Olusola David Aina

“Grief is the price we pay for love”. In no particular order I have cycled through anger, bargaining and depression since the morning of Tuesday February 7th 2023 when I was told you took your last breath at 10:36am. I rushed to your bedside hoping to kickstart your recovery process and now we must prepare for your funeral. Nothing in the weeks since that horrible morning has made any sense to me – you had so much life to give and too many stories to tell about your childhood, our complex family tree, your life, so much knowledge about the world to impart … so many memories to relive. The last time we talked we agreed to schedule a special family group call after Mama’s burial. Now you must live on in our imperfect memories. You were truly the kindest person that I know. Like Tope, you would literally (and figuratively) give others the shirt off your back to improve someone’s life without hesitation. I have received messages from people all over the world sharing their condolences and eager to talk about your various acts of kindness to them over the years. You were a blessing to your family, your friends, your community, your people. Many times we would complain about you being more of a father to others than to us. You were the giant tree in our backyard – our hiding place during difficult times, our shield from the harsh realities of life, our unyielding anchor for so many years. Contrary to the maxim “spare the rod and spoil the child”, you did not believe in using the rod at all. I remember having grown up discussions with you as a five or six year old. You believed you were speaking with an adult and always treated me like one. I even remember you going to a neighbor’s house to admonish him for spanking his child. You believed there were other ways to pass one’s message across. “Ki i n s’ẹranko”, you would say. Despite your kindness in all things you would always quote one of your late ẹgbons – the world has no room for failures. Thank you for inculcating your work ethic in us. You believed no one owed you anything, and that we had to work hard and smart for everything we want in life. You believed that with the right kind of support anyone could achieve anything in one’s lifetime. Your life was a perfect example of this. You were a high achiever – in academia, in business, in life in general. Despite your very humble beginnings you were determined to live a life of purpose, and you did. Thank you for imprinting your vision of the world on me, and on all of us. You were my first teacher, my mentor and my first coach. I remember seeing you work at all hours – always reading or writing – especially early in the morning or late at night. Even in retirement, you kept looking for new ways to stay busy, to remain relevant and useful to the world around you. You were a man of action, and believed that perpetual action gives meaning to life. I remember with a bright smile those early primary school debating years when you stayed up with me at all hours practicing and getting ready for each debate. I will miss discussing Nigerian politics, global geopolitics, international relations and macroeconomics with you – thank you for helping me develop a keen interest in those topics. I will dearly miss our Saturday calls. I looked forward to them. Now I need to find other routines. I know you loved every member of the larger Ekiti community and did what you could for our development. You talked about trying to help each person with their goals, their dreams, constantly pushing us to do better for ourselves and achieve more. Now, we must go on without you. We will carry on where you left off, and hopefully make you proud. Finally, dear daddy, I hope you are with Tope. Please say hello to him for us. I miss him. I miss him deeply. I love and miss you terribly too. I know this too shall pass but it hurts too much. Forever yours. B.B.