Ara’le Eni L’Ota Eni

That I concluded yesterday night with even more certainty that I’ll gain admission into a United Kingdom university (and that I’ll get the means with which to fund the programme) I woke up this morning to hear my father, his second wife, and her son making disgruntled comments. Never those that would I progress in life, as terrified to by the words of the second wife almost two decades ago — this being,

“He shall sleep in that room until the day he is dead;”

they had already gotten in touch with UK authorities with the claim that they had to go with me to the UK — to take care of me, to take care of the lunatic that they claim I am; this being the same claim they make to the ignorant of Ibadanland each and every time I move out of my father’s house.

The UK has not behaved like the ignoble of Ibadanland. On the contrary, they’ve let my family know that the family is crazy — that no one needs to spoonfeed a forty-six year old man. I salute the UK.

I salute the UK now that I know that I have a greater chance of being rid of a family that has spent over twenty years ruining my life, trampling upon my rights, and battering my soul. I salute the UK now that I know that — by the hands of a civilised community — I may get justice over the sorrow that is my life, the death of Joke Abiodun (and of Eddie Adupeyi) and the mishap that is the life of Kayode Oluokun.

Kay, I remember you. And I salute the UK.

We shall overcome.