Features
Tribute to Giwa Adinni of Oro
By Adebayo Olodan
January 14, 1998 and Sunday October, 20, 2019 are two dates that will
remain etched in my memory for as long as I live.
The first date was the day I lost my mother who I regarded as the most
important woman in the world while the second was a day that I lost my
beloved father, gist partner and confidant.
Interestingly, they both held Islamic titles before their demise.
While my mother was the Mogaji Adinni of Aguda, Lagos State, my
father, Alhaji Yahya Adeyemi was for many years, the Giwa Adinni of
Oro, Irepodun Local Government Area of Kwara State.
Until my mother’s demise, I never had that opportunity of being close
to my father as I most times preferred putting up at mum’s place due to her delicacies and care.
The situation however changed as soon as I realised I had no mother
again and each time I am on break, I had little option than to spend
time with my father at Ijora instead of Surulere where I was raised by
mum.
During the few weeks I spent with you each time I was on holiday as an undergraduate of the University of Ilorin, I remember how you used to tell me about your upbringing, your many struggles in life and more importantly how you met my mother.
I remember vividly you are such an industrious individual who at one
time was a tailoring apprentice, those days your colleagues and
friends call you ‘Yahya Tailor’. You also hawked across the streets
of Lagos mainly on the Island and you were at a point served as errand boy. All these you did before raising substantial money in conjunction with a friend to buy a truck load of cement in Ogun State in order to sell in your hometown, Oro.
How can I forget how the truck driver escaped with the cements just as you alighted from the vehicle to urinate?
At a time, your lost virtually all your property and savings to a fire
incident and it could have consumed your newborn twins but for the kind heart of your second wife.
Following such an unfortunate incidence, many your mate would have committed suicide or taken to crime but you remained resolute and rather opted to start your journey all over. Your rough road to
success taught me a lesson never to give up despite the challenges.
May I also recall how you normally request to borrow money from your
wives only to use such money to acquire landed property for them in
various parts of Lagos.
While alive, you were a man who did not only love his immediate family but also other relatives and your passion to develop your community was uncommon.
One person that will probably miss you the most is your grandson,
Abubakr Omoniyi, whom you died in his arms. While you were on sick
bed, Abu cared for you perhaps as a payback for the uncommon love you showed him while growing up. Abubakr even forfeited his tertiary
institution admission to care for you.
Despite your advanced age, when I heard about your death, I cried a
river. I knew the irreplaceable part of my world is gone.
Since your demise from this world penultimate week, the sky appears a different blue.
I will miss a gist partner, the funny side of you and above all your humility.
The memories we shared can never fade but how do I cope realising that you are no longer there?
In memory of you, I intend to live a life that you will be proud of.
Though you can never be seen by the human eye the soul and love that you gave so many of us will never ever die.
I wish you could be back someday as I will miss a million things,
every detail of who you are.
Until now, I never knew what it is like to lose both parents but I
look towards Allah to comfort me and the rest of the family.
The first date was the day I lost my mother who I regarded as the most
important woman in the world while the second was a day that I lost my
beloved father, gist partner and confidant.
Interestingly, they both held Islamic titles before their demise.
While my mother was the Mogaji Adinni of Aguda, Lagos State, my
father, Alhaji Yahya Adeyemi was for many years, the Giwa Adinni of
Oro, Irepodun Local Government Area of Kwara State.
Until my mother’s demise, I never had that opportunity of being close
to my father as I most times preferred putting up at mum’s place due to her delicacies and care.
The situation however changed as soon as I realised I had no mother
again and each time I am on break, I had little option than to spend
time with my father at Ijora instead of Surulere where I was raised by
mum.
During the few weeks I spent with you each time I was on holiday as an undergraduate of the University of Ilorin, I remember how you used to tell me about your upbringing, your many struggles in life and more importantly how you met my mother.
I remember vividly you are such an industrious individual who at one
time was a tailoring apprentice, those days your colleagues and
friends call you ‘Yahya Tailor’. You also hawked across the streets
of Lagos mainly on the Island and you were at a point served as errand boy. All these you did before raising substantial money in conjunction with a friend to buy a truck load of cement in Ogun State in order to sell in your hometown, Oro.
How can I forget how the truck driver escaped with the cements just as you alighted from the vehicle to urinate?
At a time, your lost virtually all your property and savings to a fire
incident and it could have consumed your newborn twins but for the kind heart of your second wife.
Following such an unfortunate incidence, many your mate would have committed suicide or taken to crime but you remained resolute and rather opted to start your journey all over. Your rough road to
success taught me a lesson never to give up despite the challenges.
May I also recall how you normally request to borrow money from your
wives only to use such money to acquire landed property for them in
various parts of Lagos.
While alive, you were a man who did not only love his immediate family but also other relatives and your passion to develop your community was uncommon.
One person that will probably miss you the most is your grandson,
Abubakr Omoniyi, whom you died in his arms. While you were on sick
bed, Abu cared for you perhaps as a payback for the uncommon love you showed him while growing up. Abubakr even forfeited his tertiary
institution admission to care for you.
Despite your advanced age, when I heard about your death, I cried a
river. I knew the irreplaceable part of my world is gone.
Since your demise from this world penultimate week, the sky appears a different blue.
I will miss a gist partner, the funny side of you and above all your humility.
The memories we shared can never fade but how do I cope realising that you are no longer there?
In memory of you, I intend to live a life that you will be proud of.
Though you can never be seen by the human eye the soul and love that you gave so many of us will never ever die.
I wish you could be back someday as I will miss a million things,
every detail of who you are.
Until now, I never knew what it is like to lose both parents but I
look towards Allah to comfort me and the rest of the family.
