M.B.O Owolowo Snr: 25 Years After…

M.B.O Owolowo Snr: 25 Years After…

1996 it was and June 25th was the date that changed my life forever. The events of that fateful period still recur in my memory like synaptic flashes.

The Premonition
Hedonism was the order of that phase in my life, and my mates and I were thrill-seekers who partied hard. Though my family had moved to the mainland after my Dad retired from government assignment, the Island was my theatre of fun. On the night of the 25th, probably before midnight, I felt a sudden urge to go home. My friends thought my decision to go home at that time of the night was insane. Their concern was genuine because as night crawlers, we had encountered armed robbers whilst crossing Third Mainland Bridge in the wee hours, and heard quite a number of gruesome tales around that period. My friends pleaded with me to stay, but to no avail. My mind was made up! A more worrisome snag was that I wasn’t driving a car that night. Also, I didn’t want anyone risking their lives crossing the Third Mainland Bridge to drop me at home. Whilst still trying to convince me to change my mind, one of my friends dropped me off at Obalende. As I got out of the car, I noticed the usually bustling Obalende scene was deserted. Surprised, I was about to head back to Ikoyi until I noticed one vehicle in particular going to the mainland. Strangely, it was the only vehicle around and it had one passenger seat left - in the Naija parlance “one chance”. My fearless self could not be bothered. It was a rather eerie journey that was swifter than usual and very quiet. In the dead of night I got off at a convenient stop and navigated my way through neighbourhood street gates and vigilante to get home. I managed to enter our house undetected and snuck into my room. As I wondered what possessed me to take such a perilous journey home, I dozed off and eventually fell asleep for the night.

Breaking News
The morning of the 26th started with some relatives visiting rather early. They had been summoned to break the news to my Mum. As the news broke, my brother Bolaji decided to open my room door out of curiosity, as he wasn’t sure I was at home. And I heard my Mum ask him if I was home. When Bolaji entered my room, I saw a look on his face I had never seen before, and probably would never see again. Immediately, I knew something had happened, before he could say the indelible words. When my Mum saw me, she asked when I got back home and told me it’s good you are around. She sent me to the bank to withdraw some money from her account. By the time I returned from the bank, the house was crowded with people. I greeted everyone I could and went straight to my room. As I ruminated about everything that was going on, I realised my Dad had died when I felt the strange impulse to return home. At that point, I hadn’t shed a tear. I was gazing out my room window, when my immediate elder brother Tunde pulled up in front of the house. As he got out of the car, he noticed the unusual crowd and knew something was wrong. To put things into perspective, Tunde is literally a solid rock and I had never seen him in such a state. But, I saw Tunde break down by the house gates after realising what had happened. That was when it finally hit me - Daddy is gone and he is never coming back. And that was when I actually cried.

The Burial
I remember an ambulance arrived with my Dad’s body wrapped in white cloth, and that was when my Mum saw my Dad’s corpse. Apparently, my Mum had escorted my Dad to the hospital the day he died and was planning to return the following morning to check up on him. Sadly, that was a one-way trip for my Dad and my Mum never saw him alive again. My Mum is a tough woman, so it was surrealistic to see her slightly shaky as she stared at my Dad’s corpse. I stood next to my Mum trying to console her. After that episode, we journeyed to my Dad’s ancestral home and he was buried according to Islamic rites.

The Man
My Dad was a kind, caring and God-fearing man. He was always concerned about the welfare of others. For instance, there was an incident with one of our European neighbours on the Island, who overworked a manservant. My Dad discovered that the poor fellow had been working in the neighbour’s house all day without any break. So my Dad went to knock on the neighbour’s door and asked if they wanted to work the servant to death! The head of the family apologized to my Dad – probably quaking. The young man was grateful my Dad intervened and freed him from prolonged servitude. Often, my Dad wondered if the so-called expatriates had butlers tending to their every need in their respective countries, but had the audacity to mistreat people in Nigeria. I completely understood my Dad’s perspective. My Dad had lived in the United Kingdom: studied, worked, got married and had a couple of children, before returning to Nigeria in the 60’s. His experience abroad shaped some of his views. Hence, he did not tolerate any form of oppression – especially by foreigners in his homeland. That was my Dad.

Systemic Decline
Considering what Nigeria has become, particularly the prevalence of corruption in public service and general lack of accountability, I can’t help but ponder on Nigeria’s self-inflicted decline. At times Nigerians regale or lament about when the Naira had more value than the US Dollar and was at par with the British Pound. Nigerians were indeed respected internationally. Back then, with a good job in Nigeria, one could comfortably raise a family. My Dad and many of that generation could take good care of their families, including holidays abroad, with just salary and savings. They did their job diligently and did not have to resort to kickbacks, bribes or any form of “brown envelopes”. For example, one of our drivers built a good house with just his salary. Imagine that! Even the most frugal employee would struggle to achieve such a feat with a salaried job in Nigeria today. Nowadays, the fulfillment of children’s school fees has caused numerous marital problems in many households.

We must, however, acknowledge that some selfish and greedy people deliberately ruined the system. The system has been pervaded by people going into office with the primary objective of looting. During my Dad’s era, those who didn’t steal had a moral compass guiding their conscience, and imbibed principles that shaped their ethos. Contemporarily, it would take firm deterrents to fix a corruption-laden system. A system that celebrates, rather than punish its criminal elements would struggle to attain and sustain rapid development. A system that allows criminals, especially those masking as political office holders, to flaunt their ill-gotten wealth unashamedly, is doomed. Stealing is stealing, no matter how much the term is dulcified or repackaged. Call it graft, embezzlement or misappropriation; to my Dad you are just a bloody thief! He was disillusioned by the malpractices that were unravelling during his era, and I at times wonder how he would feel about the system now. He was especially disgusted by public officials living beyond their means. Now, I feel the same disgust! My Dad showed that you can work in government without stealing public funds. He maintained the same principles in the private sector and conducted his business ethically. His integrity was his capital.

There are people reading this piece who can relate – so be proud of your parents who chose the honourable path, and celebrate them. This is dedicated to all fathers who provided for their families and never resorted to corrupt practices in any sphere of life. Those who chose the dishonourable path should be ashamed – for they are responsible for Nigeria’s quagmire.

When next I gaze on my father’s grave, I will say “buried here is an honourable man who in his public service capacity never stole public funds”. Such a feat is priceless and definitely worthy of emulation. I am the last of five boys, and was named after my dad: Moshood Bolanle Owodunni Owolowo. It is in his honour I write under the pen name “M.B.O Owolowo”. And for that I am eternally grateful. May Allah continue to rest your soul: Ameen.

“A man’s wealth should not be quantified by just material things, but by the amount of people his wealth has empowered or liberated. A man’s wealth is worthless except it benefits others, especially those around him” – M.B.O Owolowo (Snr) March 24, 1931 - June 25, 1996.

© M.B.O