I pray it happens in my own room

 

In front of all my loved ones, sisters and brothers,

I beg you, Lord, let it be in my compound

 

When I draw my last breath, my people, I tell you

Gather at my place without delay

 

Whether it’s at noon or at midnight

Just come right over

 

After the farewell prayers, waste no time

Take me to my grave

 

When you get there, set me in the earth

Kindly, remembering my good deeds

 

Don’t make my grave different from the rest

Cover it with dust

 

When all this is over, let everyone

Return to their daily occupations

 

As for third, seventh and fortieth-day prayers

I really don’t care

 

As for those people who weep and wail for show

For God’s sake, don’t do this in my name

 

I’m sorry for the mourners

For the trouble they will take to bury me

 

From bathing me to carrying my casket

And the trouble this will cause them

 

Indeed, if I could do these things myself

I would spare you, brothers and sisters

 

Here I end my letter, signed

Mudi Spikin, father of Amina