Demola is Bode, my third son’s friend. At the time he was preparing for marriage he told me that he was going to be married soon. On the invitation card I noticed the bride's name was nota Yoruba name. I said to Demola, “ Your wife is not Yoruba”, and he said, “No, ma. She is from Port-Harcourt”. “Ah, ah why do you have to go all the way to Port Harcourt to get a wife? There are a lot of pretty girls in Lagos”, I said jokingly. It happened that some years after when my youngest son, Bayo, returned from England, he was posted to Port-Harcourt, he was then single. Some time after. I noticed he always ended his letters “ with best wishes from Erem”. Then, not long after, Bayo came to Lagos to tell me of his intention to get married to his girl friend, Erem Dambo. We got cracking. Soon after the dates of the engagement ceremony and the marriage Were fixed, news began to go round that Bayo was soon to be married to his girl friend, Erem Dambo in Port-Harcourt. It was at this point that Demola, Bode’s friend came to my house. He had come to rejoice with me not only because Bayo was going to be married to a Port Harcourt girl but also that the bride-to-be, Erem, is his wife’s full sister. Well, it is indeed an interesting world!

There was an urge to do it. It was as if something or someone was pushing me to write the story of Mama Bisoye Tejuoso’s life. I mentioned it to a friend and she said to me— “Go and see her, sebi mama is your iya oho”. I summoned up courage and booked an appointment with mama. She was eager to know what I wanted to see her about. On the day of the appointment. I went to mama‘s house and she was pleased to see me. She received me warmly. Then I broached the subject, “ Mama I would like to write your life history if you will permit me to do so ma”. “You mean that is what you have come to see me about?”. Her countenance changed. She was all smiles. “Nothing will give me greater pleasure than this thing you have requested from me,” she said to me. Then she changed her position and sat up straight. “Now, I am ready. Ask me any question you like and I am prepared to answer to the best of my knowledge”. I was elated. That was how it all started. Mama was kind and patient with me throughout because I sometimes used to go and see her at odd hours.

 Mr. Funsho Ogini, the Marketing Manager at Teju Industries in the 1980's made this revelation when l went to see him while I was writing mama‘s book. We had not met before. On entering his office. I introduced myself to him. “You are Mrs. Karunwi. l am pleased to meet you. Please sit down". I sat down and before I opened my mouth to say anything he had begun the story of how he came to know about me. He said mama had sent for him sometime before and asked if he knew of any one who would be willing to write her life history and he told mama he would find out from his journalist friends. He said that when he went to see mama a few weeks later after he succeeded in getting someone, mama said to him excitedly, “Thank you. I have got someone to do it — in fact she is my “lyawo’ — she is Mrs. Karunwi". That was the story that was revealed by Mr. Oginni on the day I went to see him. Mama‘s book — A Woman Industrialist- Biography of Chief {Mrs} Bisoye Tejouso - was launched on 22, June 1991, mama‘s 75th birthday anniversary.

I was happy when i had my first child, and it was a boy. Then I had my second child and it was another boy. That was all right and I was happy. Two years two months after, the thirdchild came. The nursing sister who took delivery of the baby said to me in the delivery room, “Madam, you have a lovely baby boy”. “Oh, another boy”, I thought. Although a girl would have been most welcome, I was grateful to God for safe delivery and the gift of another child.

There was a break of seven years before another baby came. At the time I was expecting the fourth baby, l was so thrilled that the thought of whether the baby would be a boy or a girl did not cross my mind. Then the baby came and it was a boy-my fourth boy. The boys grew up. it was very interesting watching them grow. Then, Yinka (my first son) got married and his first child was a boy much to every body’s delight. Their second child was another boy. Yinka and his wife must have been happy when their second son arrived. There l was with four sons and two grand sons. “When will a girl be born into this family?” was the question that was constantly coming to my mind.

