‘THE BEGINNING’ - from excerpts 'I FOUND MY VOICE'

Dr. Olasupo Ojedokun and President George Bush 

The Portuguese explorers were so enchanted when exposed to the sandy shores of the place called ‘Eko’ that their first instinct upon disembarking their ship was to christen it, Lago de Curamo, the name for lakes.  The modern day Lagos remains a unique little jewel in the West Coast of Africa.  It is bounded on the west by the Republic of Benin, to the north and east by Ogun State with the Atlantic Ocean providing a coastline on the south.  It is blessed with a total of 3,577 square kilometres; however, 787 square kilometres is made up of lagoons and creeks including: Lagos Lagoon, Lagos Harbour, Five Cowrie Creek, Ebute-Metta Creek, Porto Novo Creek, New Canal, Badagry Creek, Kuramo Waters and Lighthouse Creek.

It offers a mix of charm and history of the Portuguese and Brazilian embroidered with Yoruba culture.  The warmth of Lagos and her people make it difficult to resist falling in love it.  With water splashing and lashing around shores of Lagos, it a city of life, for water where ever it is found sustains life; it also gives hope and opportunities to those who live near it.  That is why our adventures to Mars, beyond our planet, to go where no one has gone before cannot fully commence until we find a way to transport water there. 

The origins of Lagos though interwoven with myths remains unquestionable Yoruba and some clues can be found in its ‘Oriki’; the literary genre used to inspire its people is recited below:

“Eko akete Ile ogbon

Eko aro se se majae ilu eko KO ya bu omi suru mu

Warm, Eko, aro mi sa legbe legbe

Eko o ni baje o

B’oju o ba ti Ehin’gbeti, oju o ni t’Eko”

The direct translation is:

“Eko, the Island of wisdom

Eko, a land bounded by seamless flow of waters

An Island of non-diminished heritage and values

As much as commerce never cease so does Eko remain the citadel of innovative enterprise.”

So I found my feet in the midst of so much potential for life, surrounded by so much vitality in a city influenced by Portuguese and Brazilian architecture.  A city, which received its wealth from the economic boom, that came from being Nigeria’s capital and its vitality from the smattering of night parties that dotted across its landscape.  This is a city with a climate characterised by tropical wetness and dryness bordering on monsoon climate. 

It is in this city that I took my first political steps.  I can recall my recent visit to Lagos, everything felt frozen in time, not much had changed and some decadence had set in.  The roads have improved with a dose of sanity injected but it remains congested with traffic, which emits ever more increasingly potent fumes from gridlocked vehicles. There are many more pedestrians struggling for very limited spaces.  In many respects, it resembles organised chaos and the earlier attempt by Governor Lateef ’Kayode Jakande to provide a tram alternative was frustrated by the military regime of Major General Muhammadu Buhari that took over the governance of Nigeria in 1983.  The present Governor Raji Babatunde Fashola has rekindled this dream with a tram project called the Blue Line expected to be complete in 2014.  These are where my nascent dreams matured; here is the backdrop to my beginnings, the beginnings of a journey of discovery.

At our Akoka, University of Lagos home by 1971 we enjoyed the luxury of riding to school in a 1970 version of the American Chevrolet Caprice Kingswood, Estate wagon, a black one and a white one; the engines purred as it moved along the wide roads leading to our primary school.  They were the biggest and most expensive cars in the whole school and this made me feel very special.   We were never wealthy enough to afford two Chevrolets but my father had become the acting Director-General of the Nigerian Institute of International Affairs (NIIA) and with it came perks of office such as official cars.  The cars were donated to the Institute courtesy of the Ford Foundation.  I remember his driver, Umeh, his infectious smile, the lightness of his skin and his smart military bearing which made me suspect he was ex-military.  

Once my father indulged me by allowing me to sit on his lap as he drove and playfully encouraged me to feel the steering of his car, he loved playing pranks; he was full of fun and life.  You could always hear his deep sonorous voice bellowing out and resonating through the walls of our one storey home when guests came to visit, he would tease them several times in Yoruba language saying:

“Ema wo le!”

Which meant:

“Look at the ground.”

He told me his ambition was for me to become an engineer so I could become a creator and an inventor.  I did not become an engineer in the traditional sense, but an engineer determined to create a space for social transformation.  My father’s rise had been meteoric and quick, from his appointment as a lecturer at the University of Lagos in 1968 to the pinnacle of the Institute in 1971.  In the University of Lagos, my father was reunited with his mentor Professor A.R. Aderigbigbe who maintained his close relationship with us even after his death.   At the Institute he was credited with initiating a programme for the Institute of interdisciplinary research, symposia, and lectures, and the publication of monographs and surveys, with emphasis on African affairs, a legacy which continues till today.

My mother recalls that I was very inquisitive as a child and my early memories seem to corroborate this.  I can remember shortly after we returned from England to Lagos, pointing at every item of furniture in our new home and constantly asking in my heavy Southern London accent repeatedly:

“Daddy did you buy it?  Is it yours?”

I can remember how my father packed so much dynamism and achievement into his short life.  I still have fond memories of how he bought second hand car after car, playing mechanic only to be frustrated because his and his brother ’Lawale’s attempts at repairing the various cars proved futile.  I can recall the elaborate picnic we had in the bushes of the University of Lagos behind where we lived.   At heart, my father was a village boy and he always sought to re-create the nostalgia even in the serenity and orderliness of the campus.  On that occasion, we feasted on roasted yam dipped in red palm oil with palm wine to cleanse the palate and for a brief period, we journeyed back to village life whilst anchored firmly within the sophistication of the campus.  As time went on, we saw less of him as his new job at the Nigerian Institute of International Affairs took more of his time.  

He grew in sophistication and became a tobacco smoker, purchased a pipe and acquired a beard.  He started wearing a thickly rimmed pair of glasses his wardrobe was transformed with neatly cut suits replacing his casual clothes.  The man seemed so indestructible!  He was looking ever more distinguished and important, a man going places.  He began to feature regularly on television programmes and he began to travel around the world with increased frequency.  On one of his trips to Singapore, he bought us some kites.  We tried to fly the kites but they proved no match for the locally made kites made from discarded newspapers, broomsticks glued together with locally made starch.   My father took enormous pride in his work and every new publication he authored he would show us even though at age five or six we could barely understand much.  Once we received chastisement because we soiled one of the journals where his paper 'The Anglo-Nigerian Entente and its Demise, 1960-1962’ was published with palm kernels while playing out in the garden of our home.  For more you can purchase the book 'I found my voice' by clicking on the right or left for kindle or paper back version...https://www.createspace.com/4943826