By: ‘dayo Adedayo
As I walked through Vaults and Gardens Cemetery in Ikoyi for the memorial of a dearest aburo, I found myself gripped not just by sorrow, but by awe.
The transformation of this sacred ground is profound. It is easily the most serene and dignified cemetery in Lagos, a quiet sanctuary of honour and remembrance.
The air itself felt sacred. I saw private vaults adorned with photographs, as if the departed were gently reminding us that they once lived, laughed, and loved.
The general grounds were carefully planned, with alleys named after illustrious individuals who now lie peacefully beneath the Lagos sky. It is more than a resting place, it is a gallery of legacy, a tranquil space where memories live on in quiet dignity. Yet, as beautiful as the grounds are, it was what they stirred in me that left the deepest imprint.
Ideas came rushing like a flood. I began to see faces, great men and women, politicians, entrepreneurs, military officers, the famous and the forgotten. And then, the realisation struck like a gong in the soul: The greatest minds the world has ever known now lie beneath the earth.
The inventors, the dreamers, the builders of empires and technologies, the geniuses behind our modern comforts, all six feet under. And that is the paradox of life. We chase wealth, chase relevance, chase dreams across continents. But in the end, the only guarantee is death. None of us is leaving here alive.
This brings me to what I now see as one of life’s quiet truths: The cemetery might just be the most important place a person can visit.
Why?
Because among the tombstones, time pauses. Ego fades. The futility of material pursuits becomes obvious. There, one begins to understand that we are only caretakers of time, and that soon, we too must make space for those who come after us.
Without death, there can be no renewal. And then I saw something that shook me to my core.
I saw the graves of children, bright stars extinguished before they could shine. I saw young men and women, cut down in their prime. I saw the elderly, whose long lives finally gave in to the pull of eternity. And I realised something humbling: Life is a mystery.
No formula. No guarantees. No rhythm we can fully predict. Some depart too soon. Others live to see their grandchildren’s grandchildren. But all return to the same earth, equal in silence.
My own view of life has long been shaped by loss.
I lost my father just two months before my eighth birthday. My maternal grandparents, gone. My paternal grandmother, gone. My immediate elder brother, not so long ago, gone too. And now, friends, peers, are beginning to go as well.
As the Yoruba say, “lkú tó ń pa ojúgbà ènìyàn, owé ló ń pa fúnni.” The death that strikes your mate is a proverb being spoken to you.
In those moments of reflection, I often hear that proverb echo. It reminds me that the greatest legacy we can leave is not in buildings or bank accounts, but in goodness. Do good. Be kind. Leave light behind. Because the good we do is the only thing that will stand for us when our bodies can no longer speak.
Yes, death is painful. It rips the heart. It darkens rooms. It hollows the soul. But time, slow and faithful, comes quietly to tend the wound. The tears lessen. The memories soften. And one day, laughter returns. Not because we’ve forgotten, but because we’ve learned to carry the loss with grace.
Today at Vaults and Gardens, Ikoyi, Lagos, I didn’t just see the end of life, I saw the wisdom in it.
I saw a place where the living come to remember, to reflect, to be still before God.
It is more than a burial ground.
It is a classroom of perspective.
A sanctuary of truth.
A sacred ground where the noise of the world fades, and the soul can speak freely.
So, the next time you seek clarity, not in ambition, not in success, but in meaning, visit a cemetery.
It will remind you that life is a gift. And that the only thing more important than how long we live, is how deeply we love.