Then Yinka’s wife was expecting her third child and there were speculations. On the day the baby arrived, I happened to can at Yinka's house. i was going to Ibadan. I had arranged to take Yinka’s car to Ibadan. So I went with my driver to collect the car.

ldowu who lived with them came out and said excitedly, “our mummy has had a baby." “Oh! I’ll call at the hospital on my way back from lbadan". I said to her. “The baby is a girl”. ldowu added I turned round immediately and said to ldowu, “NO, you don't mean it. Is the baby a girl! What is the name of the hospital?" I asked enthusiastically. l changed my mind at once and headed straight for the hospital. Yewande was showered with kisses. As for the baby I felt like lifting her up and hugging her. It was jubilation throughout. At long last, a beautiful baby girl. a most welcome addition to the family. On the day of the naming ceremony, the name I gave to the long awaited bundle of joy was Aronke (we have someone to pet).

It was a Sunday morning. We were spending our leave in Lagos at Hephzi-Bah on Igosere Road. Delu, my late husband and I were at home relaxing. Baby Disun was with us at home. My house-help Bimpe had taken Yinka, who was about three years old, to the children’s church at the Anglican Girls School on Broad street. News then reached us that Bimpe and the others were looking for Yinka. My son Yinka lost?! This cannot be true. I got hold of baby Disun and out I went towards the direction of Anglican Girls School. I had called on the way to tell my sister-in-law and when we got to the Anglican Girls School we searched every nook and cranny of the place. In the meantime Mama Bimbo, the wife of my aunt-in-law’s brother of Hephzi-Bah had dispatched all her children to different parts of the area. We were all panic-stricken. then someone suggested checking at the Police Station on Catholic Mission Street. When we got there we were told to go to the police station at Lafiaji. I had given up all hope but when I went in, behold, there was Yinka sitting down looking tired and worn out. We were told at the police station that a young boy had brought him in. We thanked the policemen at the station. 

Of course the question of identity did not arias. It was too obvious that the child belonged to us. The policemen gave us the name of the young boy that brought Yinka to the police station. He was young Patrick Koshoni living on Bamgbose Street. On leaving the police station we headed straight for you Patrick’s home. It was all jubilation. I was glad to meet young Patrick and his parents. Words failed me to express my thanks to young Patrick. I will forever be grateful to him for his kind deed, His father told us that when Patrick did not return from church in time that Sunday,  he had got the whip ready. On hearing the story of the good deed he had done, he could not but thank him for his thoughtfulness. Everybody was full of thanks to young Patrick.

I must mention here that Yinka’s daddy had gone in a different direction and as he told us, was looking closely as everyone came out of the different buses. He was overjoyed when he heard that Yinka had been found. 

This is the story of how Yinka got to the police station. Bimpe had gone to the chapel where the order ones held their service, Yinka was told to go to the young ones section. Since Yinka could not see Bimpe after the service, he followed some boys and girls who were going home. Yinka said they were walking fast and ge gad ti keep running after them. When they got near the Roman Catholic Cathedral on Campbell street Patrick noticed that as much as Yinka was trying to catch up with the boys and girls, they did not take any notice of him. So, Patrick said to them, “Wait for your brother now”, but they replied, “A o mo ri” (We don’t know him). This was what prompted Patrick to take action. He messed Yinka myst have lost his way. He and his friend then decided to take Yinka tot the police station on Catholic Mission Street. From there they were told to take him to Lafiajji police station. These kind-hearted boys, Patric and his friend, did not hesitate to take Yinka to the police station at Lafiaji. More than fifty years after, I am still full of gratitude to Vice Admiral Patrick Koshoni (rtd), who is now in his sixties , for his kind deed. 

I had gone with my late husband to Uyo (now, Akwa Ibom State Capital) on tour in the early 1950’s. Uyo was then a small town. It had a small roundabout which in the colonial days, was named Piccadilly Circus. I was in the sitting room in the quest house and as I looked out I saw some cows grazing in the fields. They just stood there and stared. The scene reminded me of Willian Davies’ poem:
 
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare. 

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows. 

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. 

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night. 

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance. 

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began. 

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare. 

During the time I was in College in England, I had gone to the school where I was doing my school practice. The children in my class were lovely, innocent and inquisitive. I went for my break and on getting back, this sweet little girl came to me and asked, “Miss, ave you been to Africa and back?”

