By Pat Utomi
It seems real. I lived to be 65. Who would have believed it? Escaping assassination attempts under military rule, terrorist bombings on a London train, near Air crashes, and automobile mishaps, one of which left me with little evident pulse or breathing, and so presumed to have crossed over. That got me the rare privilege of reading my obituary.
But these are not the things that matter. Whether your run is 21 years, or 30, like Stephen Biko in the Struggle against Apartheid in South Africa, or 33, like Jesus, or as long as Methuselah, what matters is impact. What impact from the time of being?