Grandpa once told me a story about uncle Femi as a young boy: He decided one day to ask his children, one at a time, what they aspired to be when they grew up. According to him, the answers were satisfactory until the question was posed to uncle Femi, he responded in all seriousness (or so it goes): “I want to be Job” ( their gardener at the time) who, according to the good doctor, had the best job - because he got to sleep all day and generally not do much. At this, we both laughed uproariously. Grandpa, all those years later, was still genuinely amused and perplexed by uncle Femi’s (very astute in my opinion) answer.
My uncle, despite his warmth and excellent sense of humour was also an enigma. I once asked him (recently, if memory serves), why he always chose the most remote and unlikely places to live. He responded (again, I paraphrase): “because that’s where I found work” with a whisper of a smile. A smile, mind you, that was both there and not there at the same time, as if he were privy to esoteric universal wisdom that was inaccessible to mere mortals and could only be channeled through his characteristic dead-pan humour.
He was a man of few words, but I suspect he harboured many unstated opinions. He was a man whose presence was felt despite being noticeably taciturn at the best of times. His laugh was equal parts infectious, understated, and uplifting (what I can only describe as a chuckle that was expressed more visibly than audibly). He was a jolly man despite his tendency to sit in silent observation most times. He was a gentle, peace-loving soul. In fact, the only time I remember him losing his temper was when he came to the defence of my mother, my siblings, and I against a vile, small, bigoted English cabbie (his complete opposite come to think about it) - one of the very few times I remember him raising his voice. Even when, as a young boy, I dared to admonish him for spilling water on the floor after his shower; he didn’t shout or even noticeably get upset. All I got was a “you’re very cheeky” in his trademark quiet growl, the same unchanging enigmatic look on his face.
I hope, one day, to be privy to all the secrets of the universe that kept him as poised and dignified as he was. For now though, I will content myself with reminiscences of all the time we were able to spend together and regrets for all the missed opportunities.
I’m heartbroken, as we all are, and words on paper will never do the man justice. Uncle, you are a special person and I pray that your gentle soul rests in peace.
May we meet again on the morning when God’s kingdom comes.
Deyi Dipeolu
