Tribute to my father

(read by Pelayo Omotoso at the Memorial on 8th Aug 2023)

My dad used to say "Time flies. You can't, they fly too fast"

Inside that play on words, which he savored with his passion for the drama of language self evident, is the most important lesson I learnt from my dad, and it is what I cherish most about his memory.

One might think that an engineer growing up in a household of writers, dramatists and movie makers would have felt out of place. But my parents had a touch for understanding how to nurture the interests of an analytical mind. My mother arranged for me to have lessons with a teacher, Uncle Dele Afolabi, whose love for mathematics fit in well with their ethos.

My dad was even more enthusiastic. On my 11th birthday he presented me with a silver covered book with the title QED. It was on Quantum Electro-Dynamics. As it turned out, I was neither much of a scientist or a prodigy. But he persevered. He had taught me chess at the age of 4 (it was the first time I beat my brother at anything). At 13 I accompanied him to Lesotho and he bought me a portable Kasparov computer chess set. My first of many and kindled a lifelong passion with chess, mathematics, physics and any books on the subject.

That's why I think he found it ironic, that my PhD, which to my surprise he read, was on language. Not that of his doctorate in Arabic literature but that of meaning making in organizational strategy.

As kids, on holiday in London, my dad would take us along to various work meetings he might have in the city. We would exhaust our boredom exploring the many hallways and stairwells of those old buildings. When my dad emerged at the end of the day he was still brimming with energy. He would skip down the stairs, like a tap dance. One-two, one-two. Trailing his copy-cat kids.

That energy was in everything he did. Nothing with half measures. As Africans, he would say, "we had to run twice as fast to get half as far". This was not a complaint. It was a challenge which we were eager to accept.

Not just to show up but to stand out. This is the gift he gave me. To give everything in the pursuit of what I was most passionate about and to love my chosen interests.

There is so much that cannot be said. So much that went unsaid in the way I loved my dad. In place of those words, I would like to share a poem by his dear friend, Uncle John LaRose:

TELL HIM

by John La Rose

Tell him

that his voice

still sounds the same 

on the telephone; 

that I long to see his face 

that I miss him 

missed him for a long time, 

good friends are rare 

life is short 

and friends are gold 

moreso when we grow old.

If you see him 

tell him what I look like 

tell him I say;

So many stiff mountains to climb

So many drowned in defeat

So many sorrows

So many loves in the early hours

So many partings

So many hollow victories

So many lies

So much courage

So much spirit

Such boundless hope 

in so many voyages of the mind.

Your son, Pelayo.