A tribute to Dolly Parton, whose fearless questions to the heavens echo the unresolved cries of a weary Nigeria, By Chudi Uwandu
There is music, and there is music. There are artists, and there are artists. Some sing just to make you dance. Others sing to challenge your soul. Dolly Parton was the second kind. Her family confirmed yesterday that she passed away peacefully in Nashville at 80 years old.
If you do not know her name, this is who she was: a country singer from the mountains of Tennessee. She was one of twelve children raised by a very poor tobacco farmer. Yet, she wrote “Jolene” and “I Will Always Love You”—songs that the whole world sings today. She built her own theme park called Dollywood. She gave away over 255 million free books to children who could not afford them.
She married one man, Carl Dean, and stayed by his side for decades until he passed away.
First, let us thank God. Living for eighty years is a great mercy. The music business usually buries its biggest stars very young. But Dolly sang, buried her husband, carried her grief, and kept working until her final weeks. In Igbo land, we call that ndu ogologo—a long and blessed life.
We must appreciate it, especially in times like this when so many people, even in my own motherland, Nkpa, are dying so young.
Her look told its own story. The tall blonde hair and big outfits were hard to miss. She openly said she styled herself after a woman townspeople used to laugh at, simply because she found that woman beautiful. It takes real courage to wear what others mock, and to do it proudly for sixty years.
She could hold a whole stage alone with just an acoustic guitar. She was also happy to share the stage with younger stars, never trying to block another person’s shine. She won eleven Grammy Awards and entered the Hall of Fame. In fact, Billboard named her the greatest country music artist of all time. Very few people finish their life’s work with their light still burning so bright.
But the song that touches my heart the most is “Hello God”. She does not pray the quiet way many of us were taught—with heads bowed down and tiny voices. She talks to God directly, like someone who demands an answer. She sings:
Hello God, are you out there?
Can you hear me, are you listening anymore?” genius.com
And she goes even further to ask the hard questions we all feel inside:
”This old world has gone to pieces…
Hate and violence just increases… Do you love some more than others?
We’re so lost and confused.” genius.com
That brave voice is exactly what we need to borrow for Nigeria today. As her fan, standing in the wreckage of our daily realities, I look up and ask my own version:
Again, I ask:
Hello God, Chukwuabiama…
Are you still there?
Can you hear me?
You did not answer Dolly, and her questions are still hanging.
Please God, answer me:
When will Nigeria feel for her children?
I ask this because we are watching our country hurt itself every single day. The insecurity makes traveling feel like a dangerous gamble. The economy is so hard that it punishes the poor twice. Our leaders treat public offices like property they inherited from their fathers.
I am not losing my faith, God. By complaining. I am only asking the way Dolly asked—as someone who still believes in You, but is simply tired of waiting in silence.
Our people have always understood this. Singing a sad song or a dirge does not mean you have lost your faith. It just means your faith is exhausted and needs to rest.
Rest well, Dolly. Your questions are still alive down here. They now belong to the rest of us who are still waiting for the answers.
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