Thank you, Dele. Nobody in the last three years has given me so much money as this. The last time one of our old friends gave me money was about three days ago. He gave me 500 naira, and then told me to “go and see Dele.” He gave me your address. I have been begging for money or food for almost a year now. This amount will last me for two weeks. After that, I will just stay in my house until the end. See you at the graveyard my friend.” – Gboyega, September 13, 2024.
He shook my hand vigorously and walked swiftly away. He is still alive; but, just barely. He was born to one of the elite families in Lagos Island. His father, Alhaji Ilumoka, not his real name, was such a great socialite, three different leading musicians of that era waxed records to praise him. Like most of the rest, he was a polygamist – four wives, uncountable concubines and a luxury bus load of children. There was apparently no problem taking care of all of them until Alhaji suddenly died at age 55. Then the calamities unfolded. Each of the mothers had to face life as if a great flood had swept their lives clean of support.
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Gboyega, among his children, was my age group. We started Primary School together and continued until I left for Igbobi College from Standard five, instead of waiting to complete the sixth year. We remained friends despite that. The big break occurred in 1964, when I left for the US for ten years. We met again in 1975, by which time he was in public service as a Level 10 officer. He was “getting on” as people said about civil servants living well above their legitimate income. He was as proud as any true-blooded Lagosian can be. He never begged for nor borrowed money. Instead, he was a miniATM for his family, friends and associates – until he was retired after serving 35 years. Then, the “money tap”, which life in the Nigeria Ports Authority, NPA, had provided, was turned off. Fortunately, he had built four houses in various parts of Lagos at a time when tenants were afraid to owe landlords rent.
