One year without dad

Are you dad’s friend or a friend to any of the children and you’ve got something to say, kindly express your mind in the form below after reading. Thanks.

He gave us ride to school; He took us to beach, dad, mum and their children; it was a blissful dent on a rented hut; He played games and won stuffs for us at the beach; He led morning devotion in the family and made us go late to school sometimes; He bought another car, came back home that night, banged the key on the table and we all ran out for a jubilation; he left memorable trails on our memories…

7th of February 2014, I was in a meeting at Chicken Republic, Alausa, Ikeja when I got a call telling me that my father was…

Well, I didn’t believe, because it never happened before. I therefore participated in the meeting without a sign of loss.

For my twin brother (Olayode), he was at work that afternoon of February 7th, 2014 when his phone rang. He initially thought it was an ignorable call, so he ignored it. Later he attended to the call, when I did, it was a sad news he said. He couldn’t recognise the caller, but he heard “your father is dying”. He was disturbed by that news, so he locked himself in his office and wholeheartedly prayed to God Almighty to please save his life. Getting home in the evening another call came, and that confirmed that dad had finally changed address.

For me (Kariola), I became seriously aware when I saw my mother with swollen face and outright bereaved mood. So it became real that my father was gone! (Sober me). And it became registered that from 1960 to 7th of February 2014, Rasheed Mustapha who later became Paul Mustapha CAME, SAW and… The last shall be explained below.

How would you describe a man who commands communal respect, an astute business man, outspoken communicator who’s not ashamed of what he says, an early achiever, a dogmatic Muslim with antichristian disposition who became a Paul. Of course he once was a drunkard but rarely smoke, the 3rd of three children, a skilled artisan who could blend a rustic life with the cosmopolitan Lagos life, and more to all, an husband of one wife with five blessed-grown children (Ademola, Olayode+Kariola=twin, Iyabo, Anu).

He was a smart father, with mesmerising real life, experiences. His exploration in this world could have on several occasions cost his life, but thank God he kept him till the time he did.

He once escaped a mob attack at a bar in those days before he gave his life to Christ, animal hunting could have claimed it in another occasion.

His departure left us with days of hunger, serious hunger! Lamentation and loss; days that extend the limits of life’s struggle, but that God is with us from then till now in fine fettle is just enough. We were comforted by things not visible. His conversion to Christianity was more than a million solaces.

That one, skilled in Islamic tenet could declare Jesus commands demystification.

I could remember that at a very tender age; even though I have a very faint memory of my childhood days, but I remember vividly that the “tesbiu” as we call it then that we had at home was very long that if five people sit round our parlour each would have an edge to grab. We had Arabic books also.

Before his encounter with Jesus, my father had ganged up with others to scatter Christian crusade. He had shut-up itinerant Christian preachers among other unknown havocs against Christianity. It is amazing that God could save a man like him; he was like Saul of Tarsus who went about persecuting the churches but Christ still save him for the Salvation of others, no wonder when my father gave his life to Christ he was named Bro Paul. Dad’s Salvation experience really helped the family to develop faith in the Lord Jesus Christ who is the way, the truth and the life.

When we were young, possibly as toddlers in the car, daddy would drive us along other friends and family member to a Muslim prayer meeting called “Rusulu Shafau of Eng. Sabitu Ariyo Olagoke” (I’m not sure I spelt it well, but that’s the pronunciation) where my elder brother was a Shafau Guard. This was a Muslim gathering where one whole family would have their bath with one small ablution kettle (age aluwala). During one of those journeys, the car tire flung out on high speed, then I heard people shouted “ya rosululai ya rorsululai” or something like that. Needless knowing what that meant, but something like a lyrical chant that could almost make one go spirited.

But the turn of events was unlike the case of Saul whom the Lord met on his way to Damascus, for dad; according to him he was at a party one day (Possibly on the Island because the Pastor’s house wasn’t far from ours on the Island). Then a pastor was walking past, doing the work of an evangelist; preaching. After the sermon the pastor dictated his mobile phone number and that was the turning point for dad.

Coincidentally, the pastor was once a Muslim too; one with bitter Islamic experiences. As a result of that he could relate with my father from different justified angle.

