My Father, The Song I Still Hear By Bimbo Esho

My father was not just a man.
He was a symphony wrapped in skin,
A walking archive of forgotten tunes,
A lighthouse for lost rhythms,
A custodian of voices long gone
But never silenced.

He was the morning sound
Of spinning vinyls and soft humming.
He was the night breeze
That carried highlife into our dreams.
He did not speak often —
But when he did, music poured out,
Not just from his lips — but from his soul.

Daddy didn’t love music.
He was music.
He felt it the way others feel rain —
Washing over him, soaking deep,
Drenched in melody,
He danced through life
With a vinyl in one hand
And heritage in the other.

He made our living room a sanctuary —
Where rare records wept joy,
Where forgotten saxophones told stories
Only his spirit could translate.

There were nights when I’d wake
To the sound of a long-lost I.K. Dairo track
And find him — eyes misted,
Whispering names of legends
As though calling ancestors home.

And in that moment I knew:
He wasn’t archiving music.
He was preserving memory.
He was binding us to our past,
Note by note, name by name.

Now, one year since the music paused,
The silence is heavy,
But never empty.
Because I still hear him —
In crescendos of celebration,
In whispers of highlife choruses,
In the soft crackle of an old LP.

I sit in his chair,
But it is not just a seat —
It is a throne of memory.
I walk into his office,
But it is not just a room —
It is a cathedral of culture.

Through Evergreen, I carry his torch.
I digitize, I document, I defend.
Not just for him —
But for every unsung legend
Whose voice he once lifted.

Daddy told me once:
“If you give music a second life,
You give our people a second heartbeat.”
And so I try,
Every day, through the ache,
To give breath to the songs he loved.

I miss him in the quiet.
I miss him in the music.
But most of all,
I miss the way he made our culture feel alive.

One year later, the tears come softly —
But the love is louder.
Because Daddy never truly left.
He simply became
The eternal song I will never stop hearing.

Adieu, Baba Musician.
My father. My melody.
Forever in every note I play.

Bimbo Esho

END

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