Hezekiah Adesanya Akintunde
(Apesin of Owu Abeokuta) 1917 – January 15, 1975
I owe you an apology, Ba’a mi. I had promised my children – your
grandchildren – and my wife that on this day that marks the 40th
year you had your last breath I shall commence a Foundation in your name to
promote that which you held so dearly: education. For as long as I have my
breath and God being on the throne, I shall keep that pledge sooner than later.
I had regaled my family and quite a lot of people about what uniquely
kind hearted man I had the privilege of having as a father. Within your little
resources, you spared no cost in educating not only your children but also
demonstrated care for anyone who required your assistance in fulfilling their
educational dreams. Even when the stories neighbours told you about why their
children were out of school didn’t look convincing, you would always provide
support.
In the ‘face-me-I-face-you’ house that we lived at Ijaiye Street,
Odi-Olowo Mushin, Lagos, quarrels over inanities were permanent fixtures. And
you would carefully avoid the scenes as you returned from work or social
outing, navigating your way into our single room. Then you would have us locked
all inside, after ensuring that your wife, Apinke Taiwo was out of harm’s way
at her petty trading kiosk right in front of our residence. You often explained
your reason for staying clear from violence. “You just might be unlucky to step
out at the moment one of the combatants threw a dangerous weapon and it landed on
your forehead!” Only on very rare circumstances did you have to caution quarrelling
parties, and you must have held such individuals in high esteem.
You wanted the best of education for your children. And because you had
no ethnic or regional boundaries, you desired such opportunities anywhere they
were located in the country. When it was time for my older brother, Oluyemisi
Adigun to go to secondary schools, your choices were far and further afield. At
that time, Federal Government Colleges offered first class education at
affordable costs. In spite of your wife’s protests, you chose Sokoto and Warri
for your son and he passed the admission examinations into both schools. Your
first choice was Federal Government College, Sokoto and there you prepared my
brother to go. But my mother cried to all members of the family who could
influence your decision.
Her case was understandable. Her first child, who was about two years
old, was butchered in mysterious circumstances at Epe where both of you resided
as young couple. My mother had to wait for 12 years to have Oluyemisi, and
three years and three months later, she gave birth to me. All attempts to have
more children ended in futility. And here you were, about to send one of her
two surviving children into the farthest end of the world!
You finally gave in. Off to Federal Government College, Warri my brother
went in January 1970, at a time only the daring travelled eastwards; the
Nigerian civil war having just ended. Back home on his first holiday, my
brother told vivid stories of corpses of soldiers and civilians found in the
thick bush of their school compound. But that would not dissuade you from
sending him back when the holiday was over.
When it was my turn three years later, you had learnt from the
experience of my brother’s and mellowed. But you still didn’t want me to have
my secondary education in Lagos. You had your sight in two of the famous
schools in the old Western region – Comprehensive High School, Aiyetoro and
Egbado College, Igbogila. Like my older brother, I secured admission into both
schools. But this time, my mother had her way. Not only would she not allow her
last child leave her sight, but she also needed me to provide her with
assistance in her trade and also at home. I almost missed the admission process
into Lagos City College, Yaba as my father applied very late.
Ba’a mi, you could not resist the lure of polygamy, which is common in
your lineage. That made you to leave apart from your first wife – my mother – even
when she never made troubles with you about her rivals. Being very devoted to
your extended family and ancestral home, it was a matter of time that you would
become a traditional chief. And when it did happen in the early 1970s, you had
a special celebration for me; for you had be conferred with the title of Apesin,
one of the several names given to me at birth.
For those who know the ways of the world, that marked the beginning of
the end of your eventful life. It was said that your drink was poisoned at a
social event in our ancestral home. Fingers pointed to an agent of the
ex-husband of one of the women you married. A strange ailment set in thereafter.
You were moved to all manner of healing homes and eventually ended up the
Sacred Heart Hospital, Lantoro, Abeokuta.
I made several requests to see you on your sick bed at Lantoro. But I
was always told that you would soon be back home. In the evening of January 15,
1975, one of my cousins walked me out of the house at Ilupeju and broke the
news of your death to me.
Having lost Oluremilekun, the first daughter of one of your wives, in
her infancy, you had Oluyemisi (aged 17), Olumuyiwa (14), Adekoyejo (aged 1)
and Olubunmi (also aged 1), their three mothers as well as a contingent of
relations, the church, the community, friends and associates to witness your
interment at the Owu Baptist Church cemetery.
My mother held on to keep her children going. But when she could no
longer cope, she had to give in to the request of your youngest brother,
Olaosebikan Aikulola (who also has since joined you) to have my brother and I
live with him at Oduwobi Street, Ilupeju. Daddy (Pa Aikulola) had a large
heart. His home was home to all even when he relocated to our village, Abese.
While Olubunmi (now Mrs Akinwale) lived with her mother, Adekoyejo
became an orphan less than two years after your departure. He was taken in by
your oldest sister, the matriarch of the Akintunde family, Mama Obiyomi. Thereafter, her own
daughter, Sister Ibitola (now of blessed memory) took Adekoyejo in before he
ended up in Abese to live with your brother, Pa Aikulola.
While you were on your sick bed, your first son, Oluyemisi, finished in
top grade at Federal Government College, Warri. His classmates who made lesser
grades immediately progressed to the universities. You had always trained us
not to be a burden to anyone. Even as Daddy (Pa Aikulola) was willing to help,
he had a large house to cater for. My brother, at only 18, shouldered the responsibilities
of my mother and myself. Our mother had left Mushin to his younger cousin’s
residence at Adeyemi Street, Oshodi, while my brother got a one room apartment
at Association Avenue, Ilupeju where we both lived. I completed my studies at
Lagos City College, Yaba in 1978. It was only when I also started working after
my secondary school education that my brother could continue his education;
this time at what was then Lagos State College of Science and Technology,
Isolo, Lagos. He graduated with Upper Credit in HND Accountancy and Finance,
although he was one of the celebrated campus journalists.
Ba’a mi, if there is repentance in the grave you would have reconciled
with my doting and devoted mother, Apinke Taiwo who crossed over to your side
on May 1, 1983. My brother and I were too young to take care of her. She
probably would have stayed here longer. You know that your son, Oluyemisi, also
joined you on May 10, 2001 in circumstances that would require another long tale.
All I can say for now is that Oluyemisi’s transition – resulting from a
protracted terminal ailment – virtually shattered me, his wife, Caroline Baby
Akintunde, having died in her ancestral village near Warri 10 days earlier.
I am convinced that your spirit of free giving had made the way for your
offspring at seemingly impossible occasions. You and your first wife – my dear
mother – must have had a hand in choosing for me a partner who had made
self-denials and sacrifices to keep your lineage strong. Vera Akintunde never
met both of you, but your aura oozes out of her. She had nagged me ceaselessly
to fulfil the dream of having an enduring legacy in your name because you truly
deserve to be eternally celebrated. Now that your grandchildren are beginning
to find their own life, that commitment returns to its right place – the front
burner of my thought.
For your compassion to family – nuclear and extended – and all who had
the privilege to encounter you, you left an indelible legacy for which you will
forever be my hero and always remain in my memory.
I thank God for choosing you as Ba’a mi.
