Mrs Folorunsho Alakija
This is the story of Africa’s richest woman, Mrs Folorunsho Alakija who will turn 65 in a few days time. The fact that she is a successful fashion designer is well known. The fact that she plays big in Oil and Real Estate is almost stale news.
What is unknown about this pretty grandma is how she grew up in Lagos and her childhood story. In hr colourful autobiography Growing With The Hand That Gives The Rose, Folorunsho Alakija tells her childhood story.
My father once said to me “After all, I was the one who made you what you are long before Modupe, your husband, met and liked you enough to marry you.”
But who made him what he was, to borrow from his words? Who made his father, grandfather and great-grandfather what they were to leave legacies from generation to generation?
So, I dug into my past and my roots to find out that my great-great-grandfather, great-grandfather, and grandfather were all Oluwos from Ikorodu, Lagos State in the south western part of Nigeria. This title is synonymous with, and can be classified as the Senate President.
Under Native Governance, the Oluwo presides over issues tabled before the Oshugbo Court, the highest law making body in the local society.
Matters are sorted out, settled and judgments passed.
My great-great-grandfather “Oduko” received the surname “Ogbara” originally as a nickname because of his escapades. “Ogbara” means “one who never lost a battle in a tussle (Abolodela), a strong sea of water that can carry a big tree trunk away”. It refers to “someone who struggles to dethrone a champion”.
His son, my great-grandfather, The Oluwo Talabi Ogbara, was a great merchant, warrior and conquerorof many lands. He was a “Prince Charming” – of sort a flamboyant and fashionable ladies’ man. It is reported that on his installation as “Oluwo”, he complained saying “meleren”, which in the Ijebu dialect means, “I am tired and cannot walk”.
So, he asked to be carried by a four-man human carriage through the ltu-Nla area of town. Later, this became a show of affluence and influence, and he was carried to and from the mosque for Friday afternoon Muslim prayers. Now, a shopping mall has replaced his house on Alhaji Alagogo Street, Ikorodu, Lagos State.
His son, my grandfather, The Oluwo, Chief Abdul Kehinde Ogbara, had many wives, like his forefathers. He was a very famous merchant referred to as Ogbara “Owo” (money) and Ogbara “ro bi ojo” (money as plenty as the rainfall) “sitting on a human carriage”, referring back to the status symbol created by his father. Chief Abdul Kehinde Ogbara came from a line of kingmakers, and was a principled and powerful strategist.
Since The Oluwo’s vote counts as two points, he holds a vantage position in deciding who the next Oba will be. It was my grandfather who crowned the immediate past Oba Salawudeen A.A Oyefusi of Ikorodu.
It was these Oluwo forefathers who brought my father to this world, and made him what he was.
MY FATHER
Memory and History tell me that my father. the Late Alhaji (Chief) Abdul Lamidi Ogbara, was born in 1914. He was the first in 4 generations not to become The Oluwo of Ikorodu. Nonetheless. he was the last of the titans amongst his contemporaries. some of whom were Chief S.O. Gbadamosi, Otunba Theophilus Owolabi Shobowale Benson (SAN) popularly known as T.O.S. Benson. Mr. R. A. Allison. Chief Adebayo Ogunsanya (SAN) and Chief Adeniran Ogunsanya. all of whom were illustrious sons of Ikorodu in particular and Nigeria in general.
Though born a Muslim. my father was taught about Christianity in school and learnt many hymns and choruses. He was a very hardworking man and believed in making money honestly. He was principled and straightforward like his forefathers. but he was also very humorous.
He only had elementary school education. yet he became a successful businessman who had learnt the principles of trading as a young boy. He was the one who started the importation of sandals called “Standby” at the colonial sea port of Ehingbeti, now known as Olowogbowo. He later moved to Ita Agarawu. also on Lagos Island. where he started importing lace. velvetin, shin dodo and kinkushi fabrics.
He was well known for his creative abilities. his beautiful concepts and colours. He later forayed into stockfish trade. which was capital intensive. He nevertheless supplied the staple to Lagosians in very large quantities from his warehouses. and so this business became a huge success as well.
