By Abraham Ogbodo
Copyright tribuneonlineng
Chief Onajomo Orere did not strike straight. And I could understand why. The news was too big and delicate to let go like that without rituals. Besides, he did not want to sound like a tale bearer. His instincts as a reporter are still intact, and he was actually calling me as a reliable source to confirm or refute the emerging news of the death of Olorogun Oskar Eyovbire Ibru. He had given enough lead. I disconnected from him and started working the phones with trembling fingers to get confirmation. I prayed for this to be another case of fake news in this era of fake news. But much as I prayed, the premonitions refused to dissolve into credible hope. I also refused to capitulate. “It cannot be over for Skido just like that’’ I assured myself. I sustained optimism against the fearful prospect of Oskar’s death.
I became conflicted in the circumstance. I wished for refutation and not confirmation of the news. In the short run, I appropriated every likely omen for my purpose. When the mobile lines of two of Oskar’s close aides refused to come alive after several attempts, I took it as evidence that both men were in the air with their principal flying to attend to some big business in some location within or outside of the country. Dr (Mrs) Cecilia Ibru could not be reached either. Mrs Obukome Mukoro (nee Ibru) did not pick her call. That was a bit unusual. My former Executive Director, Mr. Toke Ibru truncated my call but responded with a message for me to send an SMS. I did not have that luxury of writing instead of asking the simple question: is Oskar alive or not?
Meanwhile, the defaults had become too consistent for comfort. Anxiety displaced hope. My sentimental lines of defences were beginning to crumble fast as I began to feel the hotness of the impending volcano. I was trying to figure out whom next to contact for the badly needed confirmation…, I mean refutation when my phone came alive. It was Mummy C (Dr (Mrs) Cecilia Ibru). My heart skipped a bit. I allowed the phone to ring out, just so that I could gain some composure to confront the uncertainty. I prayed once more for fortification. When the phone rang again, I went straight for it. Instead of a refutation, Mummy C dropped a heavy confirmation of the news of Oskar’s demise. It is an irreversible reality. Olorogun Oskar Ibru is gone and never to return or be seen again.
Oskar is leaving some nine years after his father and progenitor of the Ibru business dynasty, Olorogun Michael Christopher Onajirivbe (MCO) Ibru, who died in September 2016, had left. The Ibrus are Urhobo from Agbarha-Otor Kingdom. As it was in the past when key stakeholders of the dynasty signed off permanently, so it is now with me. I am an Urhobo from Agbarha-Otor and former editor of The Guardian Newspaper. I share directly in the grief of the moment. I am therefore not doing this as a detached commentator. I am bound by duty and blood to do this just the way I did when Grandma Janet Omotogor Ibru died; when my publisher and mentor, Mr. Alex Uruemu Ibru died; when Olorogun Felix Ovodore Ibru, former Governor of Delta State, died, and when the Iroko himself, Olorogun MCO Ibru died. Only Uncle Bernard and Auntie Grace are missing in the line-up. As it can be seen, the latest is one death too many for this beautiful business dynasty.
To the outside world, what defines the Ibru name is entrepreneurship. In fact, the global catch-phrase is: ‘’Ibru Means Business.” In Urhobo land, however, Ibru invokes more than the associated imageries of stupendous wealth occasioned by hard work and creativity. The name is a combination of transcending virtues. It means character, competence, beauty, stability, humility, style, courage, passion, patience, philanthropy, patriotism, and above all, commitment to community development. And the trail blazer, Michael Ibru, is there in the records as the best advertisement of these defining virtues. He has remained, till date, a reference point in individual and communal aspirations in Urhobo land. People hope to live like him, and communities hope to raise sons and daughters like him. His factor alone refracted the narratives across the board to trigger the emergence of an industrial economy and a robust middle class in Urhobo land. He offered the oxygen for a new thinking and a new dawn.
Like the old block, the chip, Oskar, was intentional in style, taste and delivery. For instance, if you mistakenly did Oscar in a written communication, he would tell you that his came with a ‘K’ and not ‘C’ that is more widespread in usuage. There was something about his affable disposition that belied his inner strength and one needed to encounter him at close quarters to understand why he remained tenable all through in spite of his copious challenges as the crowned emperor of the Michael Ibru’s vast business empire. He always resolved on the side of justice and the common good. And so, he could hardly get it wrong in his interpersonal and corporate engagements.
Oskar wore a magnetic personality that attracted and spread goodness as much as it repelled evil. He dreaded joining issues in the martial sense. This was not out of weakness but out of a genuine desire to spread love and happiness instead of bitterness among majority of the people. He was motivated to contribute happiness and not to take it away. There was never a dull moment with OCJ (Oskar Christopher James). His social skills were top-notch. He could rise and drop to meet all occasions. Among princes and princesses, he was at home. Among paupers, he could even be more at home. Among fellow billionaires and employers, the party could go on smoothly forever without a break for social identification or segregation. Among workers and the poor, nothing would be amiss too. He projected common humanity over class.
At home in Agbarha-Otor, Oskar was not limited to a class venue. He could comfortably stay outside his palatial ship house in the eastern end of the town, close to the airstrip and secondary school built by his father, and remain in Grandpa house in the western end, close to the university and brewery established by his father. He would not feel less than himself. He could literally stay anywhere and remain himself.
His characterisation or definition does not present complexities. Oskar was a free and elevated spirit that radiated and attracted no negativity. He was able to establish his own orbit and floated safely amid the many tendencies in the larger Ibru Household. To therefore measure his monumentality and impact in the shadows of his father could produce wrong outcomes. It is a comparison that may leave him diminished or short-changed. Olorogun Michael Ibru is unparalled. He stood alone in a class. He is an all-time great. None in the subsisting generation of the Ibru dynasty matches him in impact. The prospect of a higher operator may exist in the upcoming generations. For now, he remains the Orejevwa – the unparalleled.
Disaggregated, Oskar would be found to have run a good race, too. He had held on well to his own end of the heritage and even did a bit more to bring on stream new conquests in agro business and hospitality. The depth of his social and emotional intelligence would count as improvement on what his father exhibited. The ease with which he flowed across social strata without causing injuries to his own brand could hardly be replicated. It was a patented skill that he alone could deploy. He struck and sustained friendship across class, race, ethnicity and religion.
Oskar’s death remains a personal loss. He never hesitated each time that I approached him for endorsement. My involvement in any process automatically elicited his interest. It was the case when I approached him to subscribe to a fund to establish a microfinance bank to ease access to credit by Urhobo women and youth in small-scale businesses. He was among the big donors to the Internally Displaced Persons Camp (IDP) which was opened by the Delta State Government and headed by me to coordinate relief efforts for the displaced indigenes of Okuama community following the sacking of the community by the army over the killing of 17 soldiers along the Forcados River in March last year. Each time the Urhobo nation called Olorogun Oskar Ibru, like his father, always answered.
The last time we spoke, he was going to Ghana for the celebration of his 67th birthday anniversary. He promised to call me when he returned. He never did. In dramaturgy, there is something called Dramatic Irony. It happens when the audience gets ahead of the character in the interpretation of the script. That is, when the audience knows more than the character presently knows.
To drive it down, we are all characters in the drama of life. Fate is the audience, and it knows more than we know at every point. When I promised last week to parade today, “somebody very important that has expired…” I did not know that fate was going to pull this cruel one on me. True to my promise, here I am today, parading the absolute expiration of my dear big brother, Olorogun Oskar Ibru.
Farewell Skido! You played well in spite of the shortness of time. You came! You saw! And you conquered!
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