Bolaji was a neighbor, a friend and a brother, and his death has affected me and everyone in my family in a way that I can’t even begin to explain. Their house is next door to ours in Lagos and we all grew up together. He and Tolu (my younger brother) were best friends. I can’t come to terms with the fact that he really is gone forever. Tolu asked me the other day, "what am I supposed to do with Bolaji's phone number & e-mail address now?" And at that moment, the finality of his death hit me for the first time - he's never coming back; he'll never again pick up his phone or reply his e-mail. The reality is more than I can comprehend at this time. In the one week since he passed, the tears have flown freely in a seemingly unending stream as I haven't been able to shake the pervasive sense of grief that has descended upon my heart. Why? Why? Why? He had so much to live for... If my family is finding his death so hard to accept, then I can only imagine the agony that his family is going through. This life is brief, too brief… We who are left behind are the ones in pain because he is resting now...
Abonje kululu - I’m not supposed to be sitting here, with tears streaming down my eyes as I try to come to grips with the fact that you really are no more. You had your whole life ahead of you, but God knows why it had to end this way. He gave you 22 short years on this earth, but they were 22 quality years and I thank Him that we even had you that long. None of us will ever forget you - your warmth, your zeal for life, your goodness… Bode Ogunleye Close will never be the same again. Trips to London will never be the same again. Those of us who knew you and loved you will never be the same again. I pray for your parents, and for your brothers – Damola, Eniola, Folarin and Seun - and for all your friends, that God will give everyone the strength to cope with this immeasurable loss. B.J, Bonjelala, I guess the only way to say it is to simply say it. So adieu, odigba, good-night. You were one of a kind, and our loss is truly heaven’s gain. Sleep well beloved, and rest in perfect peace.
July 10th, 2001
I got the dreaded phone call from my older brother, Foluso at about 3 p.m. on Tuesday the 3rd of July, 2001. "Kemi, I have to tell you something, but you must promise me that you won’t scream or cry." Immediately, my heart contracted with pain and fear as I anticipated what was to come next. When someone prefaces their news with a statement like that, you know without a doubt that they are not bearing glad tidings. I prayed silently but desperately, even as I wondered out loud: "What now? Foluso, what has happened now??!!" What came next was more shocking, more painful, more unbelievable than anything I could have expected, and the gravity of it literally knocked me off my feet. "Bolaji Durosinmi-Etti is dead." I thought my brother was joking. He had to be joking, right? Or maybe he was just confused. Because it couldn’t be true that Bolaji was really dead. And I kept repeating that to myself over and over again, desperately clinging to the faint hope that someone somewhere had gotten their facts wrong and it was all just a wacky mix-up. But I called my father in Lagos a few minutes later and he confirmed the unthinkable. Bolaji had died in a car accident in Cardiff, Wales that morning. He was 22 years old.
* From Ode To A Nightingale, by John Keats.