OLD CLASSMATE, DIIPO FAGUNWA PENS GLOWING TRIBUTE TO DELE ALAKE AT 70
“…A Délé Aláké, The Prince of Oratory, Maestro of Fábù and an Ogunlade Baby forever….”
Hail the Prince of Words! Hail the Maestro of Fábù! Hail the glorious son of Aláké as he majestically climbs the 7th floor!
There are friends, there are personal friends, and then there are those rare human beings who become so woven into the tapestry of one’s life that friendship ceases to be a description and becomes an institution.
Délé Aláké is my personal friend, my personal person, my brother in laughter and my companion in the beautiful museum of memories.
In the golden days of our youth, when the world was still young and our dreams had not yet learnt the meaning of wrinkles, his name in school was Orlando Passu.
He belonged to the glorious Ogunlade Babies of the 1968–72/74 set, that unforgettable constellation of boys abd girls whose youthful exploits have survived the erosion of time.
He was a proud member of Dallimore House Block 1 known as Texas; a place where reputations were forged, friendships were cemented and legends were occasionally manufactured before breakfast!
Délé was a boy whose English was unmistakable. His command of language was not merely spoken English; it was polished like a three-piece suit and shining like a jewel on a beautiful lady.
He was eloquent, theatrical and blessed with an oratory that could make an ordinary sentence sound like a proclamation from the steps of Ọ̀rúnmìlà’s oracle.
His father was the distinguished founder and Principal of Benevolent High School, Lagos.
It was from him that Délé seemed to have inherited both the dignity of leadership and the confidence of a man who knew the power of education.
At school, Délé carried himself with the majestic dignity of his “P” set. He did not merely speak; he performed.
He did not merely tell stories; he transported you into their realm. His voice had the architecture of a cathedral, and his delivery could make even the most ordinary anecdote wear a crown.
And when it came to Fábù! You would think Fàbú was his girl friend and he had proposed to her somewhere between the moon and Ikóro market.
Indeed I can bet eloquence was a skill he brought from heaven or inhetited by him from ancient masters of Ikóro Èkìtì storytelling traditions.
Once Orlando opened his mouth and began to curl Fábù fron the mysterious chambers of his imagination, you could sit there for hours.
His stories floated through the air like fireflies on a moonlit night, and we listened with the helpless fascination of children gathered around an old storyteller beneath a generous African moon.
Sometimes, Délé would tell stories and you would believe he was personally there when the Almighty was assigning voices to creation.
And then there was Mr. Òjímì, our unforgettable English teacher. Mr. Òjímì walked like a roller-skater descending a steep hill, with his hands flying around like a Pentecostal faithful distributing revival leaflets in the middle of a crowded marketplace.
Délé watched him carefully, stored every movement in the treasury of his memory and reproduced the performance with such devastating accuracy that, if you met Mr. Òjímì afterwards, you could easily accuse the poor man of impersonating Délé impersonating him!
Dele mimicked him with such finesse that made you feel he walked on water and you started wondering whether one of his grandfathers had been standing beside Peter when Peter followed Jesus across the waves.
Yet, in one of life’s delightful contradictions, Ọmọ Jẹ́jẹ́ was the name his late father called him at home. There he was quiet, gentle and almost angelic. But in school we knew better.
Orlando was no quiet person Ọmọ Jẹ́jẹ́. bounced around like a fẹ́lẹ̀lẹ̀ in full flight, with the agility of a flying saucer launched from an undisclosed space station.
He had energy enough to power the whole of Dallimore House and perhaps illuminate the streets of Ìkoro-Èkìtì for an entire night!
I remember the legendary Jubilee imbroglio of 1971.
That was an episode that deserves to be preserved in the national archives of Àgìdímọ̀ Babies’ history.
Dele was a member and vocalist of the Sneaking Passionates Afro Collection (SPAC), the school informal band whose band leader was Ọ̀gbẹ́ni Tọ́pẹ́ Awẹ́.
During the second-term vacation, SPAC descended upon Jubilee Hotel, Adó-Èkìtì, and transformed the place into a musical kingdom.
Orlando and Kunle Osuntokun, with the audacity of boys who believed that the entire town belonged to them, used Kunle’s mother’s combi bus (Danfo) to transport the school organ from the chapel to Jubilee Hotel.
Meanwhile, Lekan Kareem, the Stage Manager, had carefully positioned the treasured harmonium, preparing the stage for Bọ́láńlé Adámọlẹ́kun, who balanced himself over the keyboard and unleashed the magical musical, Bà ta só mi wẹ́rẹ́, bàta só mi wẹ̀rẹ̀, só ba so..to our delightful attendees.
The music rose, the spirit moved. The god of music visited and Orlando rendered his celebrated Ìsẹ̀bẹ̀.
The performance was sailing beautifully until Mr BOB Fágbèmí, our formidable Sports Master, suddenly appeared from nowhere and then Jubilee became an Olympic field where many of us discovered athletic abilities we never knew existed and fences that had previously served as mere boundaries became huddle sticks and emergency exits as we disappeared.
That event remains one of those priceless memories which time cannot erase because laughter has embalmed it forever.
But the boy called Orlando did not remain confined to the corridors of youthful adventures.
He did his Higher School at Igbobi College, Lagos and from there proceeded to the University of Lagos, where he studied Political Science.
He subsequently entered journalism and rose to become the editor of the celebrated Sunday Concord, bringing distinction to his alma mater and demonstrating that the boy who once entertained us with Fábù could also command the formidable machinery of modern journalism.
During the turbulent Abacha era, Orlando, like many others, had to seek refuge away from the political storm.
But history has a strange way of bringing its children back to the stage.
With the advent of the Fourth Republic, Délé entered politics and subsequently occupied significant positions in public life.
His journey has taken him from the school corridors of Christ’s School to the commanding heights of journalism and national service.
Today, he serves as the Minister of Solid Minerals Development. And yet, beneath the titles, offices and public responsibilities remains the same warm and engaging son of Aláké whom his Ogunlade Babies remember as the boy with the golden tongue, mischievous imagination, theatrical gait, infectious laughter and extraordinary ability to turn an ordinary afternoon into a festival of stories.
He is a welcoming sight and an unmistakable treasure to his hometown, Ìkoro-Èkìtì.
Today, as Orlando Passu stands triumphantly at the threshold of his 70th year, we raise our glasses not merely to age, but to a life richly lived.
And as you land on the 7th floor, may the staircase of life continue to lead you upward from glory to greater glory, from strength to greater strength, and from one beautiful chapter to another!!
Happy 70th birthday, Délé Aláké, the Prince of Oratory, Maestro of Fábù and an Ogunlade Baby forever.
