Dear Tunji

Dear Tunji,
Because I want to one day, come back to this post, read it and smile, I will publish it. I will not leave it unpublished and possibly trashed. I will not convert it to a work of fiction blended with a little bit of reality (like I wanted to), because I know you will one day read it and smile too.
You see, people meet people and friendships go a long way to make/mar people. We are creatures of love, hence we love who we love. We love so much that we fail to appreciate those who love us.

Africhat 2008. I still remember and it thrills me that you remember too. Not many men remember how they met their friends, yet you asked that question the day you thought my account was hacked. I don’t fail to say the words, “I love you” to people I really care about. Heck, my loved ones get tired of hearing those words. Did you? Did you even hear the words from my mouth so often?
It’s no surprise that our mutual friends say it often that you actually do care about me. Such care I very consciously take for granted. The open apology on Facebook years ago when I was angry with you? The way you bragged about me (I hear you still do), how you proudly introduce(d) me to your friends and how they looked forward to seeing me like I was a celebrity. You know, I see that many times. I see people treat me with care. But you were the first man who wasn’t a member of my family who actually did care about me.
I know that you got my back, anytime and anyday. I can’t say those words to you dear. I can’t say them because I don’t know that I mean them.
I realized today that though we’ve had our misunderstandings, you’ve gone through hell and back for me. You’ve sacrificed a lot just to make me happy. You’ve scolded me, you’ve celebrated me, you’ve fought for us, you’ve been a man and I’m proud of you. Sometimes, I do crazy things, I dance and act really stupid and sometimes, I insist I want what I want and I stamp my feet on the ground like a 7 year old who really wants her candy but when people get angry because I refuse to compromise, I laugh at them and say, “I know one guy who will smile and fondly call me ‘stubborn’, ‘onijogbon’ and he will call my bluff”.
I can’t say those words again. The skinny, little girl who wore oversize white pants and looked shabby and knocked on your door that day? She can’t say those words. The 17year old who looked like she was 14, who you allowed into your house, who you cared for when she fell sick? She can’t say those words because she doesn’t know that she means it. But I know one thing for sure, Omo Balogun. Aidee’s got your back anytime, any day.

You’re a very good man and I feel honoured to have known you for so long.
I still haven’t forgotten those your hustle slang. MMBM, GGMUB.



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