughtfulness. It means music blaring from different speakers, all echoing the message of resurrection. Above all, it means love and light in their purest form. My thoughts are scattered now. Memories have become blurry. Adult concerns and responsibilities have shrouded the beautiful details and the beautiful chaos of those days. What remains comes in tiny shreds and large uneven patches. That is how I remember Easter in Ilorin these days.

OSOGBO.

My memories of Easter in Osogbo are dominated by my grandfather. I see him in his calculated steps, the gentle thud of his black walking stick, his colourful dansiki, and the way he called out names when he needed something done. He was always looking out to make sure everything was exactly as it should be.

I see Easter in his uncanny insistence on our church attendance, and in his quiet presence whenever one of the children had a special role to play. Even now, every Baptist song easily reminds me of him — of his glistening brown eyes, his strict parenting that quietly saved us from so much harm we never even knew existed. I miss his voice, soft yet instructive. I even miss that firm hand of correction. I see Easter in laughter that now feels distant, in so many things that are no longer present. It seems the older I get, the farther these memories drift. Yet the older I become, the more clearly I remember just how special Easter once was. But I am here now, and it may never be exactly as it used to be. So I will remember to live it the way it is — fully, in the present.