He built his very first house at the age of 29. had 52 children in his lifetime, and was so successful that hehad enough houses to bequeath one to each of his children when he passed away at the age of 95. He was a self-made man and success came to him through hard work. which is a legacy he passed on to his children.
He believed in educating his children and ensured that about three quarters of us were educated abroad. I am thankful that he gave us the quality education he himself must have wished for. Each time we collected our school fees. he reminded us that our education was our inheritance and that we were to use it wisely.
“He was a self-made man and success came to him through hard work, which is a legacy he passed on to his children.”
MY MOTHER
My father first eyed his future wife from afar when they were teenagers, and asked his father to ask for her
hand in marriage. My mother, Alhaja Morinat Ogbara, who changed her name to Mrs. Alice Ogbara when she became a Christian, was a member of the Ali family who also originated and resided in Ikorodu.
Although childless for the first five years of marriage, and despite losing her second-born at a very tenderage, she ended up mothering eight children, though only seven of us are alive today. On 15th July 1951, I came tumbling down as her second surviving child.
“She was tough yet kind, more like a tiger whom, if you understood, you could milk. She was a woman of many talents, who, by her courage and perseverance, fared well when others would not even dare to try.”
My mother was a hardworking disciplinarian to the core, and a visionary who never lost her focus.
She was good at multi-tasking and inculcated the same in all her children; she made sure we all learnt how to cook and take care of the home. She was tough, yet kind, more like a tiger whom, if you understood, you could milk. She was a woman of many talents, who, by her courage and perseverance, fared well when others would not even dare to try.
She was a businesswoman trading in lace fabrics too. She was virtuous and successful, and her husband had enough confidence in her to give her partial control over part of his business empire. She was given charge of a big branch of her husband’s business in Ibadan, the political and economic capital of the Western Region of Nigeria, before setting up her own business later in Lagos.
I believe that like my mother, many amongst my siblings share a common talent – Creativity
I believe that like my mother, many amongst my siblings share a common talent – Creativity, which, paired with the willingness to work hard, has led to gratifying successes.
I was with my mother when she relocated to Ibadan where I received my nursery education at Igbagbo Aladura Nursery and Primary School, Oke Bola, Ibadan. One of my Aunties, Ms. Sherifat Oyefeso, now Alhaja (Mrs.) S. Akinyemi, who I still refer to as Mama Yetunde, recalls one of my early creative experiences.
It was one incident, if you will, which could be considered the earliest example of what I believe is my calling – to spread the word of God. In 1954, when I was about three years old, I received a standing ovation for reciting, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” in school.
But what’s more, that same year I also took part in a Christmas play replicating the twelve virgins waiting with their lamps for the Lord Jesus. I was the one waking others up. Apparently I acted the part so well that I received the star prize in the whole school. What an irony of life that my spiritual calling now involves persuading and introducing others to our Lord Jesus.
FOND MEMORIES
I have very fond memories of both my Parents, and some of these memories are very funny – now, in retrospect at least. I remember one afternoon in the early I 960s – I had just returned to Nigeria from my first educational years in England and could not have been more than twelve or thirteen years of age – my mother sent me to take a note to my father at home.
I made my way to his bedroom and found him having his afternoon nap. His mosquito net was down, and I was about to leave without having delivered the note, when I noticed movement under the net. I stepped closer, the note still firmly in my hand.
My father said, “You might as well put it in my mouth;’ so I opened the net and I did as he said. I put the note in his mouth! Suddenly, he jumped up, took his clothes brush and spanked me hard several times while telling me that I was silly, stupid and disrespectful.
I did not understand why I was being spanked; after all, I had done as he asked! I cried all the way as I ran back to my mother, hoping to find understanding, compassion and perhaps even approval from her. I didn’t. My mother scolded me, laughed at me and told the story to everyone who cared to listen.
I could not fathom the “injustice” and wanted to get on the next plane out of Nigeria to England, as it seemed the whole of Nigeria was against me. I did not realise my follyuntil many years later as an adult. Needless to say, I remained in Nigeria and continued to grow and mature under my parents’ tutelage.