I was still a student at the Froebel Educational Institute in London. We were on holiday and I was spending part of my holidays at the Colonial Hostel in Earls Court. I went out with some friends. On this day, we broke one of the hostel rules. We returned late in the night. We were able to gain entrance into the hostel by going up the staircase. The more quietly we tried to creep up the stairs, the louder the noise the staircase made. Before we got to the top, the screeching noise must have been so much that the warden woke up and came out of her room. She took a look at us and went back to her bedroom without saying a word. We were luck. No reference was made to the incident the following day.

During the time I was studying in Britain. I somtimes used to dream that I came home, and each time I would have a jolly good time with my people at home. On this particular night of 18-19 November, 1947, I dreamt as usual that I came home but this time things were not the same.

There was no one around; everywhere was quiet. I decided to go straight to my mothers room. I knocked a the door but there was no answer. So I opened the door and I saw my mother in a crouching position on the floor. Then I woke up.

I did not remember this dream until later in the day. I was going with a group of students on a school visit. On our way to the school we went past a post office and I was tempted to send a cablegram home just to find out if all was well at home. On second though I did not. 20th November was a public holiday in Britain - the day that Princess Elizabeth (now Queen of England) was married to Prince Phillip.

On the 21st, I got a cablegram from a friend in Lagos, which read -accept profound sympathy. And that was all. Sympathy for whom - my father? my mother? Those were the two people that came to my mind immediately. I was upset. Our hostel warden cabled my parents in Lagos asking for further explanation. That night I could not sleep a wink. The following day I got a phone call from my guardian asking me to see her. I went with a friend to see my guardian and it was then that the news of my younger brothers death was broken to me. He was sixteen years of age. Modupe Phillips was a brilliant boy. I was told that just before he fell ill he took part in an international competition for the writing of a hymn tune and he came second. One of the gyms sound during the annual choir festival at the Cathedral Church of Christ is sound to this tune. 

My cousin, Winifred was a favourite of her aunty, my Mother. She is usually called "Winnie" for short. One day she came to see us. On entering the room my mother exclaimed "Winifred". My younger brother Dupe who was then about seven years old said, "Mo ti mo cruko papa yin leni. He is Mr Fred". That was how my cousin's sister came to be known as Hilda fred. In fact, she was nicknamed Lady Hilda Fred!

Reverend S.I kale then principal of C.M.S Grammar school, who later became the Bishop of Lagos, was a pleasant person with strong personality. He was loved by his people and he had a good sense of humour. Papa, Rev Kale was our victim on 1th of April 1942. We, the class V pupils of C.M.S Girls School used to go across the road to C.M.S Grammar school for latin lessons with the boys. Rev Kale was our Latin teacher. In those days the C.M.S Grammar school was next door to Faji primary school opposite the C.M.S Girls School on Broad street.

On April 1, 1942 we decided to have a April fool fun with our Latin teacher. There were seven of us in class: Late Moji Wey (nee Coker), Jumoke Pension-Smith (nee Odunsi), Adetoun Osinupebi (nee Ademokun) Late Adunni Phillips (nee Taylor), Gbemi Rosiji (nee Mann), Abimbola Silva (nee Phillips) and myself.

We said we would tell him that out principal, Miss Wedmore would like to see him. On getting to the Grammar School one of us went up and told him Miss Wedmore would like to see him. He left immediately and went straight to the C.M.S Girls School across the road. The conversation that he and missed work more hard is best left once in my generation. When rap hill return to the classroom, he went straight to his seat, started teaching on pretending not to see the naughty smiles on the faces top golf
 

She was a lovely old lady in her 70s spending the rest of my life with one of her sons. Her hair was all white - Mrs. Marianne Phillips, my grandmother lived with us at No. 5 Ajele street. I was about 5 years old then. I remember I used to go to her on her bed with a comb and white thread which I used to plait her hair with. It had to be white thread because her hair was, as I said all white. On other days I would choose to be a seller of slippers. The slippers of course belong to people in the house I would go to granny's room with my products for sale and she would tell her house help Yoyin to give me two pennies for them. On leaving the room, I could collect the money and slippers and on my way out Yoyin would stop me and shout, " O tun nko awon slippers lo ni?" (Are you taking the slippers with you?) Granny would quietly tell her "Fi i le jeki o ma ko won lo" (leave her, let her take them). Granny died in December 1933 at the ripe age of 81.