Just the way the cookie crumbles…

48hours ago….Saturday Morning

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I was with little brother in dad’s house where he has been staying for the duration of his court attachment. Little brother isn’t little in the real sense of the word. He’s a giant of a man, in stature, emotions and will.

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I went there because I needed to find closure. I needed the real details of ‘how it went down’. I knew it was more than what he told everyone. I needed every damn detail. His last words, what he ate, how he slept, how he felt etc

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So with my back turned to him(I sat facing the wall in an opposite direction while he faced the other side too, with his books in front of him). He gave me the details I needed.

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We spoke in hushed tones. I asked each question after what seemed like an eternity, waiting for each message to sink in. He was kind enough to give me answers. And for the first time since that sad event on June 1st, I shed bitter tears, silently and wiped them just as if I never did. I regained my composure before asking another. He couldn’t have known I was shedding tears on the chair.

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After staring at the wall over and over, I took my bag and left.

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The last time I visited that house, he was there. He ate amala which little brother prepared. I took/he gave me his perfume.
He visited me in my house after then, carrying with him the mortar and pestle I requested for.

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I know some people are hungry to read this tale even though they have pretended not to know. So I will feed their appetite shortly.

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But after taking the pain to write this, and after you have seen it on Facebook with a wakapass, do not walk up to me after few months, 1,2,4, years and say “ees like you lost someone sometimes ago. Was it your real father?”.

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Trust me, your foolishness will be wearing not just skirt and blouse but it will be complete with gele. I saw a comment like that on my brother’s wall. “Was he your real father?”

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Some people will pretend not to know and will not bother to reach out. Honestly, I really don’t care. Its better you remain forever silent on it but do not crawl into my space after a while with ‘sorry for your loss”.

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Why am I saying all these?

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People are terrible on social media these days. But that’s who we have become. We drop silly Facebook comments without emotions. We get informations about people on Facebook yet we still call and say “Nike, did anything happen to you recently? Or you keep asking me how it happened”- but what will you do with that info?

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Yet some people don’t know the right words to say in situations like these. Because they have never known pain. So, they may trivialise what one is going through. Its no fault of theirs that they can’t understand it but its wise if they don’t make insensitive comments.

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Everyone close to me …..or not close, knows I have a special love and relationship with my father. Of course that is evident on my wall, this blog(if you have been reading since inception five years ago till now).

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So I lost him around 2am on the 1st of June.
And everything stopped….

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And Jesus wept…..(lol)

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And the sky turned blue, then grey and black……

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I grew up like a ” Joseph” in my family. My father made me a coat of many colours many times over. And the affection was evident. But thank God I escaped being thrown inside the pit(lol).

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I lived the “babygirl” lifestyle till June 1st.

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When I first got to FCT, I was always being chauffeur driven round town. We had something to do in Maitama almost every week so he was always parked with his driver at Berger(yes, there’s Berger here too), waiting for me to join him from my airport road residence(Now that Evans has escaped, I can’t be too generous with exact descriptions).

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Later, he would drive all the way to airport road to drop me. Everywhere I have ever lived….ogbomoso, Lagos and abuja, they know me and my father. We were an item. He came with goodies every time. My wardrobe in school was always like a mini supermarket.

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While in Lagos, we would travel together every Monday to Lagos and Friday to Ibadan. He was always parked in front of my office waiting for me every Friday. My boss was used to hearing “eeskiss sa, mai daddy is waiting for me outside sa. Can I close early today?”

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And on Monday mornings, he would look at me and say “you are too quiet. People will treat you bad if you keep being silent like this”.

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If only he knew…lol. I could be quiet but I know how to give appropriate clapbacks. I know how to reject victimisation albeit silently. I am trying hard not to be a rebel anymore.

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When I was on IT at SCOA Foods, Isolo, he would drive all the way from his Ikoyi Office to Isolo to pick me on Fridays after work. I closed 6.30pm. And we would go to Ibadan. I hardly spent weekends in Lagos.

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When he says ‘come to 7up at Alausa so that it’d be easier for me to pick you. I’d stamp my feet and say no. Then he would drive down to Isolo.

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When I had an accident with his car and ran away from home, he called and begged me to come back. I thought it was a joke. But when I got home, I met a meal of pounded yam, home cooked corn and other goodies he always came home with. He made only one statement…” I am glad you didn’t lose your life in the accident. That is what matters to me. The car isn’t a big deal”. All my friends who knew about my accident were shocked as well at his response.

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My dad followed me everywhere. To the passport office at Ikeja where we were both drenched by rain, to the Civil Liberties Award ceremony at Ikeja, to the Federal Judicial Service Commission at Three Arms Zone.

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The latest place we should have been together was at my book reading. He promised he would be there with me.
He was happy when I told him about the book. And you should have seen his face when I said he would pay 10k for a copy. He reminded me he was a civil servant.

