Matured people event. We have finished the concert, I’ve bought ribena for the road and reached my abode. Up 40+ performers and their non negotiable bedtime. More aboniki to your knees egbons
I really don’t like to advise men but there are so many lessons from this story. As a man, you need to be wise and put your head down in your matrimonial home. Stop listening to bitter men on twitter
A Tribute to Olatunji Rahman Disu - My Beloved Egbon , EVEN THOUGH we are not related by BLOOD.
Life has a beautiful way of weaving unexpected friendships from the most ordinary moments. About twenty-five years ago, while serving as an ADC in Lagos, I received what seemed like an irritated email which eventually linked us together . The sender wrote: “You this TUNJI Disu, who are you and why do I keep getting your messages?”
I was taken aback by the tone, but responded like a police officer : “My name is Olatunji Disu, I work in Lagos. Who are you, sir?”
His reply revealed the beautiful coincidence that had brought us together: “I am Olatunji Rahman Disu. That makes three of us because I understand there is another one who is a policeman and ADC to the governor – or are you the one?”
Indeed, I was that ADC. What followed was an explanation that turned confusion into connection. His family lived in the UK, and his wife had been receiving emails from my wife , about our son who fell sick during their visit . In her concern and haste, she had been sending messages meant for Tunji Rilwan Disu to Tunji Rahman Disu instead. Imagine his poor wife’s bewilderment, receiving intimate family updates about complete strangers!
The moment that sealed our friendship came when I called their family landline . His wife answered, and when I asked to speak with Tunji Disu, she said he’d gone to visit his father and asked me to call back. When she inquired who was calling, I simply said, “Olatunji Disu.”
Her scream of recognition still echoes in my memory: “Aaaah, you are the one! So you are the one!!!” That exclamation marked the beginning of a brotherhood that would span decades.
From that day forward, Tunji Rahman became more than a friend – he became my Egbon, my elder brother in every sense that mattered. Despite the physical distance, we maintained a bond that distance could never weaken. We met in person several times, each encounter reinforcing the genuine warmth and joy he brought to every relationship.
Just this past March, our paths crossed in the most heartwarming way when he met my mother at the mosque. His excitement was palpable as he called to tell me about the encounter. When I asked if he’d taken pictures with her, his response was so characteristically him: “Chai, I don forget!” But true to his thoughtful nature, when he met her again weeks later, he made sure to capture those precious moments and share them with me.
Tunji was a man who celebrated others’ successes as if they were his own. He stayed current with my progress, always ready with encouragement and genuine joy for every milestone. His jovial spirit and easy-going nature made him a magnet for friendship. Age was never a barrier in our relationship – though I was shocked to learn he was 65, as his youthful energy and the way he related to me made me assume we were age mates.
His devotion to our shared faith was exemplary. As a committed member of the Anwar ul Islam sect that my family also belongs to, he served with dedication and generosity. His contributions during the last Ramadan were particularly remarkable, reflecting a man whose faith was lived through action and service.
Yesterday brought the cruelest of ironies. Friends and relatives began calling me, and I could hear the relief in their voices when I answered. One friend was direct: “The talk of the town was that you had died.” It was then I learned the devastating truth – my beloved friend , who had been hale and hearty that very morning, had passed away by evening.
The confusion of our shared names that once brought us together had, in his final moments, created one last mix-up that somehow seemed fitting for our unique friendship.
As I write this tribute, my heart is heavy with loss but full of gratitude for the twenty-five years of brotherhood Allah blessed us with. Tunji Rahman Disu was more than a friend – he was family chosen by circumstance and cemented by love, respect, and shared faith.
May
He LOVED to tell the story about the emails!! Thank you so much sir for this heartwarming tribute about my dad. He would have loved it. He used to talk about his namesake - you - with so much joy. It is well.
A Tribute to Olatunji Rahman Disu - My Beloved Egbon , EVEN THOUGH we are not related by BLOOD.
Life has a beautiful way of weaving unexpected friendships from the most ordinary moments. About twenty-five years ago, while serving as an ADC in Lagos, I received what seemed like an irritated email which eventually linked us together . The sender wrote: “You this TUNJI Disu, who are you and why do I keep getting your messages?”
I was taken aback by the tone, but responded like a police officer : “My name is Olatunji Disu, I work in Lagos. Who are you, sir?”
His reply revealed the beautiful coincidence that had brought us together: “I am Olatunji Rahman Disu. That makes three of us because I understand there is another one who is a policeman and ADC to the governor – or are you the one?”
Indeed, I was that ADC. What followed was an explanation that turned confusion into connection. His family lived in the UK, and his wife had been receiving emails from my wife , about our son who fell sick during their visit . In her concern and haste, she had been sending messages meant for Tunji Rilwan Disu to Tunji Rahman Disu instead. Imagine his poor wife’s bewilderment, receiving intimate family updates about complete strangers!
The moment that sealed our friendship came when I called their family landline . His wife answered, and when I asked to speak with Tunji Disu, she said he’d gone to visit his father and asked me to call back. When she inquired who was calling, I simply said, “Olatunji Disu.”
Her scream of recognition still echoes in my memory: “Aaaah, you are the one! So you are the one!!!” That exclamation marked the beginning of a brotherhood that would span decades.
From that day forward, Tunji Rahman became more than a friend – he became my Egbon, my elder brother in every sense that mattered. Despite the physical distance, we maintained a bond that distance could never weaken. We met in person several times, each encounter reinforcing the genuine warmth and joy he brought to every relationship.
Just this past March, our paths crossed in the most heartwarming way when he met my mother at the mosque. His excitement was palpable as he called to tell me about the encounter. When I asked if he’d taken pictures with her, his response was so characteristically him: “Chai, I don forget!” But true to his thoughtful nature, when he met her again weeks later, he made sure to capture those precious moments and share them with me.
Tunji was a man who celebrated others’ successes as if they were his own. He stayed current with my progress, always ready with encouragement and genuine joy for every milestone. His jovial spirit and easy-going nature made him a magnet for friendship. Age was never a barrier in our relationship – though I was shocked to learn he was 65, as his youthful energy and the way he related to me made me assume we were age mates.
His devotion to our shared faith was exemplary. As a committed member of the Anwar ul Islam sect that my family also belongs to, he served with dedication and generosity. His contributions during the last Ramadan were particularly remarkable, reflecting a man whose faith was lived through action and service.
Yesterday brought the cruelest of ironies. Friends and relatives began calling me, and I could hear the relief in their voices when I answered. One friend was direct: “The talk of the town was that you had died.” It was then I learned the devastating truth – my beloved friend , who had been hale and hearty that very morning, had passed away by evening.
The confusion of our shared names that once brought us together had, in his final moments, created one last mix-up that somehow seemed fitting for our unique friendship.
As I write this tribute, my heart is heavy with loss but full of gratitude for the twenty-five years of brotherhood Allah blessed us with. Tunji Rahman Disu was more than a friend – he was family chosen by circumstance and cemented by love, respect, and shared faith.
May