MEMORIES OF MY FATHER AND MOTHER

My mother’s father, Pa John Adeniyi Noble was a trained tailor, quite tall and lived until he was in his 90s.  He had acquired his surname name whilst working with the colonial masters as a servant; the story was he inherited the name because he conducted himself like nobility.  I remember him as a strikingly tall man with regality his second nature. The distance of over 325 kilometres away in Usi-Ekiti did not stop him from being my mother’s rock in those times of unremitting grief.  My mother tried all she could to reassure us and I always craved her attention, her softly spoken voice, her enduring hugs, and of course, we could not forget her savoury cooking.  She also ensured we cultivated the discipline of writing to grandfather, to update him on our progress and other matters of interest.  All these projected a sense of security and stability.  My mother was an exquisite cook and was famed for being one of the first to master the art of cooking fried rice in Nigeria.  Many times we retreated into the comfort her cooking and home baking provided and offered.  It was very soothing to her as it was to us.  I can still remember her immediate response to my father’s death was to retreat into the kitchen and bake various tasty pastries. 

Memories are aroused of my mother, a strong and fearless one, attempting to stand up to soldiers during a traffic incident on our way back from school only to be rescued by the ‘messianic’ actions of my uncle, Professor ’Biodun Adetugbo.  In 1973 the Professor of English, then a Senior Lecturer, on that humid mid-week afternoon, at risk to his own life fought the rabid soldiers to a standstill.  The incident dragged on rather late into the evening before it could be resolved with my uncle ending up in hospital and we at Lion Building.   After it all, we thought we had the next day off school, but my mother still insisted we continue with our routine.

The memories of my father are now somewhat distant and what I know intimately about him seeps through the recollections of my mother, uncles, aunties, from the pages of letters and the records of research he undertook before he died.  I can remember the many stories from Uncle ’Lawale Ojedokun about my father.  My father was the second surviving child of his father Ojedokun there was the constant spectre of death that hovered around many families at the time leading to the loss of four of his sisters who did not survive into adulthood.  His father, Ojedokun had four brothers, Ojedele, Ojekale and Ojelade and they were the sons of Ojeleye.  Bilikisu Alajiki, his mother was a tall proud woman, a Muslim convert, she died in the 1950s not too long after the birth of my uncle, Ayoku Adeleke Ojedokun.  Uncle Ayoku bears a striking resemblance to my father and because he never knew his parents, his brother, my father became his surrogate.   My early memories of Brother Ayo as we called him, now the University Librarian of Bowen University, Iwo, are of a generous and kind teenager dishing out to us two or three pence as pocket money after ensuring we did our homework.   He always emphasised hard work and always asked whether we came first in the class examinations! He was a stickler for form and procedure. Today with a height of over 6 feet with his shoulders slightly stooped, I sometimes feel he walks as though burdened by the memory of the lingering loss of his elder brother.

Anyway, it is from the scraps of facts woven together by my Uncles Oladejo Ojedele. ’Kola and Ayoku Ojedokun that I learnt my ancestors were itinerants who.......... Read more from https://www.createspace.com/4943826