I saw a need ...

Youthful exuberance was replacing strive for academic excellence in my town (Awe). The young girls I left in JSS 1 for University were with pregnancy. The young boys roam the streets at night. Results of various secondary school examination were becoming alarmingly poor. This spurred a passion in my heart to do my part. I developed programmes that could expose these youths to good models (like me) who once lived in the same town. I went to four Universities and one Polytechnic during my semester break to sell the vision to other university students who had one time or the other passed through Awe township. We discussed this menace with the king and one of the chiefs. To highlight the academic views of secondary school students in Awe, quetionnaires were printed, administered and analyzed. Aawe Excellence Club was formed and now, Awe Excellence Conference (a programme that features academic seminar, Questions and Answers, Career Counseling, etc) holds every year. The seeds are being sown and I believe that one day, the fruits will be uncoverable. I simply saw a need.

I've got a Story! Story! Part Two

It was 2am, three months after the death and burial of Mrs. Adelakin. The wind had just finished blowing his whistling cold breeze as it opened the heavens for release of rain. As the rain hits the iron roofing sheets, it produced the ‘music’ no one would have cared to dance even if they were awake. No! Mr. Adelakin whose eyes, though red and sullen, was wide open, would not shake to the rhythm of the best drummer not to talk of the smattering sound of the rain on the roof. His mind was busy while his heart was heavy. As he raised his right arm to use his sleeve to clean the drops of tears from his right eye, a drop of cold water fell on his left arm. It was from a hole on the roof. He was shocked and he became conscious of been awake and lost in thought all through the night.
- “Oh no! This is a dream; I must wake up on time and wash my face with water. Then I will go and pray and fast that this dream will not come to pass.”
- “How will I raise these five children?”
- “Why is this happening to me?”
- “Oh, God! My God, what of my last born, Akin?”
Just as he turned to see the drops of water rolling on the wall from the hole in his roof, he saw Akin’s innocent body laid on the bed with his right hand on his mummy’s pillow. Drops rolled down his face at greater speed. He burst into tears.

The cock had crowed, the night had passed, the rain had stopped and the birds were singing. It was three days after he had agreed to leave his children. Dupe, being the only daughter of the five children, was dear to his father’s heart so much that every one called her daddy’s pet. Though Mr. Adelakin wouldn’t want any of his children to go and leave under another man’s roof, he had to release Dupe to go and stay with her uncle in Ilorin. He couldn’t put himself together to carry the load alone; pitiable poor bricklayer. What a way to start life; Akin had to go and stay with Late Mrs. Adelakin’s parents (Mama and Papa).

Papa was a no-nonsense, hardworking peasant farmer, 62 years old. His hands were callous by hard labour in his cassava farm in Gbadún and his yam farm in Òhòòho. Akin would later know what it means to stay with Mama, a strong but kind 59 years old woman. Mama was a trader with all her stocks of goods in a single old tray. Her tribal marks were already getting faded with her wrinkled face.

It was his first day in this new home, Akin fixed his eyes on the wall in a mixture of fear and amazement like a child looking up to his tall father. His eyes were on an agama lizard high up on the muddy lintel. Little did he know he would live the next seventeen years of his life in this muddy house. Mama noticed the amazement on his innocent face, with tears on her wrinkled cheek; she pressed the little Akin against her chest with her head bowed on him.


Now, that Akin is no more with dad and mum, the story begins …

I've got a story! Story!

Akin lived in Aawe
In December 1982, Akinwumi was born to the family of Mr. Adelakin. Mrs. Adelakin was a principal in a secondary school in Oyo. Though she was richer than her husband who was a bricklayer at Bond Chemicals Ltd, she remained humble, gentle, caring, godly and hospitable to him and all students in her school, so much that all parents admired her for her skills at handling children. This family of five children was happy; the bills were paid on time, delicious meals were always on their table (in fact, the family had timetable for their meals), their clothing needs were always met, and construction work was been done on the site for their new house. Akin, being the last born, was always acting like the mummy’s pet. It was all fun.

It was a Wednesday, in July 11, 1984. The afternoon was bright and sultry; the morning drizzle had already been swallowed up by raging sun. Mrs. Adelakin, who was pregnant at this time, entered a taxi after celebrating the mid-term break with her family. She was going back to Oyo. The taxi had slowed down a bit since this pregnant woman stepped into it; even the birds of the town had wished her well, and all looked fine until a scream covered up the croaky noise of the rickety car on the “semi-tired” road. “Blood, blood, blood …”, that was a scream from the lady beside Mrs. Adelakin in the car. “This is a miscarriage”, a woman unconsciously muttered, “No, it can’t be; this pregnancy should be about four months old”. The blood was from Mrs. Adelakin’s body. She was rushed to the State Hospital in Oyo and the doctors and nurses did what they were trained to do.

Then it was Friday, two days after Mrs. Adelakin’s haemorrhage. What a day is this? Oritamerin market was deserted as market women would not shade their products, the roads to the farms lacked patronage as the talking drummers filed in the town center, playing their drums to say “Oju opo di, enu isa n saisan”, “iku, iku alumuntu”, "Omi gboro titi". The students arranged themselves like throngs of ants following the hooting ambulance, the only car on the road to Odo Oje Cemetery. The rest of the town followed the file soberly with eyes laced with balls of tears. Mrs. Adelakin’s body was lowered into the grave and each of the children, apart from Akinwumi - who was just one and a half years old- sprinkled dust on the coffin as it was the tradition. This they did in turn as the Baptist pastor recites “Eeru fun eeru, erupe fun erupe”. Million words of condolences were offered to the bereaved and everybody went back to his house. Iya Tisha, as Mrs. Adelakin was popularly called, was buried and then the story about Akin, the poor little boy, started.

Hmm, this story continues in Part 2, posted already in this blog on May, 2006. Go to read about his life, his suffering, his self esteem, his thought about life, his struggles, his attitudes to education, his trials, his triumphs, etc shall it unfolds. The story is exemplary, quite educative, motivating, god-centered, challenging, hope-inspiring and humorous. Don’t miss it; you may see your story in the life of Akin as you read along.

Common! Info is Power!

I never knew it could be this simple. I have Internet access 24/7. I read my friends' blogs and add comments, always feel like having one but seem 'too busy' to ask or search for how.

I went, I saw, I heard and I acted. After the 180 degree programme organised by Deolu Akinyemi and Gbenga Sesan, I created this.

Just placing the ladder on the ground, watch out for the wall I'll lean it on. I'll place my right foot on the first rung soon.