TODAY, October 1, is your 65th birthday, just as Nigeria celebrates its 65th Independence anniversary. I’ve always hoped and prayed that one day I’ll be able to give you everything you’ve sacrificed to ensure the happiness of me, Jamila, and Aisha and even Waleed.
Your constant sacrifice astounds me at times. I’m crying as I type this, not because I’m sad, but because I’m deeply grateful to Allah for keeping you alive, well, and healthy.
Thank you, Abba, for everything. You lovingly ensured that the painful vacuum of growing up without a father figure was beautifully filled with your unwavering guidance, tender care, and selfless sacrifice.
Growing up, I hated maths, but you made it your mission to see that I loved it. You hired not one but two teachers. When I struggled to get admission into school, you took me there yourself, and we didn’t come out that day until I had an admission letter in my hands, just because you didn’t want me to lose a year.
You’ve helped me in countless ways, from when I went for computer studies to when I decided to get football coaching training. Even when I went for my first job interview at Triumph, you took me, hired me, and guided me. You taught me the rudiments of the job especially my favourite thing, headlines.
You’d always encourage and push me to be the best while working and studying. You’d always come through for me when I was broke. You’d always appreciate the little things I did, and even when I wanted to do something bigger, you’d say, “It’s not time.”
When I decided to set up my own media company (News Point Nigeria) after working for 18 years, you were there, staying up late with me to plan and strategize. You’d ask questions and look for ways to help.
I recall telling you I wanted an office in a certain area in Abuja, and you called your friend, the engineer, who helped me secure a good location in the neighbourhood.
You would always call every morning after my 7am broadcast to make corrections and suggestions on my headlines. Those calls were what kept me going through those tough moments of my start-up.
I remember crying when that big crisis came and you told me to be strong because Allah always tests us in ways we don’t expect, and life has its ups and downs. You taught me to always be psychologically prepared, to always try to have alternatives, and to never stop thinking and planning.
But beyond all these, Abba, you were not just a father, you were a Nigerian father in every sense. You were the man who would drive us to the village during Sallah just so we would know our roots even though you don’t have to be there.
You were the one who would insist on taking us to the market in Kano to learn bargaining, reminding us that “money saved is money earned.”
You were the father who would wake me up at dawn for Subh prayers, then sit afterwards to tell me stories of life in ABU Zaria, Danbatta, and Bauchi, weaving lessons of patience, honesty, and dignity into every tale.
You never let me forget humility. Even when you were surrounded by comfort, you would say, “Don’t ever look down on the gateman, the driver, or the mechanic. They are the real backbone of this country.”
You were the kind of father who, after a long day’s work on our drive back home from Triumph, would still stop by suya spots in Zoo Road or buy roasted corn by Gyadi-Gyadi roadside, just so we could sit together and laugh over simple joys.
You also taught me to respect family ties. I remember countless weekends you would insist we visit my paternal relatives, carry gifts for ‘needless’ uncles and aunties, or even stop to check on an old family friend. That sense of kinship, Abba, has shaped the way I see relationships and loyalty today.
I could gush endlessly about what you did for me and how much you affected my life, but that still wouldn’t be sufficient.
There is so much to say about the lessons, the counsel, our memories, our travels, our banters, our secret “girls talk,” and most of all, the lessons of life, marriage, and journalism.
I wrote over 10,000 words for penning down on this day, but I realised even those words aren’t enough to describe and capture what I feel and what I want to say. Therefore, I will just say this:
It is my prayer that Allah grants me more favour and success in my marriage, career, children, and opportunities to create wealth on all sides. I want you, Abba, to reap the fruits of this labour in good health of mind and body.
I don’t want you to worry about me anymore. I just want you to live your old age filled with unending joy, happiness, and fulfilment that I am doing well. Abba, you are such an incredible man who has given his all for me.
It is my prayer now and always that Allah grants you all your heart desires here and hereafter. Amin Ya Rabb.
Happy Birthday, Mahmoud Adnan Audi… Continue to age gracefully in Allah’s baraka. Amin.
- Abdullateef is a former Editor of LEADERSHIP Newspaper, a member of the Nigerian Guild of Editors, and the Publisher of News Point Nigeria. He has also contributed to renowned international media organizations, including the BBC and Al Jazeera.