Merchant of Memoirs

MY HUMBLE BEGINNING

Take a look at your life at one point or the 

Other , you re bound to recall the peak and off peak periods of growing up-the good and the ugly.When you dilute them together you get the best narrative and make a beautiful story.Everyone often has a beautiful story to tell when they reflect on the memoirs of lost days and forgotten years.

My humble Beginning was quite scintinlating and I had a good upbringing from the most industrial couple in the beverage producing business in black Africa.We had extended families from both sides of parentage and were very successful in their own little way.The head of the partriarchal side my grandpa Joseph Olaniyan a great Scion of Laniyan dynasty ,members of the group of original hunters that founded ogbomoso. According to my father's younger brother pa Lanrewaju Laniyan ,who threw me back to the memory lane with the uncommon historical bombshell that left me panting for breath.In the narrative there was not a fable in the critical renditions and the cadence a repertoire of ipsofacto and expostfacto when juxtaposed shone above a thousand stars.Pa Lanrewaju with grey beard who was oratorical and somehow hospitable and scary presence invited me outside from the living room into the concrete couchs at the table tennis and badminton court to have a discussion.That was after returning home two decades in Lagos.In the narrative I saw a good raconteur like my father though in the traditional way.I watched him barred his mind and heaved a sigh of relief in the narrative as we sat in the tranquil hours of the sedate court plated with concrete.What was the need and use of the narrative as I asked myself and upon ponderous my need of golden resources to write my memoirs ,I quickly perceived the unquantifiable significance of historical documentation by a blogger and a reporter  found in such exigent mode and the power of listening mind.We had sat down for more than this peptalk which was quite initially indecisive between the movement from the living room and sedate chat at the court.Not only was it begining to grow hazy in the twinkling twinkling hours of the brief but memorable narrative and I knew that magic potion could spew out of his mouth when he lamented my father's latter years and how you would not arrive at your final destination when you mix religion with reality.My anxiety was all the greater  daunting to realize he was eagerly awaiting us after donkey years of hometown abandonment .If i didn't return back home after covid19 ordeal,our father's property would probably have been taken over and some disaster would have befallen us.Of course it is safe to say: Never had I undertaken a more difficult journey in my over forty years on earth.

A brief glance at his visage depicts hazy clouds gathering in the momentum, an evidence to convince curious mind that storm was brewing in the meantime.I noticed strong winds brewed up and wasn't sure where it would land.I was well aware of the squabble between brothers not very promising at a time.We were well aware of the trouble in the African extended family settings and the kind of heated family relations we experience.His spouse looked hazy too upon sighting my presence even before we sat down at the court.I was complaining of my frostbitten mood and disatisfaction with poor handling of our late father's properties and the way we lost millions over the years.I had tried my best and succeeded  to recover the assets from local agent with power of attorney to manage the properties.My audit unveiled the truth of lost revenues and upon noticing the treacherous diversion quickly retrieved them under my management.

ANOTHER ODYSSEY

On a cold clear morning in the year 1995, the rickety bus from ogbomoso,Oyo state, took off in earnest into the streets of ikotun , Lagos with exhausted folks, merry cheers and whistles of bravado blast from almost the entire family as it approached ijegun in the suburbs of Lagos.Hardly had it stopped and unload its passengers clothed against the beating waves,wild 

Urban jungle,with dread and trembling in the joy of succesful Lagos travel than the vehicle was repaired twice on the road by a hagard looking company driver with a morose cheeks.He was uncomfortable as driver of the vehicle that accompanied him and might have been unruly and indifferent when the offer of traveling with ramshackled jalopylike van was disclosed to him.He brought the vehicle early morning to aguodo, ogbomoso where I first lived my first  twenty five years on earth and told us about the traveling and company plan to relocate to Lagos and the shifting of factory for greener pastures being the prime motive.The factory was gradually relocated first to Ogudu then later to babalegba,ijegun before it finally crashed in 2002.The siblings had to find alternative means of survival.

Although we succeeded in moving to Lagos,we struggled to feed like any Lagosians.