Times happen when we are numbed and disoriented, groping to regain a handle on reality and wondering all over at the meaning of this life we live. That is the place I have been for some few days now, with the shock demise of a lifelong friend and soul mate, Oyewole Ande.
Not that death is anything extraordinary or a scarce phenomenon. It is as commonplace as its polar end, that is birth, and it happens almost daily around us: an inevitable juncture of mortal existence that should be anticipated and, as such, readily adjusted to when it occurs – sure, with grief, but also with fatalist resignation. But death sometimes occurs by sly ambuscade to a loved one and knocks you clear of that conditioning, leaving you grappling to hold steady in your circumstance. When that happens, the momentary effect is like walking dazed in dreamy land.
My friend’s demise penultimate Sunday was of that mould. On the day he passed on, there were no indications few hours beforehand that his departure was so imminent. He was not in ill health, and neither was he in the least cast down, say by depression, as far as casual observation goes. Now by hindsight, though, it seems there were signposts that he was a Saint Triumphant making ready for a victorious transition to immortality. Almost literally speaking, what Oyewole did was settle his outstanding earthly debts, make final peace with man and God, and then walk the high road into Heaven.
That Sunday morning, the two of us were on our feet within the premises of the church where he worshipped whenever he came to Lagos for close to two hours – he was that healthy – catching up on each other and clearing up some past misunderstanding. He was based in Ibadan and had earlier informed me he would be in Lagos for some social commitments, and would love that we meet up if I was in town. I happened to be in town; and because he was to return to Ibadan soon after the Sunday morning worship, the best deal was for me to leave mine own church after Sunday School and catch him up at his church during the service.
We hadn’t seen for some while, and we used the opportunity of our meeting up to refresh each other and speak frankly as lifelong friends that we were about our current circumstances and family conditions. Oyewole smiled meekly for much of the time and was concessionally disposed on all the issues discussed. When I was set to leave, he saw me off to my car and requested that we pray together, which we did holding hands. I had parked my car further down the church gate and needed to drive back towards the general exit, and so I asked my friend to join me so to drop him off at the church entrance. At that entrance, we unconsciously took some minutes more to chat in the car until the church’s security man came around to prompt me that I was blocking the pathway. It was then that Oyewole came down from the car and walked briskly into the church as I drove off.
News got to me later that this same friend I met with earlier was about leaving church with his family after the morning worship service when he slipped into endpoint unconsciousness. He got in his car, settled at the steering wheel and himself released the car booth latch for his wife to place some items in the trunk. Eyewitness accounts were to the effect that by the time the wife came around to sit next to him so they could drive off, she found him slumped in his seat and initially thought he was taking a curious nap. It was as he failed to respond to prodding that the wife, who I know to be a faith soldier, raised an alarm. The commotion that followed among dispersing congregants as they hurriedly regrouped to intervene could well be imagined.
Why have I taken out the space this week, you may ask, to tell this personal story? It is because Oyewole’s demise impacts me so profoundly that stitching this piece together is itself an endurance though cathartic task. But also, I owe my lifelong friend a public tribute.
Besides the shock circumstance of his passing, I had known Oyewole from a time so early in childhood that it is difficult now to pinpoint the starting point. We began as kid playmates and transformed into alter egos, especially as we were of the same age, with only a five-week difference in our birthdays. Him growing to become a senior career banker and I a career journalist, he was so steadfast in friendship that no member of our parental and subsequently personal families could ignore the relationship even if they wanted to. I was the Best Man at his wedding, and we swopped places as he played the same role at my wedding some years later.
When we both clocked 40 years of age, he preferred that we have a joint birthday party so that whoever cared would know we remained close friends, and he footed the bill to make it happen. We had two other friends we gravitated with from childhood, one of whom we lost in a fatal car crash many years ago. On the day of his own transition, as we prayed, Oyewole remembered to mention to God that it’s been 33 years since Segun Olayemi died (it was his mention that reminded me of the exact number of years), and that we were thankful for being alive in our own case till date.
How does one write few lines of memorial tribute about a lifelong friend and bond brother whose presences populate the entire spectrum of your memory lane? How? And how can one help wondering what really is the point of life’s exertions, when you could be up and bristling with aspirations one moment, only to be demised and eased into history the next moment – literally?
But here’s the deal: In Oyewole, I lost a friend but gained a spiritual mentor. In the Christian faith, we believe he has joined the celestial host who witness and urge on the earthly tribe in our faith walk through life. And so, though I lost a friend, I have gained a spiritual encourager.
Re: ‘Obasanjo’s makeover’
Kayode, please don’t quote OBJ out of context. What he said on ‘do-or-die’ was that fielding credible candidates for PDP in the 2007 general election was do-or-die. This can be restated as: fielding credible candidates in PDP is a task that must be done.
And for your information, the only medium that carried the story was Saturday PUNCH sometime in April 2017 (sic). Many commentators did not even get to read the original text, but just lapped onto the interpretation of OBJ’s critics without checking out what was actually said and in what context.
In spite of my observation, I want to commend your insightfulness.
– Lanre Tunwon, Ilorin.
Kayode, well said on Obasanjo. Formerly an apostle of politics with bitterness, Baba is now born again. His target is probably (former Vice President) Atiku (Abubakar).
– Known respondent, but identity withheld.
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