My relationship with Captain Idahosa Wells Okunbo was though short, however, eventful. It was even the more fraught with life’s many unusual lessons. He could be such a great teacher from whom useful schoolings ooze naturally. He was also quick to trusting and once he did, access to him remained guaranteed.
His confidence about success was it for me. He never forgot how he got to the success station and died, confident that poverty had been conquered and for good.
“Two things I told God. One, that I wanted to conquer poverty and in his infinity mercy, he granted that wish with the speed of light. I have conquered poverty from my youth and never will it get any close to me and mine again,” he said during one of our private conversations.
Unfortunately, God didn’t grant the second wish. Coming from a poor background and having successfully wrestled poverty to the ground, he wanted to retire to the same village, where he left as a poor boy, but back as a multi-billionaire.
“The other thing I have asked of God is to give me the grace to return to the same village in my old age and to those of my childhood friends that are still alive, tie my wrapper or towel in the morning; eat roasted yam with palm oil and bushmeat with them and later in the day, go to the palace and spend time with my father, speaking of the Oba of Benin.
“That’s my wish and that’s how I intend to spend the rest of my days. If it’s money, I have made enough and conquered poverty and just want to retire to the village a happy and fulfilled man,” he said, hoping that this other wish would be fulfilled, also.
But as God was pleased, that didn’t come to pass. And with the benefit of hindsight, Captain Hosa, too, had probably given up on that dream. Our conversation before he left for London, where he eventually passed on, indicated as much.
This was soon after the hotly contested Edo State governorship election. He had just issued a statement, congratulating the winner and called, first to ask if I’d seen the statement and two, to return my call as well as inform me about the “new plan”.
“Olaleye, my son, I need to let you know that I’m traveling to London tomorrow. I’m going for my medical checkup and to also attend to some other personal things. But I don’t think I want to return to this country again. I might change my numbers and if I did, I’d let you know. But don’t worry, we’d be in touch. Take care. I’ll speak to you when I get to London.” That was it.
Although he didn’t eventually change his number and we spoke until a week before he passed on, he truly didn’t return to Nigeria. And more, he would be buried in London.
His personal inadequacies notwithstanding, Captain Hosa was a genuinely good man. His generosity was intrinsic and it gave him joy to see others smile.
Goodnight, Captain Hosa, you were such a good man!
