DIED LONG BEFORE THE FUNERAL

 

When Aku married Lozayo, everyone said he was the lucky one.

She was beautiful, outspoken, and full of life. At their wedding, people laughed, danced, and wished them a lifetime of happiness.

Aku believed every word.

The first year was good.

The second year changed everything.

It started with words.

Small words.

Words that seemed harmless when heard by others.

"You are useless."

"Look at other husbands."

"What kind of man can't provide more than this?"

Aku would laugh awkwardly whenever she said such things in front of friends and family. Everyone laughed with her.

Nobody noticed the embarrassment behind his smile.

As time passed, the words became sharper.

Lozayo controlled everything.

His phone.

His salary.

His friendships.

Whenever he wanted to visit his family, she accused him of neglecting her.

Whenever he spoke about his feelings, she called him weak.

Whenever he remained silent, she called him heartless.

No answer was ever the right answer.

At work, Aku was respected.

At home, he felt smaller every day.

Some nights he sat alone outside the house long after everyone had slept.

Not because he loved the cold.

Because he dreaded going inside.

But who would understand?

Men do not talk about these things.

Men are supposed to endure.

Men are supposed to be strong.

At least that is what he had always been taught.

One evening, a neighbour heard shouting from their house.

Lozayo was angry because Aku had bought groceries that were not on her list.

The shouting became insults.

The insults became humiliation.

She threw a plate across the room.

The pieces shattered near his feet.

The next morning, Aku went to work as though nothing had happened.

Nobody noticed the redness in his eyes.

Months turned into years.

His laughter disappeared.

His appetite faded.

His friends stopped calling because he always made excuses.

Slowly, loneliness became his closest companion.

One day his younger brother asked him a simple question.

"Are you happy?"

Aku smiled.

The same smile he had worn for years.

The smile that hid everything.

"I'm fine," he replied.

It was a lie.

The truth was that he had not felt fine in a very long time.

Every day he carried invisible bruises.

Not on his skin.

On his heart.

On his mind.

On his spirit.

One rainy night, after another storm of insults and accusations, Aku sat alone in the darkness.

The house was quiet.

Lozayo had gone to sleep.

For the first time in years, he allowed himself to cry.

Not the silent tears he usually hid.

But deep, broken sobs.

The kind that come from a soul that has carried too much for too long.

He whispered a question into the darkness.

"If I disappeared tomorrow, would anyone know what I have been going through?"

The room offered no answer.

The following weeks were difficult.

He stopped answering calls.

Stopped attending gatherings.

Stopped caring about things he once loved.

The man who had once dreamed about the future was slowly disappearing while still alive.

Then one morning, Aku did not wake up.

The doctors called it a heart attack.

Family members mourned.

Friends cried.

People spoke about what a strong man he had been.

How hardworking he was.

How quiet he was.

How dependable he was.

Nobody spoke about the years of emotional abuse.

Nobody spoke about the humiliation.

Nobody spoke about the loneliness.

Because nobody knew.

At his funeral, the rain fell heavily.

His younger brother stood beside the grave and remembered that question from years ago.

"Are you happy?"

Suddenly he understood the sadness hidden behind Aku's smile.

Suddenly he understood that strength had become a prison.

Suddenly he understood that some men do not die the day their hearts stop beating.

Some begin dying years earlier, one insult, one humiliation, one silent night at a time.

And as the coffin disappeared beneath the earth, one painful truth remained:

The world had seen a strong man.

But very few had seen a hurting one.