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Dear Dad,

I would have called to wish you happy father’s day, we would have continued our conversations, our unscripted and easy flowing conversations about Nigeria and its politics, complaints about you-know-who, how well you are doing and how well I am doing e.t.c.

It seems you waited for me to tell you I was fine before you left. I lied, I wasn’t fine I just wanted to make you feel better.

I am not dying either. I guess I am as strong as you thought.

We talk more like friends, how appropriate it is for you to call me Oyinda (father’s friend).

I think about you, hurts a little less now, your love for education, your entrepreneurial spirit, your financial genius brain, your anger that boils but simmers out quickly, your love for politics, your desire to save people, your pride, your quick forgiveness, your choice to do right rather than make money, your boldness standing for what is right at the risk of your own life.

You weren’t perfect, neither am I.

I guess we are more alike than I realized.

Like I said I am not alright, I miss you dad.

If I write about you it will read like a hero’s fiction, people loved and respected you not because you were wealthy. I never got tired of hearing your dad was a good man no matter the continent I am in. And these people are telling me stories, things you did for them that I never knew.

People have deep seated respect for you and it didn’t matter if you were wealthy or a pauper.  If they were richer or poorer than you the sentiments was always the same. Even when you were on opposing sides they respected you.

You love deep and sometimes it cost you but you were always fair in your dealings.

You understood wealth for what it was, for you it was not about the haves to impress it was just a means to an end.

I was never able to give you all the things I wanted to give to you but your legacy I will make proud.