My very good friend Charles
Aigbe called me
out of the blue and in a shaky voice, he asks me if I had heard of the demise
of this wonderful being. I screamed and wet my pants.
I felt the
hot pee dribble down my trousers as I stood shell shocked and bewildered from
this mad news. OJB the producer, my friend and brother
had finally given up.
He had
decided to leave us and take his genius to another realm. I stood perplexed and
with pee still dribbling down my right leg, I began to sob and hum a soft song
of sorrow. I saw my brother flash past me in that minute.
I saw his
laughter as he listened to my tired jokes, I saw him injecting himself with the
daily dose that was meant to keep him alive, I saw him play with his
dreadlocks, I saw him attempt a feeble punch at me, threatening to beat me up
like he usually did.
I saw him
stare at the backside of a very beautiful lady walk past even as I laughed at
him that his prime had past especially with all the injections and drugs he had
to take. And I saw him boast that he was still a man in every way even as he
attempted to strip to show me his manhood. I was in a confused state of
laughter and tears.
My tears
turned to fear, fear for his wives and children, fear for his legacy and fear
for this society that ate up its very best and chewed them out with the spittle
of neglect and venomous hatred. OJB has gone and with him his gentle smile, his
musical genius and a chapter in the life of a nation who once stood in awe at
his musical prowess.
I am still in
a state of shock because he touched me. We walked through almost all the halls
of useless capitalism seeking for funds for the over 30 million Nigerians
suffering from this debilitating illness.
As we walked,
the hot scorching sun biting us, OJB stopping momentarily to take his drugs and
rest his tired and weary feet not wanting others to suffer like he was. Only
UBA and AIICO especially AIICO gave us reprieve, the rest kicked us out of
their offices. One even went ahead to host the 10th year anniversary of a
musician with millions when all we just wanted was a paltry N500,000 to send to
an ailing patient under OJB’s care.
My brother is
gone. We shared the same birthdate and also shared a penchant for curvy women
settling with the same number of ‘wives’ and loving every moment we shared.
OJB’s death has paralyzed me and turned me into a zombie. I know he is within
Gods bosom for such people where never meant to last. They were built to live
very short but impactful lives.
Adieu my
brother and don’t ever forget our song. The one we were trying to do in your
studio upstairs that Saturday morning, you in your underwear, dreadlocks
hanging loosely over your handsome face and me naked with only my boxer shorts
screaming and squealing all in the name of singing and disturbing your
neighbourhood.
Our song will
go with you as you glide towards our Lord in a blaze. Sleep well my brother and
God bless. Lucky you.
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