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Tag: Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi

  • My Jagunmolu at 60, by Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi

    My Jagunmolu at 60, by Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi

    In my class on Nigerian Foreign Policy taught by the late Professor Olajide Aluko, there was a quiet, soft-spoken and very good-looking guy. One day I was reading at the Hezekiah Oluwasanmi Library, and when I was about to leave, I found out that I did not have my library card on me to take out the books I needed. I looked around to see if there was any one who could help me, and there he was, the shy guy from my class.

    I walked up to him, said hello, and asked him if he had his library card on him and if he could help me take some books out. He nodded and smiled, showing a cute gap in his front teeth. I gave him the list of books I needed and promised to pick up the books from his room later. As I walked away, he called out, ‘please don’t forget to come’. I smiled to myself. Of course I would not forget, they were my books! I went to his room that night to pick up my books. As I was leaving, I asked him if he was free the following evening and if he wanted to watch a movie, he flashed that lovely smile again and said yes. Later on, I discovered that he had no interest in movies. His only interest was me. That is how I met Kayode Fayemi.

    The above excerpt is from my autobiography, ‘Speaking above a Whisper’ (2013). The story about how I met John Olukayode Fayemi at University of Ife (now Obafemi Awolowo University) when we were both Post Graduate students is well known. He is still quiet. He is still soft-spoken. He is still quite handsome. He is still awesomely brilliant. The shy gentleman who I met in class in September 1986, has achieved so much and has become one of the most inspiring voices of our generation.

    I knew back then that Kayode Fayemi would be great. How did I know this? He was, and still is, disciplined, focused and serious. He prefers to spend his time poring over The New Yorker, Newsweek or The Economist. Where many look to clubs, pubs, parties and the like to unwind, Kayode is fixated on the news cycles on BBC News, CNN or Al Jazeera. People might wonder, so what does he do to relax? He reads – anything and everything. He debates – the future of Africa, the potential of Nigeria, the new wave of globalisation, the

    failings of the international peace and security architecture, the role of civil society in ensuring the sustainability of democratic gains and so on. When he is done debating, he writes. About all the lessons he has learnt over the years as a scholar, researcher, activist, journalist, politician, community leader, global citizen.

    As we grew together over the years, it never ceased to amaze me, how consistent JK is. When he ventured into politics, his natural reticence was cause for concern to many. Politicians are supposed to be open books, saying what they think, see and feel, since this tends to give their supporters a sense of ownership. JK was a politician who wanted to solve problems affecting his people, not the kind of leader to tell them only what they wanted to hear. JK always believed that as Africans, we deserve the very best, not just what we believe our circumstances or contexts dictate. He is always looking ahead to what is possible, not fixated on what is not achievable in the short-term. Envisioning, strategic thinking, leveraging relationships and partnerships to accomplish goals, have always been JK’s strengths.

    A few years ago, I stopped calling him JK. This is what I have called him since we first met. In political circles, people started calling him JKF, so I began to lose my proprietary rights to his nickname. JK has weathered unbelievable storms, particularly in the political arena. He has battled and won, fought and lost, struggled and triumphed, all these over and over again. He is a warrior, battle tested and always ready. That is why I now call him my Jagunmolu. My warrior.  Disciplined, focused, courageous, loving, supportive, strong, kind, gentle, tough, firm, all the attributes and occasional contradictions to be found in great leaders.

    I have been blessed to have JK as a soulmate and life partner. The career path I decided to take would have been a rough one if I did not have someone like JK as a husband. A young man on Facebook once asked me, ‘How can I find a loving, successful, respectful wife?’. My response was, ‘Are you willing to be a loving,

    successful, respectful husband?’ Why are you looking for what you yourself do not have? There are many men like JK who have supported their spouses and who also believe in a world that is fair and equitable. Such men might not be in the majority, but I know JK has been mentoring many others who also understand the value of true partnerships and not unions based on tyranny.

    Many years ago, when we were both in London, I was on the Africa Committee at the European Union Migrants Forum, which was set up to monitor race relations with the EU. This entailed quarterly meetings in Brussels. I was on one of those trips in December 1992. When I finished the meeting, I went to catch the night ferry from Brussels to Dover, UK.We did not have Eurostar then, that did not happen till 1994. The ferry was supposed to leave at 12am. When we got there at 10pm, there was a notice up that the ferry had been cancelled and the next one was not available till 8am the following morning.

