And somehow, they've been married for 25

Gosh, isn't 25 years such a long time to be married?

TJ

My earliest memory of my father is lying on his chest. I must have still been a baby, so I’m not sure how I remember that.

I can remember my dad carrying my sister in his arms while he shuffled between holding me and my brother when he took us to our school that was a 10-minute walk away.

I can remember him sitting in the parlor of our house, buttering our bread, then securing it in a transparent Santana nylon afterward.

I remember my father beaming with joy as he popped open three bottles of Coca-Cola. We were in primary school, and the three of us had just come top of our classes.

I still remember a few lines from my first poem—the one my father helped me write for a primary school graduation. It read:

“Ad-Deen Children School
I came to you for knowledge
You showered me with a bunch of serious-minded teachers in your kids
You liberated me from the pool of ignorance to the pool of knowledge…”

Ejide
I see a lot of myself in my mother. Every time, I’m struck again by the realization that I am so much like her.

Like realizing that my little happy dance came from her.

Like realizing that my mother enjoys the little things. Like good food, a nice shawarma, a funny scene from one of her many Indian series. Her little joys.

Like realizing my mum also dismisses conversations to mask her anxiety. Like how she wouldn't talk about her promotional exam until she was sure she passed.

TJ
I remember my father’s black shoes—the ones that always paced in front of the bathroom door at the backyard of our face-me-I-face-you compound. I remember him banging the door every single day, repeating the same statement:

“Aisha, ma ja e le o, emi na ni ise ti mo n se, o fe je ki won sack mi? Ma fi ti e ko ba mi.”
(Aisha, I would leave without you. I also have a job. Do you want them to sack me? Don’t implicate me.)

He used to drop me off at my junior secondary school, which was close to his own school. If he ever carried out that threat during my three years at Eva Adelaja Girls, I don’t remember it.

I remember his random visits to my junior school. He was a teacher and would often stop by to say hello to his colleagues. The whole school knew him, and someone would always poke their head in to let me know he was around. So I would sit still in my seat, focused entirely on reading a book. God forbid my strict father caught me being a clown to my classmates.

Ejide
I would associate my mother with patience.

A patience I am not certain I want, because humans took advantage of it. Everyone took advantage of it.

I would remember praying for such patience because the world would be more peaceful if we all had that much patience.

Then I would remember praying against such patience because the world and the people do not deserve such.

But my mother will always say she don’t want to ruin the ties of family, or we never know if her blessings and our successes come from her patience.

TJ

The first time I ever thought of studying law was when my father was amazed that I read Chimamanda’s Americanah in under two days at age 11. He said I would make a great lawyer. I didn’t study law, but I still found reasons to live by that conviction.

I remember failing math in my first term of senior secondary school. My dad had threatened me that I would be better off with a handiwork and I better start looking for one. A threat I knew he would never carry out because I knew he would have kept on trying till I got it. He would later employ a home lesson teacher to tutor me.

I remember making a mistake with my first JAMB email. My father ran around and swallowed insults. A strict man, never one to be messed with, not by neighbors, not by family. But I watched JAMB officials speak rudely to him, ask him to leave rooms, and he endured it all—just to rectify my mistake. And never, not once, did he blame me for the insults.

Ejide
I would associate my mother with generosity. I often tell people that she’s one of the kindest people I know. She’s not the friendliest, but you’ll never miss her kindness. She was my first example of it.

I associate her with success and resilience in many forms. I remember standing in front of my class during an impromptu presentation in 200 level, saying my mother was my role model. For someone who grew up with a stepmother that tried everything to stop her education, she still turned out successful.

TJ
I remember waiting for admission to study Mass Communication at the University of Ilorin. I had scored 263 on my second JAMB attempt and 86 in POST UTME. My name didn’t show up early, and my proud father said he would write a petition if I wasn’t admitted. It was funny, but yeah.

I see his pride now. Beaming at a brilliant write-up from my sister, or about my brother having a job that covered his hospital bills, or about a coding article my brother wrote that he didn’t even understand, but he was happy that his son did that.

Ejide
I remember the sumptuous meals my mother made while we were growing up—the jollof rice she cooked, the cabin biscuits she fried, the efo egusi on a rainy afternoon, the chilled Nutri-C we took to school.

I remember the vitamins and cod liver oil we had as kids. During my student life, I had to endure a lot of harsh living conditions. And I remember thinking, the only reason my body survived it was because of the strong foundation my mother built for my health.

TJ & Ejide
Our parents have never been the conventional African parents.

Like how we’ll never relate to parents collecting money or gifts given to their children by visitors. Our parents always said the money and gifts were ours to keep.

And may I always remember their kindness.
May Allah, in His infinite mercy, spare their lives in good health and peace of mind.

May I always remember.
May I never forget.