Most of our growing up was spent in 142 Idewu Street, Olodi-Apapa.  Who would ever know that each one of us came out of the "jungle city", Ajegunle if we don't tell you. Some think I am telling a lie when I say I grew up in Ajegunle. It's notoriety is not a hype. So it is little wonder while growing up, daddy forbade anyone of us to just wander off out of the house or even mix/associate/play with the neighbours kids. You would only step out of the house on an errand or you were going to school or lesson. Ajegunle was no easy place to grow up so Daddy knew he had to protect us and he had his ways of doing so. It was so in the 70's and early 80's before I finally left home for higher education. Our nights in those years were usually punctuated with incidents of armed robbers raiding homes and sometimes, hurting residents around us. We could hear them sometimes breaking into homes around us. Several homes fell victim so we were always barricaded in with burglary protectors on all doors and windows. One night we woke up to see that they had gained entry into daddy's room through the window AC fitted in his room. We had been robbed but no one was hurt. They came in and they left with no one hearing them. as we were fast asleep. Something must have spooked them not to have come fully into the rest of the house. Dad was also not home that night as he must have been away on one of his travels. It was therefore characteristic for dad to actually sleep with a gun underneath his pillow whenever he was home. Thinking about it now, it seems like relieving a movie recounting this particular incident. On this particular night, daddy was home. We had said our prayers as usual and gone to bed. Daddy would often times lay on the rug in the living room and yes, he would have a pillow and a pistol under it. It must have been at about 3:30am. This was typically when these robbers operate in the area. The robbers had broken into our apartment. They partially removed the burglar protectors of our kitchen window and had come in through the kitchen. They tiptoed along the corridor and accessed the living room where daddy was asleep behind a couch. One of my older cousins (Robinson) was asleep in the middle of the living room. They flashed a torchlight at dad's face and that temporarily blinded him. He was held at gun point and so was my cousin. I couldn't exactly recall how many they were but at least 3 of them were inside the house. They started helping themselves to the electronics in the sitting room. One by one, they were taking things out through the kitchen window. As they were done looting, they started leaving one after the other through the kitchen window as they came. The last of the robbers to leave still held my dad at gun point and was trying to make his way out of the living room. Daddy saw that he was the last one of them to leave and as he turned away and got to the kitchen to get out through the window, daddy got up and went after him! You would wonder how I knew this detail; well, this was narrated by my cousin who was watching in fright all of this unfold. There was some commotion in the kitchen at this time and I woke up from sleep, hearing my father screaming "Ole" "Ole!!" "Thief!!"  "Thief!!!". My bedroom which I shared with my sibblings was quite close to the kitchen so the noise woke me up. Sleepy eyed, I got up from bed and waltzed towards the kitchen. At night we would only. have a blue light on in the corridor. We typically would turn off all white lights in the house and leave only the blue or red coloured lights on just to give the home an ambiance of night as we retire to bed. So I walked to the kitchen still drowsy from sleep, strangely the door to the kitchen was open. but it was dark. I could hear the commotion going on in the kitchen but it was pitch dark because we never left the kitchen lights on when we go to bed. So I reached for the kitchen light switch and turned on the lights. The scene that greeted my childish eyes was one I would never forget. I saw Daddy was crouched on the ground grabbing the leg of someone whose body was partially out of the window. He was trying to pull him back into the kitchen. There was also someone else outside the window using an iron rod to strike repeatedly at my Daddy's hand and head. I saw my cousin immediately lurch forward and tried to help my father but instead of grabbing at the leg in aid of my dad, he accidentally grabbed at my dads hands and pulled it off the robbers leg. This scene I described was apparent in less than 3 seconds. In shock, I panicked and switched off the light immediately as if to make the scene I just witnessed disappear. I don't know if it was my instinct to prevent the robber hitting my dad from having clear visibility at trying to hurt my dad or just out of fear. This time, my dad's hand had been pulled off the leg of the robber he was trying to apprehended and he escaped out the window. I saw my dad immediately rise up to his feet and dashed past me back into the living room, he grabbed his gun from underneath the pillow where he hid it and went after the robbers through the front door. I heard two gunshots! It was my dad shooting. I also ran to the living room after my dad. There were some drops of blood along the corridor. I was starring at the living room now emptied of some of the electronics. The neighbours were all now up, I stepped outside also, and came out with the neighbours to the street. Daddy had shot at one of the robbers and he must have been injured but escaped with gunshot wound. His gun can only have 2 bullets in it so that was all the fire power immediately at his disposal. As we were out on the street, one of the robbers was seen walking away, limping, right in the middle of the street, waving his gun and daring anyone to come after him. In his other hand was our portable radio-Tv which daddy had back in the days. It was a radio, cassette player with a mini black and white TV in front. The thief was backing away with it while waving his gun at anyone who dared come after him. Believe it or not, there were street lights all along the street and the lights were on so it was all as clear daylight to see. There was nothing more to do...no one would dare go towards someone brandishing a gun. Daddy got us back into the house. He was bleeding slightly from the corner of his head where he had been struck by one of the robbers. Mummy helped administer first aid while we tried to recover from the shock of everything that we had just witnessed. We found they abandoned one of the items they tried to make away with on the floor of the kitchen. Daddy had put himself in the front of a really deadly situation to protect his family. God forbid that anything had happened to him on that day. What would have happened to us? But this is who daddy was. You don't bring trouble to his doorstep. He was a brave and fearless protector not just in words, but in deed.