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“Bhet daddy, you are a top civil servant”.
While alive, he was the CSO of National Industrial Court of Nigeria. He covered the 12? divisions of the court as the head of security. He travelled widely from Abuja to Jos, Bauchi, Lagos, Ibadan, Maiduguri, Kaduna, Calabar, Enugu( can’t remember the other states right now). He just got back from Bauchi and Jos and was planning to visit Calabar before his death.

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He had retired from the NPF before he took up appointment with the court. And when I met the President of the Court later, the Hon. Justice Babatunde Adejumo, I understood how much he loved my father.

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My father gave me everything I ever needed in life to become somebody and he was even generous in death. He died well. But for the sake of my ‘village people’, I may not be too generous with information here. Many people read this blog, I am aware. Even though they pretend not to.

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So, because he gave me everything else in his lifetime, I don’t need physical belongings of my father to make me feel good. Empty people run after assets. Because they are empty, vain. So if my village people are reading this, this sub is for them(lol).

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I may read this article years later and cringe..maybe, maybe not but as at today, this is how I feel and I am unapologetic about it.

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I am the child of my father. I glory in the fact that I enjoyed his last moments, his laughter, his joy, the discussions. The last time we were together, he even brought me food and we ate together merrily in my sitting room.

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When I had chicken pox and could not go out, it was my father who left Garki and came to check on me, bringing breakfast and drugs.

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When I had to be at the hospital this March, it was my father that marched in gallantly and visited me at the hospital.

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When I needed someone to talk to, it was with my dad in his Garki office.

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After my mom died, we became even closer. And he told me some of the things I had never heard before. I don’t know how it happened that after he got transferred from Lagos to Abuja, I also transferred myself with him to Abuja as well. I could remember the day he told me about his transfer, we were on our way back to ibadan in his hilux and I said

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“Daddy, do you want to leave me here and go? Nooo, I can’t stay back in Lagos if you are no longer there”.

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Well, I didn’t even move to abuja immediately. I was supposed to even move elsewhere farther but Providence arranged that I still stay around him. And I enjoyed every bit of my babygirl lifestyle.

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If you have never experienced true love, this is what true love is. Giving with pure unadulterated kindness and not expecting anything in return. After God, if you are lucky to have my kind of father, you may experience it. But if it is from a common man you seek it….look no further, because there is no true love in Nigeria….only mutual interest(lol).

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But please, let this not make major newspaper headlines or blog titles, maybe I don’t mean it sha, or maybe I do. Let me be entitled. And please don’t take me up on this true love issue in the comment box, that isn’t the focus of this long essay.

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So I funnily found myself checking through the pages of the Bible to see what God said he would do for orphans(lol). After reading that passage with a wakapass before now. But that is just the way the cookie crumbles.

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So, I have become emotionless, uncaring and unfeeling these days. I feel so unattached to situations and people. I don’t care anymore. Before now, I used to care when people fight me, but now, I don’t care anymore. Fight someone who has nothing to lose, you are the big loser.

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And for those saying, yes, we know her father was her backbone, let’s see what becomes of her….you will wait in vain because my real Father isn’t dead.

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While I grief, while the pain in my heart is deep and raw, I feel I need to eat dessert at Dominos. Maybe I will feel alright. Or maybe I am going crazy. Because I haven’t even cried the way I ought to. I should be seeing a shrink if I were living abroad. Or probably get my head examined by a psychologist. Or maybe I am losing my mind. But before I lose my mind, who feels like buying me dessert either in Gwarimpa or Wuse?

Author

nikeolasiyan@yahoo.com
She has won many awards in writing and poetry amongst which are CLO essay competition (1st Prize Southwest) NDIC essay competition(5th Prize in the southwest) and a World Bank Essay Certificate of Participation She has worked with woman.ng as a content editor and a host of sites as a ghost writer. She has written great inspirational content for fashion brands/blogs. She has been featured on radio and recently added public speaking to her portfolio. You can hire her to write a professional/business profile for you, online content editing, book editing, guest blogging, ghostwriting, content creation or if you need copies of her book, contact her via nikeolasiyan@yahoo.com Facebook.com/Yetunde Olasiyan instagram.com/Yetunde Olasiyan Follow her business page on Instagram @officialladywriter

Comments

Yetty owoot
July 10, 2017 at 2:13 pm

…my real father is not dead. I so love that!
The Lord will always sustain u dear sis.





Mary
July 11, 2017 at 4:49 pm

Nike am sorry for ur loss…no words can describe ur pains or comfort u either…it is well with u and ur family



August 1, 2017 at 4:41 pm

I am so sorry Yetunde. I could never have imagined that something this awful happened when I noticed your absence on the blog. Kudos for returning and even commenting on my blog. You are the real MVP.
God will keep you and comfort you and your siblings in Jesus name. Amen .
Help me greet your brother, my learned colleague to be.



Adedoyin
September 2, 2017 at 1:14 am

So sorry for your loss Olanike, I met him once in your house at Podo but never know much about him. Great men don’t die they lives on in our memory.



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