By Bababunmi Agbebi
In Nigeria, conversations about death are often kept behind closed doors.
Mention a will, and the mood can change almost immediately. Someone may laugh it off. Another person may say, “God forbid.” Others may insist that writing a will is like announcing that death is around the corner.
For many Nigerians, a will is not simply a legal document. It is emotionally tied to mortality and that is precisely why many people avoid writing one.
But here is the uncomfortable question: Does preparing for death mean you are expecting it, or does it simply mean you are preparing responsibly for the people and things you will leave behind?
There is a deeply rooted cultural belief that speaking too openly about death can somehow attract it.
A person who starts putting their affairs in order may be met with comments such as, “Are you planning to die?” or “Why are you writing a will when you are still strong?”
This mindset cuts across generations and social classes.
For some families, the subject is almost taboo. Parents may spend decades building businesses, buying properties and accumulating wealth, yet never discuss what should happen to those assets when they are no longer around.
The irony is striking.
We plan weddings years in advance. We plan children’s education. We insure cars, businesses and homes. We save for retirement. We make investment plans for the future.
Yet when it comes to planning for a future that is inevitable for everyone, we suddenly say, “God forbid.”
Faith is important. But planning is not a lack of faith.
A will is essentially an instruction about how a person’s assets and wishes should be handled after death. It can help reduce uncertainty, minimise disputes and give loved ones clearer direction during what is already likely to be an emotionally difficult period.
Think of it this way: writing a will does not make death happen any sooner. It simply means that, when the inevitable eventually happens, your family does not have to guess what you would have wanted.
And in Nigeria, where family structures can be complex and property disputes are common, that clarity can be particularly valuable.
Imagine spending decades building a house, buying land, growing a business or accumulating savings.
Then imagine leaving without clearly stating what should happen to those assets.
Suddenly, brothers, sisters, spouses, children, extended relatives and sometimes even people who were barely involved in your life may have different interpretations of what you would have wanted.
That is where inheritance disputes can begin.
A family that was once united can become divided over a property. Siblings can stop speaking to one another. Businesses can collapse under ownership disputes. Years of family history can be replaced by arguments over who is entitled to what.
Sometimes, the problem is not that there was no love.
There was simply no plan.
There is also a psychological reason people avoid the subject.
Writing a will forces us to confront a truth we would rather postpone: we will not be here forever.
For someone who has spent years being the provider, the boss, the parent or the family anchor, acknowledging that reality can feel uncomfortable.
But perhaps that is exactly why the conversation matters.
“God Forbid” Should Not Stop “Let Me Plan”
There is nothing wrong with saying “God forbid.”
There is also nothing wrong with saying, “Let me put my affairs in order.”
The two ideas do not have to contradict each other.
Writing a will does not mean a person has lost hope or faith. It means they recognise that life comes with uncertainties and that responsible planning can protect the people they care about.
After all, wearing a seatbelt does not mean you are planning to have an accident.
Buying insurance does not mean you want your house to burn down.
Saving money does not mean you expect poverty.
In the same way, writing a will does not mean you are inviting death.
It means you are acknowledging that life is unpredictable.
Perhaps it is time to change the way we discuss wills.
Instead of asking, “Why are you writing a will? Are you dying?”, perhaps we should ask, “What do you want your family to know if you are no longer here to explain it?”
That is a very different conversation.
It moves the discussion away from death and towards responsibility, family protection, legacy and peace of mind.
And perhaps the biggest lesson is this: A will is not about expecting death; it is about making sure your wishes do not die with you.
For a generation of Nigerians building homes, businesses, careers and wealth, estate planning should not be treated as a bad omen.
We can pray for long life and still plan responsibly.
Because sometimes, the most loving thing we can leave our families is not just an inheritance.
It is clarity.
