Firstly, I would like to thank all of you here on behalf of my mother and my brother and sisters, for your efforts large and small to be here today, to help us mark my fathers passing.
I am honoured to be here.
I am honoured to be here to speak to you all.
I am honoured to be here to speak to you about my father.
Each of you here had your own relationship with my Dad, each of you has your own set of memories and your own word picture that describes this man. I don’t presume to know the man that you knew. But I hope that, in the description of him that I offer, you will recognise some part of the man that we all knew, the man that is no longer amongst us, the man who will never be gone until all of us here have passed.
My Dad was a man of many names, acquired either by virtue of who or what he is and symbolise. He was variously known to different people and generations as “Aweda”, “Olu”, “S.O” “Baba Yemisi”, “Baba Temidayo”, “Baba Opaleke” and to me and my siblings he is just “Baba”
Summing up my father’s life, I keep coming back to one thought. Never will you meet a man who more faithfully lived his values.
My father was a teacher of all things. His method was simple. He taught by example. At any age, when faced with an ethical dilemma, after reflection, study, or even rationalization, I find myself coming back to one simple question. What would Dad do? His character is the foundation of my conscience.
My father’s teachings are endless. Let me share a few.
My father was strong in body, in spirit, and in commitment. He believed in family values and selfless service to people and the community and many of you will bear witness to that.
At times my Dad would be presented with the need to cope with a behaviour from my brother or I that he didn’t have an pre-made answer for, one that he would just have to cope with on the spot. He was a loving disciplinarian, and his love starts where his discipline stops. I remember when he had to jump on the Kaduna bound express train the afternoon he saw my name in the papers having been wrongly implicated in the ABU student riots in 1980 in order to get me exonerated. When he got to Zaria, he came straight to ABU with my uncle (late Mr Afolabi) to my friend room around 6.00am whilst we were still sleeping. I had to beg my friend not to say that I was in there and I hid in the wardrobe. I heard my dad appealing to my friend to try and find me that he loves me and did not want me to come to any harm. I had no choice after his outburst of emotion but to go and see him later that afternoon. Such is the truth about his love for all his children and people close to him.
My father had a quick temper, a temper that flared, ran hot and died just as quickly. That could be thought a flaw if it were not combined with another part of his character, his difficulty in holding a grudge. He and I talked about this one day, it came up because he knew that I had struggled at times with that same temper. The way he put it was “Say your mind and be free but apologise if you hurt as that was not intended″. This pair of traits I have, learnt or inherited it doesn’t matter, what he was, so have I become.
My father never let another man down. He fulfilled every obligation he ever undertook. His word was his bond, and everyone knew it.
My father was self-made and self-reliant. From his early tough beginnings on the farms at “goingan”, his travails into the railways, education at school of pharmacy, Zaria, to his career and eventual business ownership. My father was proud to be a pharmacist. He was solely influential in my decision to also be a pharmacist.
I remember, in his business days when I suggested ideas of growing the business, his response was that he has to allow room for others and as he did not come to this world with nothing, he will go with nothing. He maintains that the absolute essence of life is contentment and being able to care and provide for your loved ones whilst maintaining personal dignity and self respect.
My father was loyal. His faithfulness to the important people in his life could be seen in the way he steadfastly maintained ties with his childhood friends. In keeping with his values in old age he still attended birthdays, weddings, christenings, and laterly wakes and funerals, all that mark the hyperbolic nature of life, my Dad could always be counted on to be there.
My father was never stingy. Though he was a deprived child who understood the value of a money and the importance of saving, the generosity he expressed with his money matched his generosity of spirit.
My father was responsible to the very end. How many elderly people do you know who put down their car keys and voluntarily announce that they are no longer fit to drive?
And he loved my mother with every bone in his body, his visible affection overcoming his usual reserve. Dad’s unflagging support for my Mother’s personal development in her career and in life created the perfect balanced childhood for me and my siblings.
My father gave me a parting gift. The last words I was blessed to be able to share with him were the same words we said to each other every time I spoke to him for the past year when we finished our regular phone call. I love you.
My father was many more things than this I know, you know it too. Some of you will recall his generosity, I will always remember his sense of humour. My father never smirked or smiled, he laughed, all of him, from his belly to his eyebrows. His hands would lift off the table, his head would tip back and he would just laugh.
My father was an interested and interesting man.
And finally most of all my father gave us boys an example of a man whose imperfections provided the colour in his character while his strengths gave his character its wonderful shape.
Farewell, Baba. You did good. You did real good. And your legacy and values live on.
Adieu Baba! Adieu...Rest in a most deserved Peace with the Lord. Amen.
Your Loving Son, Olajide Olabamiji Opaleke