By Toyin Falola
The Late Bobajiro of Ibadanland
A kì í gbàgbé igi tí ó dá igbó sílẹ̀,
One does not forget the tree that birthed the forest.
Theophilus Akinyele,
Great son of Ibadan, Ọmọ ọlọ́lá,
Born of the hills and crimson soil,
Whose footsteps were heard from Mapo
All the way to Aso Rock
Whose counsel rested quietly
As an elder under the òdan tree.
You came to us as a child of promise,
You lived your life as a father of generations
Like the iroko planted in the marketplace,
You raised your arms up to the heavens,
But maintained your roots firmly in the ground
Of honor,
Of discipline,
Of service.
You were not just a man;
You were an institution clothed in mortal skin.
The Accountant,
The Custodian of Faith
You spoke to remind Kings that
Conscience sits at judgment’s right hand.
Ibadan does not forget.
The talking drums of Oje do not forget.
The whispering winds of Aremo do not forget.
The silent stones of Mapo Hall do not forget.
The ancient roads cry out:
Akinyele once walked upon them
With integrity by his side.
And now behold,
The compound has grown.
The son in Atlanta has brought an addition
The grandson in Houston has brought an expansion
Adding to previous by Deola and Ronke
The children grew into elders.
The grandchildren become builders.
The great-grandchildren come
Like new leaves after first rain.
Your bloodline branches out
Like that of the ọlọ̀gbọn tree,
Touching foreign soils,
Spanning seas,
Uttering different words,
Still smelling like you.
What equals riches?
Not gold buried underground.
Not names engraved on sticks.
Children who bring you pride.
Grandchildren that behave.
Offspring that recall
Their forefather’s supplications.
Bàbá Akinyele,
Your house reigns like a river.
From one spring
Many streams flood out from your house
Some teach.
Some heal.
Some lead.
Some create.
Some preserve the memory of yesterday
While building tomorrow.
Oh, but everyone drinks
From your well that you dug.
The elders say:
Ọmọ ẹni ni yóò jogún ilé baba rẹ.
The child of self will honor his father’s home.
The mighty tree does not grow in vain;
Its offspring inherits its shade.
Today,
Your family gathers like stars around the moon,
Each carrying a fragment of your light.
May your ancestors greet you with song
in the ancient court where spirits convene.
Let them say
Omo wa dè
The child has arrived.
May your descendants multiply in wisdom.
May their homes know peace.
May their names be spoken with respect.
May their children yet unborn
Continue the journey you began.
For the iroko has not fallen.
It lives
In every branch.
In Deola and Sola
It lives
In every child.
In Ronke and her children
It lives
In every grandchild.
You are in the UK
It lives
With your Akinyinka and Busayo in Houston
In every prayer whispered
You are in Nigeria
By those who bear the name Akinyele.
In the United States
Moti, you belong, our wife from Adamawa
Our geography has expanded above the River Niger
Baba, your legacy remains
Zara Oyinola, your granddaughter, will honor you. Amin
Jomiloju, your darling grandchild, smiles like Mama Mojoyin
Rest well, noble son of Ibadan.
Ase
The tree remains standing,
And the forest continues to grow.
The Akinyele geography has no boundaries.