In the last two decades of his life, my father was extremely proud of this particular daughter and her accomplishments, and told anyone who cared to listen. I know he loved all his children and always wanted them around him. This was difficult, given he had so many children – 52 – from eight different wives.
Understandably he was having problems managing all his domestic affairs, and the consequences attributable to having many wives. Fortunately, throughout his lifetime, all his children always loved each other and cooperated with one another as best we could. The same however may not have been true amongst his wives.
BEYOND DEATH
Baba, as we fondly called our father, had been gravely ill for about a month. I went to see him on the eve of Saturday 17th January 2009, and led him to Christ. At the end of the prayer, while still in a lot of pain, he said “Ki Jesu gba gbogbo wa sile o”, which means, “I pray that Jesus will deliver all of us”.
That was the last time I ever saw or spoke to him. He died three days later, on 20th January 2009, the day Barrack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America. By that time, my mother had relocated to Ikorodu, the place of their youth, while my father remained in Lagos. Although my father acquired many other wives as was the custom of affluent men in those days, I know my parents were each other’s first love and they remained deeply connected until the end. In fact, their deep connection lasted beyond death.
My mother’s chauffeur told me that on the day my father died, she suddenly exclaimed, “Lamidi ma yi ti lo, duro”, which means “Lamidi, don’t go yet, wait”. Her chauffer assured her there was nobody there but the two of them, but she ignored him. My mother cried all day and was so distraught that she had to be hospitalised at St. Nicholas Hospital.
No one had informed her about Baba’s death, but she knew he was gone. Her doctor could not diagnose her “illness” or attribute her crying to any medical reason. So she was discharged on the fifth day.
It is said that when people die, they show themselves in spirit to their loved ones to say good-bye. Until I heard this story about my mother, I’ve always been sceptical that this is true. Now, I am not so sure.
One month later she followed him into after life. As they say, that is “Love in Tokyo”! I am happy to say that my parents led a long and fulfilled life, aging gracefully into their nineties.
People say there can never be a party with more grandeur or more guests than at my father’s burial, because he was the last of the titans. Perhaps this is true, because his burial brought Ikorodu Town to a standstill. The traffic was horrendous and the party a carnival. Lagosians and the Ijebus had turned out in larger numbers than ever before. There were 20,000 guests in attendance, and hundreds had to turn back in frustration because of the traffic.
Although my mother died only a month later, we decided to honour her on the Ist year anniversary of her death. We simply did not have enough time to plan an adequate and befitting burial for her so soon after my father’s death, and it would have been awkward to invite the same set of people yet again. We did not want our father’s burial to overshadow hers, and so we rolled out the drums a year later to honour her.
GOING ABROAD
Seven was my age at the time; God’s number for perfection. Not that I was perfect, but it served as a new beginning for me, and new it was, as it changed the course of my entire life. In 1958, fifty-three years ago, my parents decided to send my sister, Doyin and I abroad for further studies.
This was to be the new beginning into my God-given destiny that caught the attention of many whom I would meet later on in life.
My parents’ epoch-making decision became news in reputable local newspapers, because sending children so young to study abroad was extremely expensive, and therefore rarely done at the time.
As soon as the news was out that they were sending not one, but two children to school in England at the same time, visitors started trooping into our house. Friends, family and well-wishers came with goodwill messages and gifts. My sister and I were full of excitement and longing, as children often are, and so we went shopping almost daily.
We bought clothing, shoes and African foodstuffs that were not readily available to give to our relatives living in England, who were eagerly awaiting our arrival.
There is a saying in my language that translates into ‘one day a thousand Thursdays will be referred to as remaining only one more day to ‘D’-day.’ Staring innocently into the blue skies and blue sea that would be our companions, and that of other passengers, for the next fourteen days, the length of time it took then to reach Britain’s shores by sea.
We were dressed like twins in lovely gold and beige dresses, and we looked more like fairies than students, with beautiful, long strapped tan leather bags hanging from one shoulder across the chest to our hip. The names of prominent cities across the world written in brilliant colours were glued on the bags with gold studs to secure them.