The pastor advised that the Islamic books be brought. Needless saying what he did with them. My father was dispossessed of those books (Muslim Books)

Then dad with us the three boys (Ademola Olayode and Kariola) joined Christ Apostolic Church (CAC) Woro Taiwo, Tinubu Square, Lagos Island, Lagos. After a while we (the boys) started attending Mountain of Fire and Miracles Ministry (MFM), Tom Jones Building, Lagos Island. At the time we (my brothers and I) were attending MFM our dad was attending Deeper Life Bible Church.

We were attending MFM because of our neighbours, but dad told us that long before his conversion he had admired Deeper Life Bible Church.

My brothers and I later started Deeper Life when we had a neighbour who invited us to fellowship, from that membership was established.

Dad was stern and simple. He doesn’t have hard rules. He’s not lawful and he’s not lawless. Before now, I held that I bore the biggest of his sternness. Only to have my elder brother expatiate and elucidate his stake, then I knew he had bigger junks, and I became indifferent. But Taiwo was quite innocent though he had his share too.

I remember the day my baby sis (iYabo) who would not want to be called that now wanted to report my twin brother, but mistook me for him. My entire yell to be exonerated was futile and I bore Taiwo’s deserved punishment. That’ one of the gains of being a twin.

When I was in JSS (Junior Secondary School) class my father had a register for me where he had to sign the time I left home for school and the time I got home from school. This was to the charge of my sternest teacher in school Mr Akinpelu “Baba Yoruba”; who was also a signatory to my timeliness in school morning and noon. Inconsistency means serious beating. I thought I was the only one who went through that, it was when my elder brother was reading this that he spelt is similar ordeal. (Maybe we were stubborn)

Don’t capitalise on that. You probably threw tantrum too!

Olayode has this to say “my father never had time to visit me in school because he knew I would never cause any trouble at school. He was never strict on me like my siblings”

True to faith, we had no television at home. Daddy defends that with being a member of Deeper Life Bible Church. If you came to our house then, the only serious electronic you would find was a big decked cassette player complimented with a small radio that uses battery.

Daddy loved listening to news, early morning news and other timely news. Plus some other favourite Yoruba programmes. His favourite radio stations were “Radio Lagos” “Choice FM” “Bond FM”, yeah my sis said he loved “Wazobia FM” too, any other station in the house is our prerogative.

During times of need in the family, like when big meat picked race out of our plates; dad commended our humility.

People said I’m true to his type, but there are some of my idiosyncrasies that are contrasts of his. Daddy likes short-timed fasting or none; his absence has taught me long fasting; daddy liked suya like sugar, and a day would almost not go without a Pepsi drink. For Suya, if it crosses my mind it is to pity the eaters, don’t buy it with my money. Dad liked to sleep early; after he must have taken his bath several times, his absence has taught us to sleep late and wake early.

I could make a memoir of this, but for brevity let me stop here.

Before I put my pen to rest, let me make also put this in text. Since the 70s or 80s and 90s dad had created several paths to businesses for the family and others. He’s a sole founder of T&K soap; if you were in Ibadan then you may probably know about it. We grew to see the tools that were used in making the soaps. He also founded another company producing chemicals like insecticide. Among the paths he paved, (According to my elder brother) the least of his ideas is like the cooking pot (IKOKO OBE) for some family up till date (people we don’t even know survive on them). Though nature might have retired his “Fingbafigba”, but we still count on the life he had lived. There’s a lot of lesson looking through the peace and the turbulence of his life. They are worth a season movie (said my elder brother). Amidst Daddy’s heroism we found his weaknesses. He was not a Utopian father he was human and he showed us the two sides of life of a human man.

Well, I said he CAME, SAW and… Are you still expecting my answer?

To some of his contemporaries, he was a loser and a proud failure! A goldsmith and one “teblik afa” often mocked my father of being a “Kiriyo; a caricature or distortion of Christian”, when he ceased from being a Muslim. He also renounced being a member of “Oke-Arin Gent”; a local influential club on the Island. Things that were once pleasurable became bitter to him because of his faith. The change that Jesus brought to his life was and is remarkable.

Born a Muslim died a Christian, on this note I want to hold the view that he CAME, SAW and CONQUERED.

Praise to the Lord Almighty.