Meanwhile, my brother I commit you into the hands of God…. May He forgive you for all your sins and grant you eternal peace and rest in heaven… May your name never fade away or be forgotten and may your legacy, a great legacy built by your distinguished ancestors and forefathers, remain strong.
My dearest brother, Prince Nazir Ado Ibrahim of the Royal House of the Attas in Ebiraland, Kogi State, has passed and it has hit me hard.
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We grew up together, shared an eventful and rich childhood with many remarkable experiences, and went through thick and thin together for 60 years!
I thought we would grow old together and share the memories of our childhood whilst in retirement.
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I thought we would comfort each other in old age, whilst the world quietly passed us by.
I thought so much and planned so much, but alas you are gone!
You were one in a million brother. Always putting smiles on everyone’s faces.
I remember the days of Atta Lodge in Yaba, your dear father, the late Ohinoyi’s house, where we all used to meet with friends and have a great time in the late 1970s and early 1980s.
I remember the days in Chelsea at my apartment in Pier House, my father’s house in Brighton, and your father’s mansion in Belgravia.
I remember the days of Lagos Polo Club, Ikoyi Club and Apapa Club, where we used to gather and move around in our fearsome and daring “gang” of wild and adventurous friends!
I remember the boxing and karate lessons we used to have and what a great warrior and courageous fighter you were.
I remember how we were at JB’s house in a place called Bourdillon, near the National Stadium in Lagos and Police raided the place!
I remember how we fought back to back and shoulder to shoulder together against our assailants whenever either of us was attacked or threatened.
We never lost, brother, and they never had us down! That is what made our relationship so special. Nothing and no-one could come between us.
We spoke a strange language to one another and we communicated in code, and with our eyes.
We walked the dark side together and, by the grace of God, we both survived.
I remember how we learnt to ride horses together and play polo, and how we used to both love marking the streets and treading the paths of the rougher sides of old Lagos in flashy cars, whilst flexing our hard and crazy muscles.
I remember the rivalries we all had over the girls. I remember the fights with the white boys and the locals. I remember the squabbles we all used to have over the most insignificant things. I remember the love that our band of brothers shared. I remember the numerous controversies we got into. I remember the numerous punishments that we jointly faced from our respective parents for our many wild outings. And I remember how we used to go to night clubs like Legends, Tramp, Main Squeeze, Monkberrys and others in London, and Studio 54 and Xenon in New York!
I remember visiting you in a place called Geneva in upstate New York and how we drove to meet our brother, Des Braithwaite, in Syracuse!
I remember your Porsche 928S and his and mine, and I remember how, in the various cities in the world, the police would stop and ask us how we could afford such cars at such a young age.
We laughed them to scorn because they did not know who and what we were, and more often than not we served them with hot words and left them with teary eyes and red faces!
That was in the early 1980s, and my goodness we had fun!
We lived life to the fullest with Azad, your older brother, Des Braithwaite, Kunle Braithwaite, Tonye Amachree, Deremi Ajidahun, Layeni Fagbayi, Gbegi and Dapo Ojora, Oscar Ibru, Gregg Mbadiwe, Gbolahun Sanyaolu, Ade Adetona, Ike Monu, and so many others.
Later in the 1980s, you became my in-law after I married your beautiful cousin Saratu Atta, who was the daughter of your uncle, the late Governor Adamu Atta of the old Kwara State.
She and I have a beautiful daughter called Folake, who you used to dote over with such affection and who you had a soft spot for when she was a baby.
So much happened since that time, but through it all you and I loved each other in the same way that Achilles and Patrocholus loved one another.
Always watching each other’s backs and standing up for one another, often fighting over small matters and always coming back together again.
Sadly we did not spend much time together in the last few years and we were only in touch from time to time, but when I heard of your passing earlier today something broke in me.
I realised that you were literally the living symbol of my lost childhood and the rallying point and star of those of us who grew up with you and loved you.
You were the bridge between the North and the South: who spoke Yoruba better than I did, but who was proud of his noble Ebira northern heritage and his royal roots.
You were also the bridge between the children of the elites who went to the best schools, from a very young age, in England and those who went to the very best schools from a young age in Nigeria.
We fought gang wars between the two groups in those days, whenever we came home for holidays from abroad, at the parties were we used to meet and the various social clubs we all belonged to, but you brought us all together.
Ours was a generation of love and brotherhood which cannot be matched or replaced.
We lived life to the fullest, we had it all, we saw it all, we watched each other’s backs and accepted each other as we were.
Those were the days when brotherhood meant something. Those were the days when loyalty was everything.
Those were the days when we took pride in who we were and in being Nigerians.
Those were the days when we, as a people and a generation, bowed to no one and had it all.
Those were the days we rocked London, New York, Paris, Athens, Cannes, Marbella, Malaga, Nassau, Monte Carlo, St Tropez, St Moritz, Juan Le Pins, Acapulco and much of the world, without a care and with no apology.
We were tough, proud, wealthy, healthy, strong and feared young Nigerian men, who had everything that we could ever want and we moved together like a pack of young wild lions.
Those were the days, my brother, and we thought they would never end. Those were the days when our parents would worry about us and our futures, and we would exchange notes and share jokes behind their backs and make a mockery of their fears.
Then came adulthood with all its challenges and responsibilities and I believe that we all kept the flag flying and acquitted ourselves well.
Outside of that our nation changed and the carefree days of joy and abundance for all came to an end, as the fortunes of our beloved Nigeria dwindled.
We pray for better days ahead and that our children and grandchildren can enjoy the essence and greatness of our people and country, the way we once did.
Meanwhile, my brother I commit you into the hands of God.
May He forgive you for all your sins and grant you eternal peace and rest in heaven.
May your name never fade away or be forgotten and may your legacy, a great legacy built by your distinguished ancestors and forefathers, remain strong.
I miss you already. I miss our fellowship. I miss our shared experiences and our many secrets.
I miss our joint childhood and all our other brothers, many of whom have passed on.
Ours is a dwindling generation.
We had our time and God was good to us. We had everything and cannot complain.
Now it is time for you to rest, brother, and for those of us you have left behind to accept the inevitability of what lies ahead.
God is with us and you are with Him. Greet our brothers who crossed over before you and tell them that FFK sends his love.
I pray for your precious soul, brother, and know that I shall NEVER forget you, whether in this world or the next.
Rest well, Suku Su and may the Lord strengthen, bless and protect your family and your wife, children and loved ones that you have left behind.
Femi Fani-Kayode is a former minister of Aviation, a former minister of Culture and Tourism, a former senior special assistant to President Olusegun Obasanjo on Public Affairs, an ambassador-designate of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, the Sadaukin Shinkafi, the Wakilin Doka Potiskum, the Aare Ajagunla of Otun Ekiti, the Otunba of Joga Orile and a legal practitioner.
