Jaiye Jalupon, my Jay jay, is the model immigrant. He arrived UK with nothing but through hard work, tough grind, dedication, courage, determination, sound vision, risk taking, he is able to conquer the odds set against him by racism, inequality, disadvantages and state institutions that work more against black businesses than others.
By Taju Tijani
Jaiye wore an orange Tommy Hilfiger top over a pair of Jean trousers. He had a Balenciaga trainer while a thick silver chain decked his neck. Opened beside him was Stuart Wilde’s “The Money Bible”. A big bottle of Guinness sat on the small desk close to his right side. He shook his head intermittently to Kiss Daniel’s “Buga” record. His boys were busy in one of his barber shops. In minutes, friends began to cluster around him for banters, chat, and gossip. The summer weather was brilliant after months of winter hibernation.
I have known Jay Jay all my life. Ebullient, energetic, intelligent, funny, reserve, trendy, good life lover, respectful, business-oriented, and clever. He went to Government College Ibadan and left Nigeria in the early 80s in pursuit of foreign certificates to compliment his HND from Ibadan Polytechnic. Until his death, his dad was a librarian at the University of Ibadan and mum worked as a nurse until retirement. He is the only son among five children. All his juvenile years, he was fiercely protective of his beautiful sisters who in turn doted on him. He has a magnetic personality that seems to draw people around him.
He saw London transformed from a second world to a first world city. He was part of the soul train crowd and wore Afro and side burns until the early nineties when that fashion receded into oblivion. Kilburn High Street was his playground where he frolicked with the low and high born Nigerians looking for weekend fun. Buka restaurant was his hideout where he got his restless libido torn to pieces by fun seekers. Jaiye was a brilliant dancer. He could segue from reggae to funk and from groove to jazz and from high life to rhythm and blues.
The best resource of Jaiye was his uncanny ability to turn metal to gold and iron to money. He combined post graduate studies with business and made fast bucks all the way. His side hustle was selling old cars, the ever ready bangers to Nigerians who were just starting out as cab drivers in the 80s. He travelled throughout the length and breadth of United Kingdom buying up old bangers from Pontypool in Wales to Aberdeen in Scotland and back to London. Nigerians flocked to him for second hand cars and in no time Jaiye began to ride the crest of fortune.
By the year 2000 Jaiye experienced a slump in second hand car sales. Nigerians began to move from menial and tedious drudgery into IT – Internet Technology. Year 2000 brought a wave of hype and optimism. I was with Jaiye in Trafalgar Square with thousands of merry makers who had come to welcome the millennium. There was fear, anxiety, and foreboding. Along with it was colourful optimism that the world may offer something better as we shuttled into the orbit of the millennium. “Teejay I am doing things differently in the new millennium,” Jaiye intoned. He held my hands tight in a show of brotherhood.
I saw determination in the face of this rugged Londoner. He related with me emotionally on that night. Along with the milling crowd, we prayed, hugged, and cried under the euphoria of witnessing a new century – the century of social media opportunities and the plurality of platforms to express opinions and ideas. I recognised Jay Jay’s Sphynx-like ability to mutate into something noble. Something more grandiose, creative, rewarding and enriching. His fire-breathing dedication to making money is legendary and I was waiting for future shock and surprises. I did not have to wait long.
Jay jay’s naughty defiance and constant regeneration have always amused me. If the 80s and 90s had been Jay jay’s scrap metal years, the 2000 was going to be a watershed in terms of new businesses and the blast into easy money. Jaiye will soon embark on a mission to launch an all-out trench warfare with new entrepreneurial enterprises across North London. He would not get shafted to any old business model. Jay Jay’s sense of future vision is far from being a pulp biopic but a consuming flesh and blood desire to crown all his struggling days.
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He made his first killing when he bought a rundown flat in Leyton. He remodelled it and offered it back to the market. This first cut is the deepest, so they say. This first business opened up the limitless opportunities buried in the London housing market. The scarcity of affordable flats. The exorbitant market rent prices for workers living and working in London. The scarcity and high rent were gold mines for Jay Jay. He capitalised on the shortages and began to bid for run down flats in auction houses across the UK. In less than five years, this real estate business gave Jay jay ease, comfort, and wealth.
If a monarch could be impregnable in his castle, Jaiye too was becoming impregnable in the real estate business until… Until the slump in housing market. He was caught unaware. The volatility in the housing market later erupted like a volcano sweeping away all Jay jay’s easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy idea about the housing market. This sharp blast of adversity will not hold him down. Jaiye is the typical urban quester forever looking out for a deal. He is the equivalent of a human mean machine looking for where to grind out cash. Dosh. Money. Wonga. Ego. Owo. Ishu.
Step by step Jay jay began to walk out of the miry clay of real estate meltdown. He now refocuses on businesses that will bring in everyday cash. After washing his hands from the old confluence of adverse circumstances, Jaiye created his first Jay Jay restaurant in New Cross. It was an instant hit in this commuter belt of South London. Second Jay Jay restaurant popped up in Tooting Bec, then another in South Woodford and another in Norwood. There was this unique touch of Nigerian, Arabian, European and English themes in all his restaurants.
Nigerians flock to his eateries. Jay jay restaurants became the benchmark for other restaurants to beat. His flagship restaurant in New Cross became my weekend haunt to chill, swap stories with Jaiye, meditate and watch young and impressionistic Nigerians come to catch fun with their babes and side chicks.
He later crossed the Thames and set foot on North London. There, Jay jay barbing saloons dotted the streets. He has one in Burnt Oak, Cricklewood and another in Edgware. Most of his barbing saloons are cute, clean, smart, and welcoming. His barbing crew wear the legendary Jay Jay Cut T-shirt amidst background Nija music as hair is being cut.
Jaiye Jalupon, my Jay jay, is the model immigrant. He arrived UK with nothing but through hard work, tough grind, dedication, courage, determination, sound vision, risk taking, he is able to conquer the odds set against him by racism, inequality, disadvantages and state institutions that work more against black businesses than others. To him, it is not about women, wild orgies, drink, and bling but about proclaiming the virtues of hard work, patience, survival, hope, optimism, integrity and desire to be a worthy ambassador in a foreign land.
As we sat together in Burnt Oak in one of his barbing saloons, he ordered a big bottle of Guinness for me. I sipped my cold baba dudu over sharwarma. I watched his weather-beaten face and hand and his toughness to ride out from business storm to storm. I envied him in my heart. As if reading my heart, Jaiye said: “Teejay, ati try ni ilu yi o.” This embodiment of energy and can-do spirit confirmed what was obvious: “Teejay, we have done a lot in this country.” I grinned my teeth in contemplation, not knowing what to say. I left Jaiye that night to ponder the meaning of my silence. In my haste, I forgot to ask Jay jay of the return date of my borrowed book – The Money Bible.