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Writing a tribute about my dad is indeed writing a letter to my friend and I know he is reading it. He wasn’t my dad, he was my friend and the mutual relationship was our anchor on sad days. He never missed a chance to tell me how much he loved me and I always told him what he meant to me. We always talked for hours on the phone and never ran out of things to talk about. Our friendship grew stronger when I lost my mum at a tender age. He taught me all I know and preparing me for the future. I learnt a lot of engineering and accountability from my Dad. Every day he will write letters to us all about the chores for the day and he will inspect everything.

He had a planning notebook, where he will record every expenses made and he had a file for everything. For him every new project needed a file. He will always say that documentation is the heart of life. He increased my passion for politics by allowing me to engage politically with some of his friends and that was rewarding for me.

He was my boldest cheerleader and trust me he did watch every show I did on TV and he was proud. I remember a day when we went out and we came back late to Ibadan and we ran into a robbery incident. I remember how he told me to duck and run home, that he will find his way, which was scary. My Dad was a fighter, he always won. He taught me the fighting spirit, he battled disability gloriously. In the 70s, he had an accident and he lost two fingers on his left hand but he was undeterred and his resolve was strong. About 15 years ago, he had a seizure in front of me and when he was resuscitated in the hospital, he smiled and said it’s not time to die. He had an interesting sense of humor, he had the heart of a child. He also battled a tumor in his spinal cord that affected his mobility but he kept on pushing for another 11 years with great enthusiasm. At the age of 86, he battled sepsis for six days before he finally died. This time he had battled enough, his body had been ridden by disease but his spirit was strong and that’s the strength I hold on to.

My father knew me so well and when he saw I became a journalist he laughed because he had always wanted me to study to the Arts, but I was hell bent on sciences. He will let me have my way. When I look back I have no regrets because I kissed him every time I got the chance and I told him every day how much I loved him and we did dance a lot.

One thing is certain I know this isn’t goodbye, he is still around. I can’t kiss him anymore but I feel his spirit every time. The last time I saw him two weeks ago, I suprised him, I didn’t tell him I was coming. You need to see his eyes, they glistened with joy and we hugged. He is not dead to me. My Dad can never die. He lives. Love you pal.

Your friend that happens to be your son,
Rufai Oseni, rufaioseni@gmail.com