We wore matching flat tan leather sandals. Our hair, which our new friends and colleagues would later describe as “fuzzy-wuzzy” because of the many tiny curls, was neatly parted with a single line on the left and decorated with clips and little bright ribbon bows. The gentlemen of the press were all over us, taking shots they badly wanted for their newspapers.
Stories like ours were rare and considered big news, because only the rich, affluent, famous or influential could afford to send their children abroad for further studies. Our story was of particular interest, because the two children involved were aged six and seven and from the same family, although born by two different mothers.
The country’s standard of education at the time was quite high, yet locals wanted their sons and daughters to have even broader knowledge and experiences.
Before we knew it, it was time for all non-passengers to disembark, as it was time to sail away. We waved endlessly and cried our eyes out as if the world was about to end, until we could see the port no more.
The sea was rough for the first few days, and many passengers were sea sick and kept to their cabins. Our legal guardian was a beautiful, elegant, fashionable and jolly old lady who looked after us extremely well. Unfortunately, she took advantage of our youth and helped herself to a lot of our prized possessions, thinking we would not notice or report it to anyone.
Little did she realise that children notice many things and that oftentimes these things leave indelible prints on children’s minds. The crew went about their duties in a non-perfunctory manner, and as soon as mostpassengers were back on their feet again, there was a lot of joy and happiness in the air. Time flew by, and on the fourteenth day it was time to disembark.
The skyline that welcomed us was filled with tall buildings and skyscrapers and from the distance the port appeared incredibly busy. As soon as the ship was anchored, the gangway was lowered, a few hats wereblown away by the cold windy breeze as passengers made their way ashore. A cold crispy climate welcomed us.
The climate in Africa is hot and humid, encouraging people to walk leisurely. By comparison the weather in the United Kingdom is very cold, encouraging people to walk briskly as they try to keep warm and hurry indoors. Our hands were numb from the cold, and suddenly we began to appreciate the sunshine we had taken for granted back home. After all, we had never before experienced life in another part of the world, and didn’t know that things are different elsewhere.
For example, we noticed that the ‘white’ people on board and those ashore spoke English with accents we were not used to, and we had to listen carefully to understand what they were saying. We did not have much time to continue dwelling on our predicament, as we had to go through immigration and customs processes before we were allowed into the country.
Finally done with immigration and Customs, my aunt and some other family members waved with excitement when they spotted us, and we were glad to see familiar faces. They were dressed in large heavy looking coats that covered their dresses;
Doyin and I in our school uniforms in Wales gloves, long stockings and hats made them almost unrecognisable for us, but their waves and shouts gave them away. We embraced their warm open arms, exchanged pleasantries in our language and drove home. Home was in Manchester; it was a house with three spacious bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, and a warm fireplace, as well as a front and back porch.
If we had been white, we would have turned black and blue in the cold, but thank God all that was hidden away under our dark skin, which would have turned pinky white again upon entering the warm house that was to be our holiday home for the next four years.
We spent the next few days shopping for winter clothes, Visiting our boarding house and the school shop. We were measured for our uniforms, received equipment, tools and accessories to get ready for school. We went to large, medium and small supermarkets, corner shops and stationery stores.
We had never seen any store or shop as large or as well stocked with so many different goods and products. People generally greeted us nicely and warmly in the neighbourhood, but we also noticed that only those who knew you greeted you. In Africa, everyone greets everyone in passing, whether they knew one another or not. Here, in the United Kingdom, people seemed to live a, “mind your own business” lifestyle. At first, we were surprised, but we learnt to get used to it.
We kept observing the differences in lifestyles in order to conform, since after all, it is said, ‘when in Rome, do as the Romans do’.
Again, it was time to go, because school was about to resume. This time, we had to travel to North Wales, in Llangernyw by Train. It was our very first train ride, and what an exciting journey and experience it was!
As the train picked up speed, we saw many farms with fields of different shades of green, big cows and sheep grazing all around. Some fields were still covered with frost. We were fascinated by the cosy comfort and speed of the train as the fields raced by. As we approached Wales, the temperature began to drop and it got even colder.
