My father, my Father: My True Story

My Father, my father: My True Story

Papami passed on at 9.07 of March 26 2021 between the second and third wave of Covid-19 that has kept the whole world practically locked up for almost a year. He lived to the ripe old age of 98 plus. Most of the people I informed about his passing delicately commiserate with me, rapidly following up with the remark that congratulations are also in order for such a long life. Or sometimes in reverse order. And they are totally correct.

As a matter of fact, since he turned 90, I had been expecting it. Something like the way I am still expecting the rapture. Whenever I want to travel, I consider what I would do if I heard the news a day before. While I am away, I consider what I would do if I heard the news while I was away.

He was buried today, 31st March 2021 thousands of miles away from where I am. I was not connected to Zoom. But I was already up and present in spirit while the burial must have been going on in another continent. Deliberate? No. I don’t think so. But when I did wake up, it became deliberate. Does that make any sense?

Am I sad? I think so. But I am not sure reality has set in. He had been around for so long, I didn’t doubt that he would still be around for a long while yet.

But then again, I must confess that I started mourning without even realizing it, the last time I video-chatted him. He just didn’t seem to be the same man I have known all my life. As a matter of fact, that day spurred me on to make frantic efforts to instigate a review in the arrangements the family had made to care for him. I had very clear ideas to Improve it that had been burning on my mind for a while now. But I got nowhere with it and withdrew. It was not fun to feel helpless. But the Comforter comforted me.

After getting through that, I could start reflecting on a Plan B. On my return home, I would travel from my base to Lagos during which period I would personally work on adapting my care ideas to what already existed, and spend quality time with him to the bargain. Just like the last time I spent quality time with him many years ago and he told me at my departure how much he had enjoyed my company. In spite of the fact that we argued, and disagreed many times over. I guess from what I could see the last time I spoke to him, I had instinctively figured out that there wouldn’t be many more such opportunities. But nevertheless, the news of his passing came as a shock. You see, I had expected him to make at least a hundred.

Soon after the initial pain, the Lord comforted me through friends, relatives and siblings. Some wept with me; some called over a couple of days or more to check on me; others texted comforting words, while yet others cheered me up by sharing their experiences. Some urged me to call on them if there was anything they could do and others prepared to be present at the burial until they discovered I would not be there. I learned from them all while processing it. I hope in future to be used as an instrument to better comfort others with the comfort with which I have been comforted

While going through all this in this far away land, I was also planning in my mind, my onward travel itinerary on my return, from the capital to Lagos, where he was no doubt to be buried. But this decision was soon taken out of my hands. The first was when I heard he was to be buried at his residence, and this subsequently sealed when I was informed four days before the event, that the burial had been fixed for the 7th day after his demise!

My reaction to the first news was pure anger. We were not a tradition-steeped family and the idea of burying him in the residence of the compound in a city like Lagos was preposterous. Since my position on the matter was not sought, and especially because every sibling probably knew it well in advance anyway, I decided I would not attend the burial. After the initial heat of anger, I modified it to attending the wake but not the burial. Then came the second bombshell barely 4 days to the event; the burial was scheduled for 4 days later.

Well, by the grace of God, the impact of the force of the second news was blunted by the first. Since I already had such strong reservations about the arrangement, not being present did not present much pain. The Lord comforted me and reassured me that He was still in control. And that the burial was of much less importance than the life. And my memories of the life was under my control and could not be taken away from me until I needed them no more….

I was considerably reassured by the fact that, after I came to know the Lord, and as watched him grow old and grey, I seized every opportunity to share with him what awaited us all in the afterlife. As you can probably imagine, my dearest wish was to see him in the afterlife and I never failed to remind him of that. The bottom line is that I love my father (present tense for he lives on in my heart) and I know he loved me. The stories that follows will convince you of why I feel so sure… and hopefully of much more.

There are many, and I am going to flit over the first ones and leave the best for last. They will not be in chronological order but I am sure you won’t mind by the time you finish reading.

The first thing I can remember doing with my father were evening strolls. I must have been about three years old then, which makes it even more amazing that I remember. What was special about that, you may ask. Well, my memories show me strolling in the cool of the evening with my hand in my father’s and feeling very safe and loved. Something Adam and Eve might have felt when God would come keep him company in the Garden of Eden, I think.

