Lesson in Fortitude - A Tribute to my Father

It was 1939. And the location was the General Hospital, Odan, Lagos in the British-colonial-era Nigeria.

A young man of 29 years, just recuperating from a long, debilitating illness, sat opposite a doctor’s desk for a second-opinion-appraisal of the results of his physical examinations.

The first physical examinations were conducted by a doctor of the Imperial British Army when this same young man tried to enlist in a bid to join other Nigerian soldiers who were fighting in Burma during the Second World War. 

“Young man.” the second doctor, also British, began solemnly. “I’m sorry to have to give you some bad news.”

In an initial reaction, the patient stiffened. But he soon shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he wondered why anything would be worse than his travails in the past few months.

“You’re only 29 years old.” the doctor continued in a somber voice. “But going by the results of tests on your vital organs, you’ll barely attain the age of 40.”

“Uh!” the young patient sighed deeply. “So, the other doctor was right after all?”

“I’m afraid so.” the doctor nodded sympathetically. “Most of your body’s vital organs are in very bad shape. Your heart is in shambles and so, is the liver. Your lung is almost gone…and it’s only a matter of time before your kidneys pack up…”

“Okay……” the patient interrupted as he began to rise from the chair, shaking his head sadly. “Well…..what do I say except to declare that may God’s will be done!”

The young man in the above story was my father, James Adewale Olawole. He passed away peacefully on February 18, 2005 at the ripe age of 94 years...for someone who was not expected to live beyond the age of 40!

The life of papa was a great, logic-defying lesson in fortitude and perseverance. His was an incomplete life that became whole through a gradual assemblage of daily miracles. This is so because the most common life accomplishments, often taken for granted by many other people, were considered as natural privileges in the turbulent life of this man.

Unlike the norm in those days, James’ marriage did not produce a child for many years. But as usual, the man accepted this travail as just another twist in his life. And in spite of the pressures from his family and friends, he neither agreed to marry another wife nor fell into the temptation of having a mistress. As a mere mortal however, he was embroiled in a deep psychological anguish that trailed the long absence of a child in his marriage. For someone who already had a “death sentence” hanging over his head, he was so deeply disturbed that his psyche soon became emotionally obsessed with the sight of every pregnant woman.

It was cool in those pre-independence days of Lagos for a man to own a bicycle. James was riding his home from work one day when tragedy struck. He had just descended from the old Carter Bridge at Iddo, en route his Strachan Street (now Herbert Macauly Street) home when he saw a heavily pregnant woman walking on the side walk. Staring as usual, at what he always considered as a miraculous phenomenon, the man ran head-long into an oncoming car.

Fortunately, he did not sustain life threatening injuries, although; a crowd had since formed around him, thinking he had died. That was until he slowly sat up, shaking his head in self pity.

“This is a miracle!” the owner of the car muttered in gratitude to God for saving him from a possible case of manslaughter. “But mister, what could have been so interesting as to distract your attention so much?”

James shook his head again with a sardonic smile, looked up at the other man and answered that he had been looking at a pregnant woman.

“That’s it?” the car owner was stunned. “The mere sight of a pregnant woman caused this accident?”

“You don’t understand.” James remarked as he finally got up slowly with the help of the other man.

He now went on with a brief narration of the ordeal in his childless marriage. It was at this moment that the other man introduced himself. He was a Senior Gynecologist in the General Hospital, Lagos.

“Please.” the doctor pleaded as he wrote down his address. “I want you and your wife to see me at the hospital as soon as possible.”

A few days later, the duo of husband and wife visited the hospital and had some tests. Based on the test results, the doctor informed both of them that nothing was wrong with their reproductive organs. Rather, the doctor concluded that Mother Nature was only playing one of its little but expensive jokes on them. And the prescribed remedy? Patience!

As fate would have it, Sarah Olawole got pregnant the following month. Incidentally, this was only an example of the numerous miracles that characterized the life of this man to whom nothing good came easy.

As one of papa's children, I grew up to note the man’s three closest companions (apart from his wife). These were the Holy Bible, a dictionary and a fresh copy of the Daily Times (which was then the only newspaper in Nigeria). There were times when the man would be so greatly engrossed in the newspaper that one would think he was preparing for some “Cambridge” exams. This was how, painstakingly, he had simultaneously tutored himself to acquire a very impressive command of the English grammar and to expand his intellectual horizon.

I also grew up to learn and imbibe certain social traits from him. For instance, my tastes in music, especially Jazz, Blues, Soul and Classical on the one hand, and Juju, Apala, Sakara and Highlife, on the other hand could easily be attributed to Papa’s penchant for bombarding our consciousness with these genres of music on daily basis.


This is a Fathers' Day tribute first published in a longer version on February 20, 2010 on www.speakwithoutinterruption.com