Wale Onitri held the soft hands of Ire Onitiri his wife and both painted the dance floor in crimson.
By Taju Tijani
Time could be tyrannical. Memories could be burdensome. Opportunity could be a porous commodity. Life could be nothing but the choices we keep making almost daily. Wale Onitiri, a.k.a Tiri Toronto sat on his black leather sofa in his expansive living room. He fixed his eyes on the wall. The wall was laced with pictures of his wife and children from kindergarten to adulthood. A mixed emotion coursed through his mind. He tapped his legs and pursed his lips. Ha! Word failed Wale. He looked up towards the ceiling and muttered some prayers. He rose up and made for the bedroom.
There, Wale sunk on the large bed and held a pillow to his chin. He went into a deep reflection. The arc of time had caught him pants down. Unprepared. Many thoughts raced through his mind. They were all low grades. Wale must transcend his fall into self-pity and get on his bike again. He must develop a new commitment, fortitude, and discipline to navigate his future – a future that was receding so fast before his very eyes. He went for the mug of coffee on his bedside table. He rushed down to the kitchen to prepare a cuppa.
Three luggage were securely packed. They were all lying in the living room. Coffee in hand, Wale ripped open one of the luggage. He flipped through his certificates – Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees. In the early eighties, Wale Onitri drove the length and breadth of London as a minicab driver. Diligent, clever and hardworking he made a fortune in the trade. In between the drudgery of cab driving, he completed his master’s degree in Computer Science from the University of Leicester. The graduation day was a glorious moment. A tribute to ambition, stubborn determination, resoluteness, and long suffering.
The City of London beckoned. Mini cabbing became a distant ladder to a higher calling. The City of London business districts was always foreboding. Wale was armed to the teeth. A Master’s degree in Computing Science from the system lab of Leicester University gave him a real barbarian courage to dare where the Goliaths could not. He had always fantasised working with hedge funds companies in the City. Applications were sent to Artemis, Ashmore, Algebris, Brooks Macdonald, Dragon Capital, Dodge&Cox, Edentree, Fidelity, Findlay Park and Janus Henderson. He made supplications to his God asking for favours. I joined the intercessory prayers.
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Wale Onitri and I had once warmed the cold benches of Mountain and Fire Ministry (MFM) in West London. That was the blue days of Christian revival that saw people of Islamic background rushed in droves to embrace Jesus Christ. Wale and I became fanatical for the kingdom. We both travelled outside the city limit to grace conferences and prayer retreats in Manchester, Bristol, Liverpool, Brighton and far afield as New Port in Wales. We were the outsiders knocking on heaven’s door looking for Jesus. In spite of our conversion, we still could not control our love for Guinness when we meet together.
Janus Henderson got Wale in its rota of IT geniuses. The pay was fantastic. The benefits were awesome. Wale suddenly found himself in airplane mode – about to soar beyond his imagination. Before the start date we were both at the West end shopping for Saville Row suits and Burton ties and shoes. He complemented his shopping cart with a beautiful, lady-killing Gucci perfume. We smiled all the way to the corner of Tottenham Road for a feast on McDonald’s. We ate like hungry wolves. We laughed at our lives in London – the beginning, the middle and the present. There was a roar of laughter from Wale as he gave God Almighty the glory.
Nothing lasts forever. 12 years after the euphoria of Janus Henderson, Wale packed it in. Another dream beckoned. What could that be? In our circle, we were prayer warriors.
We embarked on prayers for Wale Onitri as he embarked on another destination. At a party in his Kent hideout, we shared pleasantries and retraced the contours of London life as lionised old Londoners. Wale held the soft hands of Ire Onitiri his wife and both painted the dance floor in crimson. The DJ was a psychologist. He realised that the crowd were mostly geriatrics getting closer to departure lounge. Appropriately, DJ Goodings a.k.a Ijo ya, dredged up all the 80’s and early 90’s soul music in his repertoire. Ire danced until the floor caved in. We drove her out of the floor with thunderous applause befitting a loyal wife of 32 years.
That was the last I saw of Ire. The pandemic snatched her away in 2021. It was like she was giving us her last dance at the fateful Kent party. We buried Ire Onitiri at the Kent and Sussex Crematorium in November 2021. The devastation on Wale was so earth-shattering that four of our mates had to stay with him and watched every of his move during the funeral ceremony.
It was a winter morning. The misty air was cold and depressive. Wale Onitiri fixed his eyes on the pictures on the wall. His children Bimpe, Lawunmi and Kola have all left home. Bimpe lives and works in Wolverhampton. Lawunmi lives and works in Northampton and Kola is in the University of Kent. The picture of Ire brought him to tears. “Ire, I achieved all these for you and you are not here to enjoy them with me…………why…………. why………….?” He cried aloud to the empty room pointing to his certificates and trophies won at Janus Henderson. The futility of rat race dawned on him. Lonely, depressed, older and without wife and children around, Wale Onitri began to plot a last-minute audacious move. Life must go on. The three luggage on the floor were his ticket for another contest in the amphitheatre of life and living.
“Teejay, mo njapada o,” Wale announced to me on the phone. I waited a minute to respond. I thought he was pranking on me.
“Tiri, Toronto, japada lo sibo,” I responded.
“Nija straight……. I am going back to my root. Or where do you think I’m going?” he asked. “When did you start to nurse this idea?” “Teejay, you see, I have been thinking of returning for sometimes. I hid it from you. I really don’t want to be discouraged. I just have the desire to start afresh in Nija,” Tiri Toronto explained.
Momentarily, a flush of celluloid make believe came on me. I rummaged on Wale’s brave words. Could this decision be a reckless subordination of reason? Could this be another historical rewrite of the unending story of his life? Truth be told, I could locate the source of Tiri Toronto’s ballooning confidence. He has always trusted in God. He is committed. He is focused. He is a risk taker. These are the qualities Wale has been chewing on like a chewing gum since I crossed his path in the late 80’s London.
“Well, man Tiri Toronto, Nija could either be a place of utopia or a burning hell of oblivion,” I said. “Hmm…Teejay, I know. I’ll give it a go. I have nothing to lose. I’m as sure as heaven I’ll do well in Nija,” he said optimistically. Wale has always been known with an empire mentality. He is going to carve out another niche in the lottery of life.
“Awon omo nko?” “They are fine. By the way, they have your number for guidance and emotional support in my absence,” Toronto announced my new role toward his children. “No prob, bro, all shall be well,” I assured. I then sent Toronto on his journey with the first stanza of my school (CMS Grammar School) anthem.
“Lives are in the making. Hearts are in the waking here
Mighty undertaking here,
UP! AND ON!
We are arming for the fight
Pressing on with all our might
Pluming wings for higher flight,
UP! AND ON!”