    It was freezing cold, I had come down with a cold, I had a bad headache and I was running a temperature. I was so miserable. I went to a phone booth (we did not have cell phones then) to call JK to let him know. Before I could explain what had happened, I burst into tears. He was so alarmed. When I told him what had happened, he told me not to cry, and that everything would be alright. He asked me to look around and see if there were hotels near the port, and I said yes, there were lots of them. He told me to go to one of them and get some sleep. There was so much love, kindness and empathy in his voice, I have never forgotten the way it made me feel, the comfort, the warmth, the safety, the sense that this is someone I can always depend on. I have never forgotten his voice that night and the way he made me feel. Nothing has changed to this day.

    JK darling, my Jagunmolu,I wish you a Happy 60th Birthday. I thank God Almighty for your life and for his abundant grace over you. Thank you for being a wonderful, loving, husband and father. May you be blessed with many more years in good health and peace of mind. May the mercy of God Almighty be upon you

    always. May He strengthen you and uphold you in all things and in all ways. I love you.

    •Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi is a Gender Specialist, Policy Advocate and Writer. She is the Founder of Abovewhispers.com, an online community for women. She can be reached at BAF@abovewhispers.com

  • If only, by Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi

    If only, by Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi

    A man in Anambra State quarreled with his wife. As the argument progressed, he poured fuel over her and set her ablaze. She is now dead, leaving five children behind. The man claims she was committing adultery. Sadly, she is no longer here to defend herself. He had been married before and that union ended. He said his first wife was ‘problematic’.

    Now he has murdered his second wife. There are too many wives living with ‘problematic’ husbands. Even girlfriends put up with ‘problematic’ boyfriends who beat and humiliate them.Marriages are meant to be peaceful unions, of course with occasional concerns but not the kind that should leave children without a parent. If you are living with, know of or are witness to a ‘problem’, please solve it. Before it is too late.

    If only Boma had understood how wrong it was for her boyfriend of just one month to yell at her. In public. She had met Sam at a cocktail organised by the chambers where she worked. Sam worked for one of the top banks and he ticked the right boxes – handsome, charming, good prospects. Four weeks later, they were both at a birthday dinner for one of his friends. There was a heated but friendly conversation about the state of insecurity in the country.

    Some of the guests, including Sam, thought the government was not doing enough to make citizens safe. Boma sided with others who felt that the situation had started deteriorating under the previous administration with huge amounts earmarked for security ending up in private pockets. As the lively exchange was going on, and Boma was speaking, Sam yelled at her in a thunderous tone ‘Shut up!’. Everyonewas taken aback at this rude behaviour. The conversation stalled, and the guests made awkward attempts at small talk, but the damage had already been done.

    The evening was ruined. Later on, Sam accused Boma of trying to impress people with her intelligence, just to let them know she was a Lawyer. Boma said she was only expressing her opinion to which Sam replied, ‘I had already stated my own opinion. Why should your own opinion differ from mine?’. Boma’s friends discussed the episode with her and she told them that Sam was only behaving the way most men behave, they want to be seen as the boss. It didn’t mean that he did not care for her. If only.

    If only she had told her friends about the first time he slapped her. She only told them the third time he hit her, and that was a week to their wedding. They had argued over something minor, and she muttered under her breath that he was so sensitive about everything. He asked her to repeat what she had just said and she claimed not to have said anything. All of a sudden, she was spinning from the blow he dealt her and that scary tone of his, ‘So I am now a liar?’.Her committee of five friends were divided.

    Two of them advised her to leave the controlling bxxxxxd and forget about the wedding, someone better would come along. A man who has not married you and is already beating you will do worse once you become his wife. Three of them toldher to let her Pastor know. Boma was in love. She had a wedding to plan. After the wedding there would be plenty of time to talk to Sam as carefully as she could about his behaviour. He always apologised when he hit her and would promise not to do it again. He couldn’t be that bad as to continue, maybe he was feeling insecure because they were not married yet.

