Languages are fascinating. Sometimes, a single word carries an entire philosophy. In English, there is simply “father.” In Yoruba, there are Bàbá and Baba . To the untrained ear, they may sound identical. But anyone versed with the Yoruba culture knows they do not always mean the same thing. One may give you life. The other may raise you. One may introduce you to the world. The other may teach you how to live in it. And sometimes if grace allows, one man becomes both. The Blood Father: Bàbá Bàbá represents the biological father - the man whose role in the human story is as ancient as procreation itself. Long before modern medicine or schools, there was the act of continuation. There was inheritance. There was the quiet transmission of life from one generation to the next. Biologically, a father contributes half of a child’s genetic identity. He passes on more than cells: genes, predispositions, facial features, bloodline markers, physiological traits, and sometim...
There was a time in Yorubaland when religion occupied our places of worship but never occupied our hearts against one another. There were Muslims, there were Christians, but above all, there were neighbours. Looking back now, I often wonder whether we truly appreciated what we had while we lived it. Growing up in a six-flat apartment at Ajigbotoluwa in old Alekuwodo, Osogbo, I never imagined that one day people would have to organise conferences and seminars to teach coexistence. We lived it naturally. In those days, Osogbo had its own social map. The elites mostly resided in Dada Estate, while many others were spread across Ogo-Oluwa and Alekuwodo. Alekuwodo was unique because it brought together the upper class, middle class and working-class families in one community. Many civil servants of that era belonged to the respectable middle class; teachers, social workers, accountants, engineers and local government officers. Salaries might be modest, but relationships were rich. My father...