Baba Elepo the Rock of Gibraltar
When it was time for my father and his wife, Mama Tunji, to leave for home , I watched as Baba Elepo searched for his orthopedic walking stick. He found it beside his chair and, with visible effort, pulled himself upright. His eyes met mine, and he smiled, extending his arms. I understood immediately, he wanted me to pull him ,I grasped his hands, helping him to his feet. He didn’t let go. Instead, his fingers tightened around mine , a silent request for me to walk him to the car.
As we moved slowly, his weight leaning on my shoulder and his other hand gripping the walking stick, I couldn’t help but marvel at the moment. This was Baba Elepo, my father, the athlete, the footballer who his teammates called the Rock of Gibraltar , the man whose reputation on the field was simple: “If you miss the ball, don’t miss the leg.” . I still remember the afternoon I crossed a line (I’ve long forgotten what I did). After my punishment, he decided to finish the lesson with a few boxing jabs. When I instinctively blocked his blows, he paused, eyebrows raised, “ oh so on block mi ? Meaning “Oh, so you are blocking me?” he asked, surprised. I quickly dropped my guard and took the rest of my punishment.
This was the same man who taught me to change a car tire. When his car had a flat, he handed me the spanner and told me to remove the nuts. I strained with all my strength, but they wouldn’t budge. Without a word, he took the spanner and turned each nut effortlessly. After changing the tire, he asked me to tighten them. I did, confident I’d secured them well. He checked, then tightened them further, each one moving under his grip as if I’d barely touched them. This was the father who once carried my younger sister and me on his shoulders, as if we weighed nothing.
Now, here we were.
The walk to the car was slow. He paused occasionally, looking at me with that gentle smile. I wondered what memories filled his mind, but his joy was unmistakable. This moment was everything life is about, the passing of time, the shifting of roles, and the quiet grace of acceptance.
I thought of my own life. I still train and fight Judo almost every Saturday. I’ve won gold medals and a silver at an international event in the U.S. three years ago. As a third-dan black belt, my children, including my late son Adams fight Judo. I’ve fought them all and I’ve beaten them all. But lately, a question lingers . Did I really beat them, or did they let me win? After all, I still pay their school fees.😂🤣
The Yoruba say, “Makan makan loye nkan” gradually, it becomes your turn. My generation is feeling it now. Stairs that once seemed effortless now slow us down. Jogging has become jeje walking. My friend Olumide, who once drove at reckless speeds, now moves carefully, earning the title “Baba”from those around him. Knees buckle, reading glasses become necessary, and doctors warn us away from foods we once loved. Our parents, who once seemed invincible, have shown us their humanity. Now, it’s our turn to care for them. This is the beauty of life makan makan loye nkan.
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