Another one was the warm feeling I felt about my father’s interest in the things I loved. Here is one example. I was a curious, not to say, precocious one and after making a big fuss, successfully started reading at a relatively young age. When my father noticed my love for reading, I did not have to ask him before he started bringing children’s comics and books home for me. One particular one I can still remember today was titled Look and Learn. And yes, the whole point is that while I can only remember the title of the reading materials, I can never forget the care and love that went behind the ready supply I received. I must have been about 8 years or thereabouts at this time. And just as well, or I would have gotten to reading adult stuff that did me no good much earlier, as I eventually did in adolescence to my own hurt.

Here’s another one. I always knew my father wanted me to become a medical doctor. I cannot quite remember his ever telling so though. But I always knew he loved the profession and since I was doing so well in my academics, it seemed quite right to oblige him. He must have been the one who shared with me at some point, the that he had been in the army Medical Corps during the Second World War and I guess that was when he developed a love for medicine. And for as long as I didn’t have any other ideas of a career, I went along with it. But by the time I was in what would be referred to as Junior Secondary school today, I had already realized that medicine was not going to cut it with me. I was an art student at heart and my effort went in the direction of my heart. My main concern was how to break the news to my father for I knew he would be disappointed. Well, when I finally summed up the never to break the news to him that I would not be doing medicine, Papami did not blink an eye!! He supported me all the way in my new choice and gladly sponsored any vacation study trip I had to make towards achieving my goal. Who wouldn’t love such a father?

But there’s much more. This one will amaze you. My father once offered me a blank cheque — yes literally –and what more, during my days in the campus!!! Tell me, who does that? Again I cannot remember the details, but if I recall right, I believe that for the very first time, I ran into financial distress far away from home. When I got home, my father and I were discussing how to avoid that sort of thing in the future… and he came up with the bright idea of giving me a blank cheque so I could fill it and get what I need form the bank on campus whenever I needed it!!! I don’t know about you, but that kind of responsibility scared me at the time and I wheedled my way out of the generous, loving offer. But I never forgot it and all that it implies in our relationship. What a father, right?

And the fact is that, he was just as interested in the progress of each of his ten children even if his motto was: You do your part, and I will do mine. None of his children can ever accuse him of being reluctant to support their valid, reasonable, progressive dreams. Even further, if he got the impression you didn’t have one, he would create one for you whether you liked it or not! But I confess that over the years, I have been able to thwart, by hook or by crook, one or two of his ambitions for me.

But for all this, he was a disciplinarian. Did I already mention the ‘belt’? If not, don’t worry. You will soon get more information about that. Hardly any child, I assure you, was spared the taste of the belt. I wonder till today where the scientists got the idea that sparing the rod would help a child. Give me the Bible any day. I personally hold no grudges as to the use of the belt in place of a rod. And it became a popular joke among most of the children in my family. Mind you though, I cannot recall that the ‘belt’ ever accompanied any of us to adolescent. Never. And that again is to the credit of my father.

And there’s also our unescapable Saturday morning chores. Dusting, moping and/or sweeping were a regular part of the first day of the weekend in our house even when we had a house-help.

Papami was also what I would call an extreme pacifist, and this is yet another aspect of his character that I confess I was never able to cooperate with. Hear me out please. Just imagine this scenario. At one time, I and my older sister by 4 years were being harassed for no reason other than that we were a relatively unstreet-wise, by street bullies, as we returned from an errand. Well, we turned out not to be quite as docile as they might have expected. The news of our ‘exploits’ got to my father’s ears and of course we were queried.

Feeling pretty much justified, we narrated the whole event to my dad, hoping without hope that he would perhaps take the matter up with the parents of the bullies. Well I personally felt not a little indignant at my father’s shocking judgement: “Let me never hear of you quarrelling on the streets again. Next time they want to pick a fight with you, cross over to the other side of the street to avoid them!”

Again, tell me, who does that?!!! Well, I personally found that instruction ridiculous and had no intention whatsoever of obeying him on that. Thankfully, the result of flaunting his instructions on this never had to be put to the test. I can only assume that we had successfully shown the bullies the stuff we were made of, as I cannot recall any other similar incident.

