Part of the story never told in Ten Years

I wrote an article MEMOIRS OF A DYING FATHER 3 years ago about what I know surrounding Dad’s transition (I prefer to think he transcended) – Oba o kin ku, Oba ma n waja ni.

Ten years after his death, I think I have the maturity to share more truth to myself.

Dad and I were super close, I like to think I was his wingman in life and he looked out for me to always have his back all the time (he used to say this). So, when he died, I blamed myself over and over again asking questions like “why didn’t you go on that trip with him?” you could have done something to avoid his death? At this point, I was on the verge of truly being depressed.

The self-guilt and hurt was a conversation I couldn’t have with my mum (we were asked to stay strong for her – she seemed to have needed more help). Besides, I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about it. I think my family noticed a strong change in attitude and how I began to react to things (always angry at everyone and the world) but didn’t know how to help.

I found solace in one thing, “music”. At the time the only way I was able to get out of my misery was to channel all the negative energy to the music I made, hence, I created an alter ego called “Reed” (an angry music figure that was always ready to fight to break free of everything). After each writing and studio sessions, I fell back into my cocoon so I tried spending more time in the studio than home. I had 2 defaults, studio or be in nasty moods I swung into from time to time more frequently than a ticking wall clock.

Soon after, I moved to Lagos pushing further with life looking for a source of staying in my music fantasy. Luckily, I had the opportunity to live with one of the best people in the world. If you have ever heard me speak about Aunty Toyin and Uncle Imeh you will know fully well I regard them as heaven sent angels. I was a broken 21-year-old when I moved in with them. They noticed I suffered from incessant mood swings as a broken young adult. They did everything they could as far as having to drag me out of it – In Aunty Toyin’s voice (I won’t let you lock yourself up in this room for any reason if that’s the last thing I do). I was able to become a part of something once again after about 2 years of struggling to be since they were not ready to let me be. That may have been my saving grace from falling proper into depression.

Even till today since dad died in a 1999 model Nissan Pathfinder and was lifted in a Volvo ambulance wagon from the morgue in Ilesha where he was declared dead to Ibadan – I haven’t been able to stand the sight of both vehicles.

I picked up the love for Mercedes from him and have stuck to using the exact hair cream brand he used all through his life (Blue Magic Bergamot) for reasons I can’t explain.

I may have gotten over a few other things because of how far life has brought me, but just like bullet wounds, you heal but will always be left with a scar to remind you of where you are coming from.