Swinging doors, open gate: A tribute to my father, CO Adebayo

BY ABIMBOLA DAYO-ADEWOYE

Swinging doors and an open gate—that’s the picture that comes to mind whenever I think of 23 Abdul Razak Road, Ilorin, Kwara State, the home where I grew up. That house cradles most of my childhood memories: its gate was always open, its doors forever swinging—as one person was leaving, another was coming in. But it was more than bricks and mortar—it was the heartbeat of my father’s spirit: welcoming, generous, open to everyone who crossed its threshold.

The same ‘swinging doors and open gate’ perfectly describes my dad—and by extension, my darling mum. But today, my heart lingers on my loving father, Cornelius Olatunji Adebayo. His life was an open one. He welcomed everyone—relatives, friends, strangers. There was always space at our table, always room in his heart.

Growing up, I didn’t fully grasp my father’s position. He was already a senator of the Federal Republic when I was born and later became a governor. But at home, he was just Daddy—the man who gave me “horsey rides” on his legs and shared the best bits of his food with me from his plate. He was warm, present, and full of love.

My reign as the baby of the house ended the day Toyosi was born, but instead of feeling dethroned, I discovered something beautiful. I was barely a toddler when she arrived and stole the spotlight, yet Daddy’s love never diminished—it simply grew, wrapping us both in its warmth. Toyosi and I became inseparable, almost like twins, soaking up every tender moment whenever he was home. Even when Segun arrived much later, our place in Daddy’s heart never felt threatened. He had an extraordinary gift for making each of us feel like we were the most cherished—including our older sisters, Kenzo, Deki, and Moze—a gentle, quiet magic that only grew stronger as the years passed.”

My dad was the coolest of them all. He told us stories about his younger days, mischievous tales that often left us in stitches. He never edited out the naughty parts—he believed in teaching us that perfection wasn’t the goal. What mattered was learning from your mistakes and growing from them. And when he traveled? Oh, he came back with the best things. The trendiest clothes—miniskirts, halter necks, catsuits—everything that was in vogue (much to mum’s displeasure). We had the latest gadgets, music, and movies, thanks to his beloved video club. But it wasn’t just about indulgence. He exposed us to all these things in moderation, under his watchful eyes, so that nothing ever felt forbidden or mysterious.

As I grew older, I began to understand the world more deeply. I started to grasp the complexities of politics, activism, loyalty, and integrity. And I saw it all—through my father’s eyes. I was privileged to meet giants—Pa Alfred Rewane, who fondly called us his grandchildren. He’d call the house to check on us when my father was detained in Calabar Prison by the military government. “It’s your grandpa,” he’d say. “How are you?” He knew each of us by name and sent us snacks and the largest fish you could imagine whenever Dad returned from their meetings.

Pa Abraham Adesanya was another exceptional figure who showed us what leadership and mentorship looked like. When Dad was forced into exile, these great men were our steady support. They called, they checked on us, they offered encouragement, guidance, and love. There were many others, men of integrity, great leaders with a heart for the people. Through his life, I witnessed true leadership—quiet but firm, principled but compassionate. Through his eyes I saw what it meant to remain loyal to a cause, to fight for what is right, and to do it with humility and grace. This was the world I was born into. This was the man who raised me.

My father held many titles in his lifetime, but at his core, he was the simplest of men. He always made it clear that whatever he became, it was by the grace of God and God alone. He was kind, he was firm, he was wise—and remarkably liberal, especially for a man of his generation. He made sure we were comfortable, not just in material ways, but emotionally and socially too. Our friends—boys and girls alike—were always welcome in our home. There was no need for secrets or sneaking around. He created a space of openness, trust, and acceptance.

My dad taught us inclusion, honesty, and loyalty. He also instilled in us the value of contentment—he was a deeply content man. Though he appreciated the finer things in life, he believed nothing was ever worth losing one’s soul for, and he lived by that conviction. His faith was never performative or showy; it wasn’t about preaching but about practicing, quietly and consistently. Every single day, through the quiet consistency of his life, he showed us what it meant to live by biblical principles. The family altar was alive and vibrant. Devotions weren’t just a routine, they were a joy (well, most times). Those moments were both fun and deeply spiritual, and from those gatherings our faith took root and began to grow.

