Dr. Olu Akinkoye. Sir ‘Koye. Daddy Bodija aka Baba (Baba pronounced ray-ray)
When I visited in May, something in me knew it was the last time I would see you. Yet, when the news came, three weeks ago today, almost to the hour, the finality hit Mee in ways that I was neither prepared for nor capable of anticipating.
Death is so final. So, so final.
And nothing prepares us for the death of a loved one, not even a long, protracted illness that quietly warns you of what’s coming.
How does one capture the essence of a man like you, in words, on paper?
I had the rare privilege of having two involved, present fathers in my lifetime: each unique, each complex, each shaping me in different ways. And you, Baba, were one of them.
When my mom travelled to Saudi Arabia for work, we were entrusted into your care. Even though you were away in Kuru Jos, you made sure we were fine while we stayed in your home at 60 Adebajo Str. And Aunty Tolani, God bless her, was such a steady hand in those days. Dropping us off at school prior to going off to work. “I have a million-and-one things to do today”, was her constant mantra as she hurried us to get into the car every morning.
When my dad went to join my mom in Saudi, and we were back home, I remember so clearly when I had malaria and stubbornly refused to take medication. I hated meds. The driver and house help tried everything. Nothing worked. When they finally called you, you came over to the house and asked me a simple question: Why won’t you take the medicine? I had no real answer. Just the childish belief that I’d get better without it. And you, unlike everyone else, said they should let me be. The faith you had in me made me will and pray myself back to health. Even then, you trusted me in ways I didn’t yet know how to trust myself.
When I began writing entrance exams into secondary school, choosing a school became its own drama because I kept passing every exam. We wanted a particular school; Babzidee insisted on Kaduna. You, ever the strategist, quietly advised me not to do too well on the last exam… just so I wouldn’t get shipped off to the North. It was a successful coup. One of our inside jokes.
By the time I finished secondary school, I was unraveling inside. University frightened me in ways I couldn’t explain. I was battling an identity and existential crisis so deep that I didn’t even know what name I wanted to bear. Yet, I got into UI to study Medicine; and although everyone saw it as a great achievement, I was troubled, petrified, and … deeply miserable.
In my second year, the weight was unbearable. I wanted to quit school completely and learn a trade. By my third year, I’d stopped attending classes altogether. I ran off to Lagos, hiding from expectations and from myself. When you heard, you called me and asked me to meet you at home, and drove my brother and I to Ibadan Recreation Club.
You didn’t judge me. You didn’t shame me. You didn’t scold me. You simply asked: “What do you want to do?” I told you I wanted to learn IT, maybe run a cybercafé… and work with my hands. You asked if I’d be okay watching my friends graduate as medical doctors while I became a tradesperson. I told you the truth that I would be far more miserable if I became a medical doctor, without giving myself a chance to explore anything else I could become.
After going back and forth, you told me something that has shaped my entire life: “University education is to train the mind. It is better to have a degree you don’t need than to need a degree you don’t have.” Those words… saved me. They guided me. They freed me. That same day at Rec, over drinks and snacks, you then asked me which course I wanted to study instead. I had taken an elective in Psychology in my first year as a Physiology student, and my interest was piqued by some of Jaco’s Psychology textbooks that were in the house, so I said “Psychology”.
As a Sociology lecturer in the Faculty of the Social Sciences at the time, you asked why Psychology and not Sociology? You asked what I intended to do with it and how I would make money as an adult. I did not have any clear answers. I just knew changing to Psychology was a compromise I was willing to make if I had to stay in the university and graduate. You asked me to be sure I wouldn’t regret it. You made me think, reflect, and own my decision.
And behind the scenes, you quietly facilitated my transfer to The Department of Psychology. When the Faculty of Medicine refused to release me, we made it a prayer point. I was eventually signed out of Medicine on my 21st birthday, the best birthday gift I got that year. When I left home on the eve of my 22nd birthday with nothing but faith, fear, and determination, you asked how I intended to survive. You supported me financially, not for comfort, but so I wouldn’t end up dependent on men or compromising myself just to stay afloat.
After graduation, when I kept passing aptitude tests but failing interviews, you never left my side. You cut out job postings from newspapers, shared referrals, and guided my research.
You eventually pointed me to the Accenture recruitment that changed my life.
When my sister passed in 2013, it was you who called me. “Bisola is dead, get yourself together, I have asked your uncle to bring you to Ibadan”. You made arrangements for me to travel to Ibadan. You handled the burial. All I had to do was buy the wreathe. And when I was still trying to breathe through the shock, you simply said, “It’s all sorted.”
You were a father. A friend. A counsellor. A covering. A pillar. A safe place.
You were the angel assigned to the Akinkoye and Adewole households.
There are too many memories to count. Too many moments your wisdom and presence held us all together. And now, here I am, writing a tribute I pray somehow finds its way to where you are. I don’t know if the dead read tributes. But I know that gratitude echoes.
And love endures. So here I am, doing my characteristic “write-thing”. There’s little else that I can do now.
Adieu Baba.
Ailegesin. Alaragbaida. Jinewooro.
Olugbemija Akinfe Akinkoye.
Rest well, sir.
Thank you for everything.
Please shAIR Your Thoughts :-)