By Yinka Oyebode
The celebrated Chinua Achebe it was who put the inevitability of death in the most succinct manner in his book, “Things Fall Apart, when he wrote: “A man who does not surrender to anything will one day surrender to the death mat.” So, it was with my father, Chief Samuel Oladipo Oyebode, who heeded the final call on December 19, 2021, when the angelic host arrived at his bedside in the wee hours of the day he took a ride with them in their chariot.
My mother, Esther Anike Oyebode, confirmed daddy’s exit through a phone call at exactly 5.30am that day. “Daddy has gone home. It is well,” she said and hung up before I could ask further questions. Her call was not unexpected, because daddy was already showing some signs that the end was near some weeks earlier. Rather, the call ended months of anxiety for me and my siblings as age had taken its toll on our dad. My anxiety was about losing a father I had known and treasured for over 50 years, anxiety about losing my number one cheerleader, teacher, critic, friend, adviser and advocate all rolled into one.
Relating with my father through the years has helped shape my world view, especially about times and seasons of life. The Book of Ecclesiastes, in chapter three, dwells much about times and seasons: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
Because of the gift of longevity that he enjoyed, I was able to experience different phases of my father’s life. I grew up knowing him as a no-nonsense teacher, disciplinarian, loving father and an excellent family man who devoted his time, talent and treasure to the service of God, community and humanity as a whole. Later, he was slowed down by age and his activities and strictness reduced. In the latter years, bent by age, he opted out of all social activities and retained only the church activities and regular reading of his Bible, which he did with as much joy and gusto as he could muster. Eventually, he retired from every activity, had his Bible passages read to him, but retained his trademark smile, glowing eyes and some wittiness and strictness.
Mayegun, as I loved to hail him, meant so many things to so many people. But integrity, firmness, fairness, love and generosity were five of the virtues that defined his 95-year sojourn on the surface of the earth. These were the virtues that made him a father in a million to his children and father to millions of other children.
For me, I cannot be more proud of my heritage of having been fathered by such a man of immense goodwill. Mayegun’s actions, like John Quicy Adams wrote, inspired people to dream more, learn more, do more and become more. The avalanche of goodwill that his name confers on his children and the volume that has trailed his demise are eloquent testimony of his greatness. While he constantly reminded us of the need to preserve the good name he has built and take it even further, I am daily showered with love and affection by some of his old students, boy scouts and former teachers.
I was registering my name as one of the journalists covering one of the Chief Adekunle Ajasin Foundation event some years ago when one of the officials singled out my name and sought to know if I had anything to do with his former teacher who was a scout master. And when I answered in the affirmative, the man spent over one hour telling me stories of my dad’s uniqueness as a teacher, scout master and moulder of young people’s lives. Till date, the man who is in his mid-seventies calls me regularly to ask about his beloved “Baba Scout.”
For me, daddy’s greatness lies in the life of service he lived. What he lacked in financial muscle, he made up for with his huge social capital and the concomitant goodwill. I cannot talk about Mayegun without mentioning his impact on my life. I drew a lot of lessons from dad, including the beauty of delayed gratification, the dignity of labour, honour in service and giving without necessarily expecting anything in return. These are the lessons I learnt by observing his ways and actions, not by virtue of his cane, which he applied generously while we were growing up.
On marriage, he repeatedly told me to look for a godly woman who was a trained professional. He also told me the secret of a good home: be a good man, a good husband and an excellent son-in-law. He told me all these to prepare my mind for marriage, and after he had waited for some years and I didn’t introduce any female friend to him he set up a heart-to-heart talk with me on marriage. Never a man to stampede or mount undue pressure on his children, he dealt with the marital issue in the most diplomatic manner and in a jovial manner, he “tutored” me on how to woo a lady. We both laughed it off, but I got the message: I was ripe for marriage and the fact that he and my mum had no clue about my marital plans had caused them some anxieties. When I eventually told him a couple of months later that I had met a lady I would like to marry and would be introducing her to them, he said rather excitedly, “I told you there is nothing difficult about this thing” (wooing a lady). And when I finally introduced my fiancée to him, he took an instant liking for her, apparently because he was convinced the union was a product of his ‘tutoring,’ moreso when my “testimony” of how I met my wife had some similarities with the tips he gave me on how to woo a lady.
Mayegun was a lover of education and he ensured all his children got the necessary support to get good education. I recall how he rebuked me when he learnt of my withdrawal from a master’s degree programme halfway because I could not afford the fees. My explanation that I took the decision because I didn’t want to bother him or anybody with postgraduate school fees when he still had my younger ones in school only succeeded in infuriating him the more. He told me that his retirement notwithstanding, he was duty-bound to pay my school fees to any level. He later demonstrated that a few years later by paying for the postgraduate studies of two of my younger ones.
Interestingly, the seed of my love for journalism was sown by my dad, howbeit unknowingly. While other siblings of mine had other daily chores, it was my lot to pick up dad’s newspaper daily from the news agency office in the neighbourhood. I started doing that before my ninth birthday.
And it conferred on me the right to glance through the headlines and some of the stories before anyone else. When eventually I opted for journalism as a profession after my national service, he had no qualms with my decision.
And when a few years into my journalism practice my mother raised some concerns about how the then military regime was hounding journalists, insisting that I should opt out and look for another job, it was my dad that convinced my mother on the need to allow me continue with the job I seemed to have passion for.
And when I was about joining the public service, it was another round of tutelage on how to serve without soiling the family name. For him, the emphasis should be on service and value addition above every other consideration. And he kept checking with me to ensure I upheld those core values.
A lover of his community, Ido-Ile, which he served as the national secretary of its Development Union for 26 years, my dad was so excited when, in 2019, I was named chairman of the planning committee for the Ido-Ile Day celebration, an annual event involving all sons and daughters of the town. As usual, he demonstrated his support by giving a lengthy lesson on how to organise community people.
I served out my tenure with the hosting of the 2021 edition last October. A few days to the event, he presented me an envelope, which he described as his personal support to augment my spending. and when I said it wasn’t necessary, he insisted and, with a smile, he asked if I was turning it down because it was not a ‘brown envelope’. I got the message and we both had a loud laugh.
This weekend, the remains of Chief S.O. Oyebode, my father, mentor, friend and cheerleader, would be interred in Ido-Ile, marking the end of a generation of leaders that laid the foundation for the development of the town. But he lives on in the hearts of millions of his children.
Adieu, Daddy. Mayegun is indeed your name, and not just a title.