Today, I received a call from my old primary school teacher of over 25 years.
Mom went back to school and sent me to the village to live with grandma. So, I fell into the tutelage of Mr. Isaiah, a Primary 4 teacher in Ogbe village.
He turned out to be one of the best things that happened to me.
Brilliant, sharing, and passionate about imparting knowledge.
He will teach you until you know.
I lost contact with him after primary school, but I always remember him as one of the most important people in my academic life.
A few years ago, I traveled to Egbe and it was a perfect opportunity to find him. I learned he teaches at Odo Ere and I drove there, combing different primary schools.
Poi. No one knew him.
Someone said he had been transferred to another village.
Another said he saw him a few days ago.
A different version of his location popped up.
They gave a perfect description of him and where he lives. I drove back to Egbe and kept asking.
The hunt took me to my In-law’s.
He knew the teacher and could help with his whereabouts.
We jumped immediately into the car and another adventurous hunt around the town commenced. We drove to his supposed house but met another brick wall.
Puff!
A new description surfaced.
‘He just finished playing ‘ayo’ someone said, ‘and had gone to church for evening service’.
I was overjoyed that I would finally meet this man.
We got to 1st ECWA Church Egbe.
The service just ended, and the church had dispersed.
I sighed disappointedly; frustration written all over me.
We were about turning away when someone mentioned he was in a meeting at the nearby Pastor’s residence. He is now an elder in the church. My heart leapt with joy.
A few minutes later, he came out and I gratefully prostrated for him.
Yoruba demon like me. Lol.
He pulled me up and we hugged for a long time.
Oga Taiye.
I remember his passion and energy.
His commitment to touching lives.
His promise of staying in touch since our reunion.
And our disrespect for him [because descended to our level to impart].
To Mr. Isaiahs, Mr. Fagbemis, Mr. Agbowos, Mrs. Ojos, Mr. Vincents, Futajalons, Mr. Momorebes, Mr. Ologbonyos, Mr. Ainas, Mr. Olukomogbons, Mr. Abolarins, and the rest of the world’s teachers…
The forgotten ones.
The despised.
The poor.
The creator of healers.
The molders of destinies.
Gratefully, and wholeheartedly,
I say thank you for teaching me the nonsense that makes sense,
#EKO.
