By Olumide Aju

There are matters in life which no amount of preparation, experience, or learning can provide sufficient readiness for. The loss of a mother is one of such matter. Yet, in that loss, one finds oneself reaching back to the earliest and most cherished of memories. My earliest recollection goes back to childhood, when I, like all my siblings, called you ‘Auntie mi.’ You embraced that form of address with warmth and ease, never insisting on formality, yet always commanding our respect through your presence and conduct.

You were a disciplinarian in the truest and most loving sense. You ensured that I was well-behaved and properly guided. You took an active interest in my spiritual growth and never hesitated to report me to the then Revd. Ogunele, later a Bishop, of blessed memory, if I missed Bible study. You wanted the very best for all of us, and you laboured consistently to ensure that we turned out well.

When I was sent off at a very young age to boarding school at Mayflower Junior School,

Ikenne, you took meticulous care to prepare me. Everything I needed was properly packed, and you ensured that I carried nothing inappropriate. You maintained this vigilance even years later, during my “A” levels at Federal School of Arts and Science, Ondo, despite my reminders that I was, by then, the Senior Prefect of the school and entitled to some liberties, you never relented, because you would not allow any child of yours to be reprimanded for what you, as a mother, could have prevented.

Your love for our father was profound. It was not merely affection but deep devotion. That devotion extended to every member of the Aju family and, if anything, grew stronger after his passing thirty years ago. I recall vividly how, as a young boy, I would hear both of you deep in conversation late into the night, discussing and resolving matters for the good of the family. After his passing, whenever you and I found ourselves in disagreement, you would always remind me, quite rightly, that there was no longer anyone we could jointly call upon to mediate on our disputes. Your strength of character in the face of life’s challenges remains unparalleled. Through every trial, you stood firm and turned to God for comfort. Seyi and I drew heavily from that strength. Truly, God was gracious to you, and you, in turn, remained steadfast in your faith.

Your love for God was evident in all things. You served Him faithfully to the very end. You recognised His hand in every milestone, whether in Femi’s political journey or in your other children’s lives. In 2019, you asked for at least two weeks’ notice so you could fast and pray ahead of my elevation to the Inner Bar. When Seyi successfully defended his PhD, I called to share the news, only to find that you were in church at a prayer meeting. The clergy and their wives were not merely acquaintances. They were your companions in faith.

You loved all your children equally, but your joy seemed to take on a special glow in the presence of your grandchildren. With them, we saw a lighter and more playful side of you, a tenderness that brought you visible delight.

In the past few weeks, I have reflected deeply on your passing, especially as we had ongoing conversations and plans for the future. When we spoke at 8 p.m. on Thursday, the day before Good Friday, your final words to me were that you would see me the next day, as I had planned to spend Easter with you.

To be woken up in the early hours of Good Friday with the news of your passing remains difficult to comprehend. Yet, I take comfort in the certainty of our faith that you are now in a better place, free from pain and the burdens of this world. As Christians, we hold firmly to the promise that we shall meet again, no matter how long it may take. In the final reckoning, we can only bow to the supreme will of Almighty God, in whose court there is no appeal and whose judgment is final.
Sleep well, Auntie mi, our dear Mum.