The train slowed down, then stopped and we disembarked into a school coach. The coach had huge tires and it was the highest bus we had ever seen. The journey through town was short and as we approached the school premises for girls, the road narrowed and meandered until we arrived at the front of the school, where our new learning and friendship experiences were to begin.
We were dressed in our school uniforms: a grey flannelled, long-sleeved collared shirt, striped tie, grey mid-length tweed skirt and a V-necked grey jumper topped with a beret and a black- buckle-belted winter coat.
In view of weather changes, our school uniforms varied depending on the school term. We looked and felt good as we were taking another step into our new lives. We were the first (and maybe even the last) coloured girls in Hafodunos Hall, which I later learned has been turned into a holiday resort.
All students and teaching staff had difficulties pronouncing our names, and we were quickly given the nicknames “Flo” and “Doy” to replace Folorunso and Doyin. We did not object since it made life easier for them – and us.
Having waved goodbye to our aunt, we attended a roll call in the assembly hall and later had a light supper. The meals were not that palatable to us, as the main course had a lot of vegetables we were not used to. I remember that I hated cabbage, cauliflower and celery, and I must admit that I still don’t eat the latter at all.
We were usually the last in the dining hall; a staff member had to stay back to make sure we would finish our food. However, we found ways of emptying our mouths whenever she looked away and pretended we had swallowed them so we could get back to class. This was an act my children would later practice on me.
We took extra classes like special elocution lessons, piano, horse riding, singing, Mathematics and English in order to catch up with our classmates. At first, we were homesick. My sister cried more often than I did and I had to comfort her many times. I was one year older and felt more mature and thought I should look after her.
We made new friends and settled in eventually, although there were some things we never got used to. For instance, we were dismayed at being allowed to shower only once a week, instead of twice a day as we were used to back home. We learnt to polish our shoes, joined the Brownies and enjoyed picnics in the vast and extensive school woods.
We took part in school card games and competitions, played hockey, netball, and took up swimming, table and lawn tennis.
All these activities broadened my mind and knowledge, kept me on my toes and gave my sister and I some of the opportunities we would not have had back home. I discovered my athletic talents and represented my school in tennis and hockey tournaments on many occasions, and sometimes I was even the centre of attention in lawn tennis championships.
“I discovered my athletic talents and represented my school in tennis and hockey tournaments on many occasions, and sometimes, I was even centre of attention in lawn tennis championships.”
After four years of this sojourn, my parents decided it was time for us to come back home. The school was disappointed, as I had excelled academically and socially, and they therefore decided to offer me a scholarship with the hope it would rescind my parents’ decision.
The principal thought that it was not an opportunity to be thrown away, as British girls would have jumped at it. Unfortunately, my parents politely and respectfully turned down the offer. They confirmed their decision had nothing to do with finances but that we had achieved their purpose for the stay abroad, which had been to broaden our knowledge.
Our parents feared that a continued stay might erode our cultural values and water down our traditions; priceless values that needed to be protected. The die was cast!
Reluctantly we packed our bags. They were full, as we had gone on one last shopping trip prior to leaving, and I made extra sure to pack my first pair of suede shoes. I remember my parents bought them for me. My sister had wanted them as well, but the only pair available ended up being my size.
At the time, thisreminded me of Cinderella’s story.
With tears in our eyes, we said goodbye to our newfound friends and teaching staff. Then we took off, travelling home by air for the very first time in our lives. I remember it so well – it was an aircraft operated by BOAC (British Overseas Air Corporation), which is now called British Airways.
We had a stop over in Egypt, and a guardian was sitting between us in the aircraft. In summer 1962, four years after the soles of our feet had touched British soil, my sister and I were on our way back home.
“Upon our homecoming, we once again became the talk of the town. We were received with fanfare. We were received with fanfare, as family and friends came to see the newly arrived “Londoners”.
They looked upon us as if we were foreigners and called us “JJC” (Johny just come), which is not a surprise, as we hardly knew how to speak our own language properly anymore. We wore fashionable clothes that were clearly bought abroad.
People waited on their house balconies andstretched their necks daily to take a look at what we would wear before being chauffeur-driven out of the neighbourhood. We had become ‘superstars’ in the eyes of the public.
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