Friday 6th December 2013,

I lay in my bed like a log of wood,

And stared into my phone screen without seeing anything.


I had enough airtime to burn,

Yet fewer people to talk to,

I could’ve called dad to joke as usual,

But joke, hmm, that was a no go area,

Because he was home,

Sitting beside you and using,

A serrated old hand fan,

To blow natural air to you,

Or singing some melancholy song,

To serenade you to your final home,

Your final home…


I could’ve called my aunt too,

But she, loving you like no one else,

And being your only daughter,

Was on her way to the village,

To meet you and give some love,

As she always did.


In anger, I shut down my Nokia phone,

You may know that phone, you should,

The one I used to call my youngest uncle, your youngest son,

Who seemed, in a long time, to have strayed,

Like bullets from the barrels of some drunken policemen,

So you talked to him, to come home for some important purposes.

The poor boy, he didn’t even come home, or did he?

Until, probably, your final journey into the mother earth.


I always prayed,

That your home-call, If it was time,

Should be quick and easy.

Aunt had told me how grave your sickness was,

How you had been saying things. Things.

Things that had no meaning to the mortals,

Perhaps you had been seeing the other worlds,

Perhaps you had been talking to the angels,

Perhaps your spiritual driver was wasting your time,

And making you suffer.



That I least wanted,

Not for someone like you,

Someone whose love was felt,

Like the cold harmattan breeze of December,

Tearing into the lung, into the heart,

Making us shake and wear thick cloth.

Such was your love.


Still in bed, my door opened without knock.

Amidst my tiredness,

I turned my head to see who it was,

 It was my younger cousin,

He came in and said,

“Grandpa is dead”

That was sad news, was it?

I opened my mouth,

Unable to say anything,

And heaved a deep sigh,


Hmm, grandpa,

I am going to miss the moments we had together,

And so many things about you.

Can you remember some three months ago?

When I came home,

You said if you died then,

It wasn’t a sorrowful one,

You believed you had come and conquered,

You believed you were fulfilled.


When I was very much younger,

You told me about the civil war,

That one day, on your farmland,

Bending over an old cutlass,

And tilling a piece of land for planting,

Some Nigerian soldiers came around,

And asked you for some water,

Then you willingly supplied it,

But I wrote this, to tell the world,

That I had a grandpa, who was worth having,

So your death, coming like an inevitable groom,

For his bride,

Took you away from earth’s many troubles,

So we couldn’t be sad,

Because we are sure,

That you are at home,

The paradise,

And by the silent streams of heaven,

In a vast garden of awesome flowers,

There a hammock of comfort,

Bears you up, to a space of comfort,


Please, Baba Morenikeji Elijah Adekanmi,

Rest in the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ,

I am your grandson,

Adekanmi Abiodun Solomon Alao.


About oscarpoems

Finds great pleasure in reading and writing my thoughts. Chartered Animal Scientist, writes poems and articles for leisure and fulfillment. Lover of God, country and humanity.
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13 Responses to FAREWELL GRANDPA

  1. Isaacola AA says:

    Deep and arousing deep rooted emotion lying fallow, welling up the fountain of tears cascading down uncontrolably.

    Sun re o Baba.

  2. Ade Akin says:

    What a time to depart, heavenite Elijah Adekanmi, couple of times I met you and can confirm your grandson account of encounter with you. An indelible mark you left in my mind, this was around 1977 and 1978 when one Origbo Community High School teacher ‘Sakin Babalola (my uncle) was eyeing elegant ‘Sola (me call her Aunty ‘Sola then), your daughter. I worked to merit the opportunity to follow him out though……I had written about 2 or 3 essays (can’t remember the set target anymore) and after been ‘marked’ by Uncle ‘Sakin, minimum errors were noted and my reward for improving was to go out with him. I accompanied him to the place he always disappear to around 7.30 pm and return at about 10.30 pm or 11.30, even 12 sometimes. Olofofo omo kekere. While my uncle was busy with his mission, Papa Adekanmi occupied me with stories so that I won’t get bored or start to feel lonely. At my age then, opportunity to learn about our culture was always grabbed with both hands.

    Your love for anyone around you knows no limit Pa Adekanmi. What a time to arrive at the same gate that just welcomed the world most acclaimed illustrious son of Africa Madiba Mandela.
    Create time to chat up with Madiba and if you stumble on any piece of advise that can better Nigeria, don’t hesitate to pass them on.

    ‘Seye, Papa Adekanmi is very proud to have you as grandson……..above is my view.

    • Ablad says:

      Much thanks to you sir for reading this and taking your time to tell us this interesting part of your encounter with grandpa. It makes me laugh, in nostalgia though.

  3. 3rdpart360 says:

    Farewell, Pa. Say me hi to my Grandma too. You must have been a great man, to have a great man for a grandson.
    Strength to you, Oscar. God bless.

  4. sirrvictor says:

    cool and well written, liked how you were telling a story at the same time, it sure put my imagination into work. Nice. May Papa’s soul rest in Perfect Peace. Amen

  5. How poignant. RIP to уσυя old man.

  6. Emotionally deep lose of a grandfather like Pa Morenikeji Adekanmi

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