But there was also an interesting instruction it never occurred to me to question, talk much less of disobey. I did mention already that my dad believed in hard work. He liked to say of himself: ‘I am a self-made man’. That was one of a few of his bragging that annoyed me… even before I came to know what God had to say about it.

The instruction? Here’s the background. He got me a vacation job, I believe during the long vacation that preceded my admission into University. When I got my first salary, my father told me to give my grandmother some (or all?) of the money. I did. Why wouldn’t I when my father was such a good provider? I knew I would lack nothing so it did not even occur to me to question the counsel. Does that remind you of Psalm 23? If not, then it should. The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want… And if you cannot recite that psalm off-head, then I suggest you check it out. Because if you do not, or never had such an earthly father, you sure do have the Great Provider in heaven for your everlasting Father. You just need to get to know Him.

And to end this story, giving my grandmother became such a joyful practice for me until she passed away when I was already close to my forties. I suppose the kind of prayers I received in return might also have been an incentive…

But there is so much more to my father that I cannot not recount in this write-up. And so many others that are not mine to share. But I sure hope you have been able to pick a thing or two for yourself and your children from what I have shared so far. That, after all, is one of my reasons for sharing all this. We thank God for a long life and pray that God extends the same to all present in Jesus’ Name.

But now, to the icing on the cake.

That title sounds like the cry of our Lord Jesus Christ on The Cross, right? Yes indeed, The Ultimate True Story. But this one is somewhat different … and yet related, as you will discover as you read on.

As you all know by now, this is a kind of memorial to my father, Francis Ajayi Olomu, but much more, it is to the glory of God, my Heavenly Father.

I thank those of you who have bothered to read this far. Let me assure you, you won’t regret reading it to the end. I’ll try my best to make it short. So sit tight and here goes…..

The story I am about to share with you is at least half a century old… and yet just about three decades young. And you will soon understand what I mean, so, don’t worry. Just bear with me.

I must have been between 7 and 10 years old. My family had just moved to a brand new house. I remember I and my sisters were very excited on that day. We were at that age when unfettered, unsophisticated excitement was part and parcel of everyday life. We were eager to embark on the “great adventure” of discovering the nooks and crannies of our new abode.. We were bright eyed and bushy-tailed, all ready to launch into ‘orbit’. But we had not reckoned with the ‘baba at the top’, F.A Olomu.

I remember he called us three together as some fathers are wont to do, and warned us sternly not to go dipping our hands in paint or anything and that anyone that does with “smell the power of his cane”. Okay, he might not have put it quite like that, especially since it was a belt whose powers of reprimand all three of us had tasted at diverse times, but I am sure you all know what I mean. But when has a little thing like that ever deterred ‘great adventurers’ like children at that age. So we all murmured “Yes sah”, and quickly rushed to pursue our adventure as soon as he finished.

Did I tell you I was the youngest of the three? Well this detail is very important because somehow, the other two were ahead of me. No tone to give up easily, I ran after them, rushing through the kitchen and pushing the door that led to the dark, secret staircase that led to glorious freedom of the backyard. Oh, I still remember the lovely times that backyard offered today. Some of you reading this may also remember. A household with ten children tends to gather a lot of young people, and ours did. Oh, but neither can I forget my first introduction to that backyard.

It was only after I pushed that narrow back door that I felt the gooey texture of … yes, you guessed it… the wet paint on my hand. It was white. And what was my next instinctive reaction. Let those of you who were once young fill in the blank. It’s a 5-letter word. Too old to remember? Let me help you. S-P-L-A-T. Yes, splat! The sound of my palm on the unpainted wall of the dim corridor! And it was only on beholding the evidence of my ‘crime’ that the implications set in.

If I gave you the impression that being a ‘great adventurer’ meant that the smell of ‘the power of the ….’ was no big deal to me, forget it. Dread settled on me. But I happen to be a cerebral person. I stopped to think a bit. There were several options:

i. I could ignore the problem and go discover anyway. But that gooey reminder on my hand was already a blight to my pleasure and joy! I would need to get rid of it to really enjoy myself.

ii. I could call on my sister for help. But they were long gone, and there was no guaranty that I would be able to catch up with them.

iii. I could paint the whole wall so nobody would see my handprint on the wall. (I was getting desperate now).

iv. I could run away from home and never come back.

