REMEMBERING KAKU

“I grieve for you, Jonathan my brother; you were very dear to me. Your love for me was wonderful, more wonderful than that of women”. 2 Samuel 1 verse 26. NIV

omawrites@yahoo.com

Kaku (right) and I

My dear Kaku,

Six years! That's how long it's taken for me to finally write about you. Six years and I finally set about immortalising you.

It’s a debt I should have paid years ago. Maybe I should have done it immediately after your demise. But I dithered and dithered, scared that I would be bereft of the clarity to relive our moments together.

I have always held firm to the belief that memorable moments should not fizzle away. We owe it to posterity to give vent to those occasions. And as individuals we reserve the right to choose the medium of expression. My medium is writing. So I am writing this piece about you Blessing Oladotun Aduloju aka Kaku.

A caveat here; this may not turn out to be my best piece. I fear that I may ruin this work by being too emotional. And yes, I may cry. But that's okay. At least I dared to walk back in time, through the path of these painful memories. Today, I finally summon the courage to confront what is one of the most painful chapters in my life. Today, I begin the painful journey of accepting your death. And to do this, I must bring you back to life.

Maybe I should begin from the very first day I encountered you. It was a Monday morning; a hot, and uncomfortable one. The venue was Atscan Hall, then the largest capacity hall in Delta State University, Abraka. The entire 100 level students of the Faculty of Arts were packed inside the hall, awaiting the commencement of lectures. We were less than a week in the University and most of the students were still dripping with exuberance. But I wasn’t finding it funny that day There I was, sandwiched with four others in a seat originally meant for three, the oppressive heat boiling my entire body. Truth be told, I would rather be anywhere but in class at that moment.

The din from the hall seemed to have taken over the entire school. But in spite of the cacophony I could hear a fierce argument coming from behind me. The topic, inevitably, was soccer. I wasn’t in the least interested in joining the dispute. I had enough on my laps battling with the sweltering heat. Still, I couldn’t help but pick up snatches of the argument.

I realized soon enough that the argument was unevenly balanced; four individuals were pitched against a lone voice. Kaku was the lone voice. Though outnumbered, he would not give in. What made the incident fascinating was that he was beating them fair and square in the verbal joust. At some point, one of the antagonist remarked to him: “You are just being stubborn. You know nothing about football”. It was a comment that evoked laughter from Kaku.  “Let me prove to you that I am well ahead of you in football. I dare you to mention any footballer and I will tell you his present club. I will also mention footballers and if one of you can come up with the player’s current club, then I will concede the argument to you,” Kaku Challenged.

And so it began. They reeled out names after names of footballers and Kaku calmly supplied the answer. When it was clear that they could not win that round, Kaku told them: “I don’t want to further embarrass you because clearly you won’t have the answer to my own question so let’s just agree that I have won this argument”. There was a silence from the other group. It was at that point I turned to look at the star of the show. I saw Kaku- this frail looking fair complexioned fellow- defiantly seizing up the other group. I was impressed.

Days later, I discovered that Kaku and I were in fact course-mates. I introduced myself and we laughed over the incident. That was to begin a friendship that would transcend beyond the university walls.

Some friendships require time before they are forged into an enduring union. Not Kaku and I. We just clicked. We seemed to have been cut from the same cloth. We were two parts of a whole. Yet, given our upbringing and religious persuasions, we couldn't have been more different. I came from a small close knit family with firebrand protestant evangelical roots. Kaku came from a much larger family background and they were proud Jehovah Witnesses. Still our differences was the the glue that bound us together.

As we progressed through the academic rungs of the university, our friendship grow even closer. We became the terrible twins. To most of our course mates, we were ‘the wayward boys'. We didn't mind that notoriety. In fact, we relished it. Individually we were academically lazy. Together we were academically irresponsible. We only indulged in serious reading during exam periods. Call it the fire brigade approach and you won’t be far from the truth.

Still, our natural brilliance earned us the respect of the class. It was, perhaps, a testimony to our intelligence that we didn't get punished for our academic imprudence with an extra year in the university.  

While other students worked hard at graduating with good grades, we played away our time. Still we had an ace up our sleeves; we would visit media houses during our break from school to horn our skills. When we bothered to read it wasn’t our text books; rather we would spend hours poring through newspapers and magazines. We would write and compare our works with more established writers. What we were doing amounted to playing away our present while prepping ourselves for the future. It was a gamble that paid off.

We eventually graduated with average grades-quite disappointing given our potentials-but we were ready for the herculean challenge that journalism would throw us. Years after his death, I ran into a senior journalist under who Kaku once worked. “Shining star”, were the exact words with which he described Kaku. I was proud but not surprised.

