NOW HEAR THIS Africans in general Nigeria in particular and people all over the world, per chance you may Reflect.

ByNewstime Admin

By the time a man reaches forty-six he begins to suspect that life has quietly started negotiating with him.

At fifty five the body begins sending official letters. The knees write first. Then the back. Eventually even the stomach joins the correspondence. By sixty five the man understands that every morning he wakes up is not a right but a successful appeal.

Meanwhile something strange is happening in the world around him. The funerals he attends are increasingly full of women dressed in black. Widows. Everywhere widows. Widows who look suspiciously healthy. Widows who will probably live another twenty five years.

Widowers are rare creatures. They exist, but you must search carefully for them like endangered birds.

Long ago the Roman emperor and philosopher Marcus Aurelius warned humanity not to behave as if we were going to live ten thousand years. Death, he said, hangs over everyone. The man had a palace, an empire, and the wisdom to understand that time eventually evicts every tenant.

What he did not mention is that men seem unusually gifted at helping death find the address faster.

Take alcohol.

A man will swear with great confidence that he drinks only socially. The problem is that his definition of social includes weddings, funerals, football matches, political discussions, salary delays, good news, bad news, and the simple fact that the sun rose this morning.

The liver listens quietly to these explanations and slowly begins drafting its resignation letter.

Then comes stress. A man of sixty walks around carrying the entire economy of the nation on his shoulders. School fees. Fuel prices. Elections. The neighbor who bought a new car. The cow that stopped producing milk. The child who wants to study abroad. His heart beats like a drum in a marching band.

Women, meanwhile, gather under a tree, laugh for two hours, exchange recipes and gossip, and go home ten years younger.

Men prefer silence. A man can sit with his friend for three hours and exchange only three sentences.

How are you

Fine

Good

Then they both go home carrying the same worries they refused to mention.

Sleep is another battlefield. Doctors recommend seven or eight hours. The average man treats sleep like a suspicious luxury. He sleeps four hours, snores like an old generator, wakes up tired, drinks strong tea, and announces proudly that he is tough.

His body is not impressed.

But the most dangerous habit of all is sitting.

Men sit with a level of dedication that deserves a national award. They sit at desks. They sit in traffic. They sit watching television. They sit at the club discussing the decline of modern youth. They sit while their stomach slowly expands like a diplomatic balloon.

The chair becomes their closest companion.

Years pass. The body weakens. And eventually another funeral appears on the calendar.

At the graveside you will see a familiar picture. A group of elderly women standing firmly like seasoned survivors. Among them is the widow, calm, dignified, and already planning how to reorganize the house now that her husband has gone to rest after decades of heroic sitting.

If the late emperor Marcus Aurelius were alive today he might add a new line to his philosophy.

Death is inevitable. But some people seem determined to arrive early, carrying a bottle, a chair, and a suitcase full of stress.

The lesson for men between forty six and seventy five is therefore very simple.

Walk a little more.

Laugh a little louder.

Sleep like a responsible human being.

Talk to your friends before the funeral forces you not to.

And above all stop sitting as if you are rehearsing for eternity.

Because if things continue the way they are, the future of the world will be managed entirely by widows who have spent thirty years patiently watching their husbands practice the ancient art of slowly killing themselves while insisting they are perfectly fine.