    She did not have time to start telling long stories to their Pastor, who would only advise them to pray and for her to submit to him wholeheartedly, which she was already prepared to do.  She did not want to involve others because she did not want to give Sam another excuse to attack her before the wedding. It was too close to risk getting bruises that makeup would not be able to cover. Boma’s older brother David would have been another option, but he lived in Abuja and Boma did not want to have the conversation over the phone.

    Both her parents lived in Ibadan, they were Professors at the University. That was another sore point with Sam. His father was a civil servant and his mother was a teacher. He accused Boma of acting as if she was superior to him because she felt her background was more illustrious than his. She kept saying this was not true and wondered why he would think that way.So Boma did nothing and said nothing.She focused on the wedding not the forthcoming marriage. If only.

    he honeymoon was uneventful, unless you want to count the kick in the thigh she received when she did not get out of bed quickly enough to open the door for room service. Months passed, then years, three in all. The days, weeks and months were all a blur of fear, tears and blood.After the beatings would come the pleas for forgiveness, gifts and promises. Till the next time. She lost her first pregnancy. When she called her mother from the hospital to tell her what had happened, her mother demanded to know the cause of the miscarriage. Boma told her mother that she didn’t know, the doctors said things like that happen.

    She did not say anything about the fall as she was trying to escape Sam’s blows. Her mother-in-law came to stay with them for a few weeks when their daughter Tiwa was born. When the woman was leaving, Boma clung to her as if her life depended on it. When Sam’s mother was around, the beatings stopped. Mama Sam was a very religious woman. She advised Boma to be more prayerful and hopefully he would change, just as his father had done. Mama Sam went up the mountain to do a special one-week vigil and fast to ask God to soften Sam’s heart and watch over his young family. When Boma’s mother was around, Sam did not show that much restraint. During one encounter with his wife, when Boma’s mother intervened, Sam asked her to leave his house and take her daughter with her.If only.

    Boma stopped working when she was pregnant with Tiwa. Sam had managed to convince her that the stress of commuting to work was a threat to their baby. Boma got too weary and scared of arguing with him about it. Without a job she felt trapped even more, but she soldiered on. Her parents and brother attempted to stage an intervention, but it did not work. Boma was too afraid to leave Sam because he had threatened to kill her if she tried. By this time, her committee of friends operated at a safe distance, throughWhatsApp and the few phone calls she could manage in between the times Sam raided her phone to check for ‘unauthorised communication’. They had all seen their smart, beautiful friend shrink before their eyes and they felt powerless. They each had their own issues to deal with, so Boma’s violent marriage was sad, but it was her problem.If only.

    Boma stared at her photograph. Her image smiled back at her, though she didn’t like the shade of lipstick she had used when the photograph was taken, and the foundation was a shade too dark for her skin tone. The fresh flowers were lovely though, her favourite pink roses. She looked around the church. David’s wife was holding Tiwa’s hand, while David had his head bowed for most of the time. She wondered why her parents where not there, then she realised that they couldn’t be there. She saw her friends, as well as old colleagues from work. After the service, she followed them to the cemetery, and watched as they lowered the casket into the ground.

    Her friends were no longer trying to comport themselves like they did in church, they weptopenly. Hot tears of regret. Tears of ‘If only’. David fell to his knees, his wife held on to him with one hand, clutching Tiwa with the other. Boma watched the casket going further into the ground and felt herself being drawn higher up as if she was in sync with the casket lowering device.It came back to her in flashes. The yelling. The familiar blows and punches. Tiwa crying at all the commotion. The choking.She had fought back to try and get away and that is when the push came as if the devil himself was the force that propelled her over the railings. She felt herself suspended in mid-air for what seemed like an eternity, till she crashed and struck her head hard against the floor.Then everything went black.

    As David walked away from the graveside, feeling as if he had stones tied to his feet, he took comfort in the fact that Sam was not allowed to attend the funeral, he was awaiting trial without bail. If only he had done more to protecthis sister. He looked back at the grave. ‘Look up’, Boma wanted to shout out to David, but she couldn’t. Then she saw a bright ball of light speeding towards her. If only.

    ‘If Only’ can be found in ‘Where is Your Wrapper?’ Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi, published by Prestige, Kachifo Limited, October 2020.