Back to school. Even though Kaku was allotted a bed space in Abraka Hall, the only male hostel at that time, you would hardly find him in his room. You would sooner find him in my place (I lived in a rented self-contained apartment outside the school campus) or with another friend of his, Emeka Ozor, who we called Man U who also stayed off-campus. First thing in the mornings, Kaku would come to my place to have his bath and then we would leave for classes together. Looking back, I wondered how we coped with ourselves. He was forever making fun of my brand of Christianity- how Protestants prayed and conducted their services. It became so unbearable for me that there were times I would refuse to pray before him even when I was in my own house. I also had my fair share of victories against him in our daily verbal battles. Indeed, ours was a strange friendship. Even as I pen this piece, I still do not know Kaku's true age. He kept it to his chest in spite of how hard I pestered him.

It wasn't all rosy for me in school. But those tough times brought out the best in Kaku. I remember during our 200 level when I ran into some trouble that had to do with course registration irregularities. In truth, the incident only occurred due to the negligence of the departmental staff. When the matter got to a head, I was asked to defer all academic activities for that year. That would have meant losing that academic year. To say that I was crushed would be an understatement. In the midst of everything, all my friends rallied around me. Kaku was in his elements. He would come to my house and drag me to his hostel or Man U’s house to stuff me with food which he prepared. He would always try to take my mind off things with his humour. At the end of the day the matter was sorted out and I was free to continue with my studies. I shudder to think how I would have coped without the support of Kaku and my other friends.

Another incident stood out. During my third year in the university, I was elected as the Editor of our departmental newspaper. It wasn’t just about publishing a newspaper. It was also a departmental course for which every member of the c lass would be appraised based on their participation in the project.

The appointment couldn't have come at a more unfortunate period. I was already grappling with a number of carry-over courses which my course mates, at least some of them, knew about. Still, they trusted me enough to hand me the reins of leadership. Stupidly, I accepted the challenge. It was a major lesson in my life about leadership and managing people. At some point, some members of the class who were obviously disappointed that they were passed over for the role of Editor, accosted Kaku and sounded him out on the possibility of getting me to quit. Their reason was that I would not be able to cope given the academic load I was already carrying. And indeed they had a point! Kaku’s response to them was a firm rejection. When he relayed the issue to me I asked him for his opinion. He answer was simple yet powerful: “It’s up to you. If you think you can do it then I am behind you”. Eventually the project turned out to be a success. Delsu Echo was born. It would be most unfair for me to take all the credit for it. I will rather share it with the entire members of the team because they were simply marvellous. But I will never forget that statement from Kaku: “It’s up to you. If you think you can do it then I am behind you.”

After graduation, Kaku and I threw ourselves into the murky waters of journalism. For us, the real test of our lives was beyond the walls of the university. I found my way into The Sun Newspapers as a freelancer. Kaku did the same in BusinessDay. When the inevitable call from the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) came, we had to leave for our respective postings; Kaku to Akwa Ibom, I to Abia, two neighbouring States. And still we kept in touch, both with journalism and with each other.

February 2007. I got a call from Kaku from his base. He was coming over to see me in Abia State. Of course I agreed. The terrible twins were reunited albeit for two weeks. Boy did we have fun. My friends in Abia simply took to him. Who wouldn’t they? It was simply impossible to hate him. You may not like Kaku but you certainly can’t hate him.

All too soon, the fun came to an end. Kaku had to return to his base. However, during the latter part of his visit, he complained of a persistent stomach ache. I didn’t take it serious. In fact, Kaku himself was quite dismissive of it. He left with the promise of checking on a doctor friend of his when he got to Akwa Ibom. We also agreed that I was to reciprocate his visit in due time.

After Kaku’s departure I was caught up in work and I didn’t communicate with him as I ought to. Two weeks after, he called me, accusing me of not keeping in touch. I was shocked to learn that he was bedridden because of that minor stomach ache. My guilt turned to shock and then anger when Kaku expressed doubt that he would survive the ailment. What nonsense! Kaku can be something of a morbid joker as anyone that knew him would testify but even that was taking it too far. I told him that much. But the strain in his voice kept tugging at me. Still there was no way I was going to lose my Kaku and I told him so.

I kept contact with him, calling him every day just to keep abreast of his health. I remember sending him an SMS text assuring him that 10 years after, we would sit back over cups of coffee and reminiscence on how we almost gave up hope of his recovery.

Then Kaku’s trail went cold. I called him as usual but I simply couldn’t get through to him. I assumed that he had changed his phone number. But in truth Kaku was dead; snatched away from this world by the Grim Reaper. Two weeks later I got to learn the official cause of his death; Hepatitis B, I was told.

So as suddenly as Kaku came into my life he left. In a sense we were lovers. We loved life. We loved our football. We loved our journalism. And we loved each other. The same way David and Jonathan loved each other. In truth I may not be able to ascribe to Kaku the honour of being my best friend. That would be unfair to the battalion of people who have stood by me through thick and thin in life. But he was a special friend.

   I remember Kaku always saying that he hated the cliché: “Gone too soon”. He said he would rather prefer “Gone at last” to be the epitaph on his tombstone. Am sorry Kaku but for me, you went too soon.

Goodbye, my friend and my brother. Rest in peace.