Joy Omosimbo, mother, grandmother, director, leader, friend, and wife, 60 is a start that you wear so well. Still so many more years of your unique mixture of beauty and vulnerability, brashness and kindness, all covered in that sweet you like – caramel on chocolate; now that is reason to live forever with you.
There is nothing that deserves systemic engagement more than the relationships that shape our lives. Humans are social animals who choose meaning above all else, whether that meaning is arrived at through detachment, which suggests objectivity, or through emotions founded in our individual experiences. In all, marriage is the platform for the safest and the riskiest journey into this human essence.
The exploration of what is truly valuable, the illumination into the deepest vulnerability and darkest fears, as well as your defining dreams. The essence of our character is exposed to daily tests of adaptability and resilience in what is love – the essential energy of the divine spirit that is God.
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In my case, it is a paradox, because everyone has a unique journey, even though they use the same platform. We are two people who value truth, but the most brutal interaction is truth without the tempering warmth of love. At the same time, expressing love without the fierce light of truth is a slow poison. Yes, a relation of 50 years (truly 51), nearly all of our lives, we have been friends and even more challenging, lovers. We stand in the face of the blistering energy of the daily discovery of self and us.
Joy, my best friend and worthy adversary, is 60. And, it seems just a few moments ago that I came out of boarding school in Lagelu Grammar School in Ibadan, returning to the streets of Old Ife Road to a shock; a rash of new additions to the neighbourhood. Nearly all the children brought back from London congregated on the streets and played together, boys and girls. For me, this was quite alien, having been in a boys’ dormitory for months.
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My Chopper bicycle, which I left at home to go to school, was no longer the shiny attractor. I stood on the side watching and shy of these other life forms. Even then she was different, with passionate features, especially full and distinct lips, and even then, a hint of a personality that demanded affection and attention because, for those who cared, she was vulnerable. That vulnerability would be exploited and even abused at home and in school, but we were nine-year-olds; we had little knowledge of tomorrow and what it meant.
I could go into the story of the spiritual dedication of our friendship and the beauty of the blossoming into parents of three men, but that will be better expressed elsewhere. I have watched the Queen in Joy manifest without hesitation, and I see the inevitable flaws as the perfection of her beauty, like the Japanese art of Kintsugi. We all have our imperfections, but in Joy I find the reason for me in her life, the essence of my service…
By the time we were 13, I dared to try a first kiss and affirm being a boyfriend. What we developed was too far ahead of the maturity that would honour our connection. She entered into the phase of physical maturation and the tribulations that most beautiful women go through, as if to test their will and break their spirit.
In a misogynist society, there is so much a woman like Joy endures and endures, with parents whose only lens is social acceptability. Who do you tell of the attempts to break you? In the 1970s, Ibadan had many dangers, and rampant attacks on young girls were not isolated. I devised a ridiculous logistical move for ensuring that the driver who picked me from school in Agugu would drive all the way to the University of Ibadan to pick her in International School, after she had an egregious experience.
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Even then, Joy never showed defeat or distress, and till today my parents never knew of my directing the driver on this detour; this is beyond understanding. Even then, I did not know that this was itself a sign of long-term commitment. By the time we ended up in the same Ife town but different institution, I had become more self-focused and wary of long-term commitment at 16 years of age. We had to part (but not completely), as I discovered the appeal and expression of different aspects of myself, and I brought tears to my friend. But my fear of settling into our relationship took precedence.
I could go into the story of the spiritual dedication of our friendship and the beauty of the blossoming into parents of three men, but that will be better expressed elsewhere. I have watched the Queen in Joy manifest without hesitation, and I see the inevitable flaws as the perfection of her beauty, like the Japanese art of Kintsugi. We all have our imperfections, but in Joy I find the reason for me in her life, the essence of my service, and the driver of the Knight with a glorious mission buried deep in my soul. To always be there so she never hurts unbearably, and to stand with her against the world if required.
There was nothing like the internet in 1985 that would account for even news or updates about the island nations. Joy and I never discussed my interest in the islands, but her mum still made special ginger beer for me with the cloves in it. If only I knew then what I know now. Joy, the best of me is 60 years old, crafted in Ipendo elerin and nurtured in the womb from Calliaqua in SVG, but raised in Ibadan; Onítèmi, we celebrate you.
I see the Grandchildren talking to their ‘Nana’ and blossoming into her unique expression of her own inner child. I see how fortunate we are for this incredible Queen, combining the directness of the Ijesha farmer with the resilience of the spirit of Calliquo in St Vincent and the Grenadines.
One story is worthy of note: drinking with my friends in the Ife Conference Centre bar during one of the hiatuses in my relationship with Joy. The conversation meandered and eventually landed on the ridiculousness of my obsession with Caribbean living. I remember the ridicule from all on my insistence that part of my future lay in the Caribbean. Then it was worthy of ridicule to an Ibadan man whose notions of Caribbean heritage came out of nowhere, and as it stood then, it was assumed I would marry any of my Nigerian girlfriends.
There was nothing like the internet in 1985 that would account for even news or updates about the island nations. Joy and I never discussed my interest in the islands, but her mum still made special ginger beer for me with the cloves in it. If only I knew then what I know now. Joy, the best of me is 60 years old, crafted in Ipendo elerin and nurtured in the womb from Calliaqua in SVG, but raised in Ibadan; Onítèmi, we celebrate you.
Joy Omosimbo, mother, grandmother, director, leader, friend, and wife, 60 is a start that you wear so well. Still so many more years of your unique mixture of beauty and vulnerability, brashness and kindness, all covered in that sweet you like – caramel on chocolate; now that is reason to live forever with you.
Adéwálé Àjàdí, a lawyer, creative consultant and leadership expert, is author of Omoluwabi 2.0: A Code of Transformation in 21st Century Nigeria.
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