"See your writings like fowl scratch". So daddy would say when you have written something for him or to him and he assesses your handwriting ability. Dad always looks at your writing like a School teacher would their student and rate it in comparison to his standards. He was also on the alert to get your spoken English errors and correct you as you. addressed him. I felt he was always assessing me to see what his investment in my education was yielding. For one with not so much formal education himself, daddy was very particular about our written and spoken English. He was so bent on not having our spoken English tainted by my Isoko dialect to the extent he forbade anyone to speak to us in Isoko at some point. Hence my struggle with Isoko even as he later relaxed this and often mocks my inability to speak Isoko (your fault dad). Have you seen daddy's handwritten notes? It was a work of art! I wondered where and how he learnt to write like a master calligrapher. His precision at writing in a perfect straight line on plain sheets of paper without guiding lines was what first took me aback. Dad would ask me to get him a sheet of paper from his bedroom so he composes a note for me to either take to a friend of his or when sending me off to school, to my guardian. I sometimes would stand by him watching as he wrote effortlessly with a font face looking like Edwardian or Brush Script. Then he seals every letter with his signature which was a work of art in itself. I was so impressed with the way daddy wrote, I started learning to mimic his writing. Daddy signs-off his signature on every newspaper he bought as a mark of his ownership. So when he is done reading, I would pick up the newspaper and start practicing his signature. He saw me trying to sign his signature one of those days ( I think I was about 10 years old), and he asked what I was doing. I told him I wanted to write like he does and was trying to copy how he wrote from his signature. He then got a plain sheet of paper and taught me how he signed his signature. I practiced and practiced almost all day until I was perfect at replicating dad's signature. I was so good at signing like my dad, I recall one of those days, he phoned home and asked me to issue a signed cheque to someone to take to the bank as he was not home to do so. The cheque cleared with no issues. From learning dad's signature, I created my own signature styled in the same Edwardian / bush script stroke like daddy's. I also mastered how to write on plain sheets of paper in a straight line like dad. I became so good in my handwriting, I won 1st prize having the best writing in my secondary school from year 2 to year 5. My writing script was displayed on the school's notice board as a model after each of our schools' annual handwriting competition organised by my principal, Rev. J.D O'Connell. I can still sign daddy's signature...ask me when you see me for the fun of it :-)

Daddy remains one of the few persons I know that religiously brushes his teeth at least 3 times daily! 1st thing when he wakes up, and immediately after any meal and it is the last thing he does before going to bed before or after his prayers! He epitomised the saying that cleanliness is next to Godliness...but this is not about how much daddy stood by and tried to live by his Christian faith. No, I am saying daddy is so much about cleanliness and orderliness as he is fervent about his God! Daddy's wardrobe is also organised by the various types of clothing. Everything pressed, folded and arranged by types. His long sleeved shirts have a section different from his shortsleeved. His early love for French suits had all properly dry-cleaned and in their protective nylon covering and hung in a particular section for suits. His belts, stockings, neck ties and briefs all had their separate sections. New and unused clothing were also kept apart from what he had currently in use. All my life living under his roof, daddy's wardrobe was NEVER seen in disorder! As a military officer, God knows what my hands saw with brasso (product to clean and buff the brass trimmings on his work shoes, flower vases & staff)  and ox-blood/dark tan shoe polish to keep his shoes shining! :-( Please look at daddy's photos and his outfits. He was particular and intentional about his appearance and style. "Guy man" indeed! It definitely rubbed off on his kids...but I cannot say that about my wardrobe being as organised or brushing my teeth 3 times or more daily (make I run hide)!