I Almost Waited Until He Was Gone To Say This.

Yesterday, I posted something on my wall, something that has been sitting on my chest for a while. I said: "People have beautiful things to say about you, but they will wait until you die to say it."I meant it as a question to all of you.But today, life turned it into a question for me.So I am not waiting. In the Department of History and International Studies, University of Ilorin, Nigeria. There is a name that needs no introduction but only if you were there to witness it.The 100 levels will ask you: "Who is African Child?" And you will smile because the question is funny, because you remember the first time you asked it too. And then you remember everything that came after. I remember sitting in that lecture hall, present in body, disappearing in spirit.History felt like a wall I kept running into. The course felt pointless. I was not failing academically. I was failing quietly, in the deeper place where passion lives, the place where why lives. I was looking at the exit more than the blackboard.Nobody knew. I did not talk about it. I just carried it. Then African Child entered the picture. Not with a programme. Not with a speech. Not with noise. He entered the way real people enter: quietly, consistently, and with intent. He would pull me in. Text me. Send materials. Take me through things I was confused about. And when he explained History — I mean really explained it, I remember thinking:Sir. Please. Come down to my level. 😂😂😂 Because the way he broke things down, the way he made the past feel alive and urgent and relevant — it was not performance. It was love. A genuine, deep love for the subject. And love like that is contagious. Slowly. Without me even noticing. My level began to rise to meet his. But here is the part people do not always talk about. African Child was not just an academic guide. He was an accountability mirror.My phone would ring African Child calling, He read and engage my post on Socials and before I could even say hello, he would already be in it:"Guy. What are you doing?Are you okay? That is not what you are supposed to be doing. Delete that. Focus on your niche. Do this." Direct. Sharp. Caring. All three at the same time. And when I did something right, he would say that too."Guy. I am seeing your giant strides. I am proud of you."Both. The correction AND the celebration. The push AND the belief. In the same relationship. From the same person. Do you know how rare that is?Most people give you one or the other. They either always celebrate you which makes you soft or they only correct you which makes you doubt yourself. African Child gave me both. And that balance, that careful, honest, intentional balance is what shaped me more than any Lecturer ever did. There were days I texted him because something felt off. Because I needed the perspective of someone who had already walked the road I was still stumbling on. Because I needed to hear from someone who saw me clearly not just who I was performing to be, but who I actually was. And sometimes, I did not even have to reach out. He would call first. "Guy. What is going on? What's your project on, who's your supervisor." That. Is a mentor.Not a title. Not a certificate. A person who actually shows up. His legacy is not a small thing.In this department, there are names written into the record. Names you hear spoken with a certain weight. Scholars who walked before us and left a trail wide enough for the rest of us to follow.African Child is one of those names. One of the greatest historians and international analysts this institution has produced. Someone whose mark on students, on ideas, on the way people think about Africa and its place in the world is still spreading. Still expanding. And here is the thing about a real legacy, it does not wait for you to be gone to matter. You can feel it while the person is still standing in front of you. I felt it today.This afternoon, I walked out of the office of our lecturer, Dr. Solomon.And guess who I saw.My brother. My Oga.African Child.Standing right there, like the universe had quietly arranged our meeting at the right time. We talked. We caught up, he looked at me, the way only someone who has watched you grow from your most uncertain version can look at you and he said:"Guy. You can get an A in your final year project. You can nail your special paper. You have what it takes. Here is what you need to tighten. Extend your sources to this certain number. Here is what you need to add."Instructions. Direction. Belief. And then, just as we were wrapping up, he told me something that made me smile from somewhere deep: He is starting his Masters. Right here. At University of ilorin again.And as if that was not enough, he looked at me and said:"Just message me. We will look into more things together."😂 Classic African Child. Leaving you with a task, a promise, and a reason to keep going all in one sentence. So here is what I want to say.Yesterday I asked all of you why we wait until people are gone to honour them.Today, I am choosing not to wait. To my Oga. My brother. The African Child — Luke Daramola Idowu: Thank you for the calls I never asked for but always needed.Thank you for the corrections that stung and then shaped me.Thank you for sitting with me in the seasons when I was too quiet for my own good.Thank you for seeing A in me before I had even finished writing the first draft of myself. Sometimes I look at how I write. How I think. How I carry a conversation about Africa, about history, about ideas and I see your fingerprints on it. The way you modelled curiosity. The way you refused to let laziness be an excuse. The way you treated knowledge like something worth protecting and passing on. I have learned from you.I have relearned because of you.And I am still learning. I have not arrived. I want to be honest about that. But I am further along than I would have been and a significant part of that credit belongs to you. This department will not forget your name.And I personally, publicly, without reservation will not forget what you poured into me. Welcome back, brother. 🌍✊ We will do great things together. That one, I am holding onto. And as always, it is not bye bye but see you again. To everyone reading this: who in your life deserves these words today while they can still hear them?Do not wait.

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