Dad taught us humility. He was an extremely humble man. No matter the title he carried or the circles he moved in, he always saw himself as Tunji from Oke-Onigbin. That never changed. That was who he was. Throughout his distinguished journey—beginning as a lecturer at Obafemi Awolowo University in Ile-Ife, continuing through his service as a senator in Nigeria’s Second Republic, the gubernatorial contest and short term as governor, and his steadfast years of activism—he walked alongside some of the nation’s most brilliant minds. And yet, had you asked him, he would have quietly affirmed that academia was always the great love of his life, the place where his heart felt most at home. His passion for learning and teaching shaped not only his intellect but also his character: he approached every responsibility, whether in the classroom, the senate chamber, or the public square, with the same rigour and unwavering dedication to the common good. To him, titles and positions were never ends in themselves—they were opportunities to uplift, to enlighten, and to serve.

I believe if he could do it again, my father would have gone on to complete his PhD in Canada, he would have continued to pursue knowledge with the same passion and excellence that defined him. But life had another plan—he was called to serve, that call changed the trajectory of his life, and serve he did—faithfully, wholeheartedly, and without reservation. He gave everything he had, with the welfare of others always at the forefront. To him, service was never about self-aggrandizement or personal gain. It was a clarion call, a sacred duty. Dad carried the heart of a servant wherever life took him, ensuring that humility and integrity guided every step. His life reminds me that true greatness is found not in titles or achievements, but in the quiet, consistent choice to put others first.

On the home front, my dad was an extraordinary husband, father, and grandfather. We watched him stand as a constant, unwavering presence by my mum’s side throughout the years of her illness—never once faltering, never once growing weary. Even long before then, he had always treated her with deep love and respect, setting a quiet example of devotion. As a father, his commitment to us was steadfast, marked by guidance, patience, and sacrifice. And as a grandfather—oh, what a joy that was to behold. In many ways, after my mother’s passing, it was as if he sought to be both Grandpa and Grandma, pouring every ounce of his love into his grandchildren, doting on each one with boundless affection and pride.

My dad always promoted unity within the family. To him, everyone mattered, and every voice deserved to be heard—he practiced democracy even within our home. making sure decisions were shared, and love was the constant thread binding us all. Ours was a close-knit family, and even though our home was often filled with visitors and friends, he still managed to keep our unit tight, ensuring that love and togetherness were the foundation of our lives.

I cannot end this tribute without celebrating my dad’s incredible sense of humour. He was full of wit and seized every opportunity to fill our home with laughter. No one was ever spared from his playful jabs. When we were children, Daddy would dress up as Eleyinmi from The Village Headmaster just to send us into fits of giggles. Sometimes he’d return from an event pretending to be tipsy—though he wasn’t a drinker—simply to hear us laugh. He would do anything to bring a smile to our faces, and that joy-bringing spirit never faded, even until his very last breath.

Though his physical presence is no longer with us, his spirit endures—in the values he instilled, the example he set, and the love he gave so generously. His life was a testament to service, humility, and unwavering devotion, and his legacy lives on in every life he touched, especially those of us who were privileged to call him dad. As I mourn his passing, I also celebrate a life well-lived: a life that taught me the power of unity, the strength of character, and the beauty of selfless love. May I honour him not only with my words but with the way I live, carrying forward the light he so faithfully shared.

Swinging doors, open gates. A heart big enough to carry a family, a community, and a nation. Cornelius Olatunji Adebayo—Daddy to me and my siblings, leader to many, and a beacon of integrity to all who truly knew him. Rest easy Daddy, rest, till we meet again to part no more, I love you always and forever.

I remain forever your Odunola.

Mrs Dayo-Adewoye is a blogger, author and storyteller who co-hosts the podcast, ‘Seriously Doughnuts’.