But there was one last option, and that was the one I took. At this point, I burst into tears for two reasons. You see, I was already upset about the mess I made on our brand new beautiful yet undiscovered house. Plus the thought of the ‘smell of the …’ didn’t make me feel better. The last option read something like this: “I shall go up to my father, and I shall unto him, Papami, I have messed up the new house and I have come for my just desserts”.

Bright eyes now wet and dull, bush tail now between my legs, I dragged my feet up to seek F.A. Olomu. On the surprised query on his face, I confessed to him what I had done, holding up the evidence for him to see. We might as well get the ‘show’ over with. Ah, and what a show it was! What a lovely, lovely unforgettable show!

First, my father wiped my teas. Then he took me by the hand, and walked me through the house, to that same narrow door, through the same staircase I just messed up, down to that glorious back yard… and continued!!! What? I knew where the ‘belt’ was kept, and here we were moving far away from it! And it looks like we were even going to discover beyond my expectations! The spirit of the ‘great adventurer’ returned to her.

Yes we walked across to the backyard of the neighbouring house (there were no high wall separating neighbours at this time). What was going on here? I was soon to discover to my greatest the delight. When did you discover that kerosene cleans oil paint? Or you don’t even know that simple fact? Well I had practical science lesson that day and it was great! F.A Olomu bought kerosene, washed my stained hand in it, then we washed it with soap and I was released to pursue ‘my great adventure’. No cane, no belt, just fun!!! Are you asking me why I love papami?

But you ain’t seen, you ain’t heard, and in this case, you ain’t read nothing yet.

‘Rewind forward’ to some three decades later. Yes it took me that long to realize that I had been doing it over and over again, but this time with greater and more eternal consequences. I wish I could say my previous experience helped, but it didn’t. And it was only after I took that smart decision again that I realized the similarity!

Yes, I went to My Father in Heaven. I confessed all my sins to Him on realizing that He had the ‘Kerosene’ just waiting for me all the time. The One that came in the flesh just so he could truly represent me (Bible passage). The One that committed no sin (1 Peter 2:22). The One that died for my sins so I can be considered as sinless (Romans 5:1). The One that rose again from the dead to prove to me that indeed ‘It is finished’ (Luke 24: 34). The One who was so anxious to reassure me of this Truth by insisting: ‘If it were not so, I would have told you’ (John 14:2–4) and has promised to make a place for me. I could go on and on, but the space will not be enough.

And the Good News is…. Well, actually He did it for you as well because of His great love for you. Romans 5: 8 says, “But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were yet sinners, Jesus died for us.”

There is no sin that is too great for God to forgive if you ask in the name of Jesus. It’s not about how ‘good’ or ‘nice’ you become before or after the event. You see, in Ephesians 2, verse 8 -9 it has been stated clearly that it is not by your works. Otherwise you would be entitled to boast about your achievements, right?

No. Even if you were 99% on track, that would not be good enough for our Holy God. That is why it has to be about the One who achieved the 100% on your behalf. That is why it has to be about His Grace. And that is why it has to be about you believing what He has promised.

Yes. It is about your readiness to exercise faith in Him. And faith is not as complicated as you may think. Hebrews 11 verse 1 says “Faith is being sure of what we hope for, and certain of what we do not see.” You exercise it every day on the most mundane things. For example you leave your house for the office or market or business every single working day simply trusting that you will get there safe, and you do. You visit an ATM every now and then with faith that there will be cash available and mostly, there is. Therefore you can afford to exercise faith in the sacrifice of Jesus, the only Begotten Son of God, on the cross for you, and you know how to!

1 John, 1, verses 1–9 says “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us all our sins and cleanse us from all iniquity”. Yes! But the same passage continues “If we say we have not sinned, we make Him a Liar, and the truth is not in us…”

He is FAITHFUL to His Promises and He is Just. That is why He WILL NOT REJECT ANYONE WHO COMES TO HIM SINCERELY IN THIS MANNER.

Dear friends, relatives, and countrymen. It’s YOUR call.

I thank you for reading this to the end. I hope it has been a blessing to you. For further enquiries, please email Kofo4Christ@gmail.com

God bless you