Four whole years without the Captain of the Air, Sea, and Land, Captain Dr. Hosa Wells Okunbo, JP. On this day, four years ago, there was a semblance of an earthquake when the news of your passing crept in, in faraway London. Though you were critically ill, which was public knowledge, we prayed for a miracle. Alas, God was missing an angel and wanted you back by His side.

Benin City, nay, Nigeria wept that very day, with the early morning rains drenching everyone on that Sunday morning. At first, it was in hushed tones, with diverse people calling those closest to you to find out if it was true. Alas, it was true; Captain, the Philanthropist-in-Chief, now belonged to the ages.

Personally, it was a big blow to me because I communicated with you daily. In my condolence message, I compared you with Abiola in terms of philanthropy; both of you gave without counting the costs. I titled the condolence letter “Captain Hosa Okunbo and MKO Abiola: The Symphony of Synchronous Philanthropic Destinies.” I also added that MKO Abiola and Captain Hosa were two of a kind. Both of them were not just very scholarly, religious, kind, and morally courageous; their hearts were as large as their pockets or even larger.

Humanists, they were, often pleasing others to displease themselves: avuncular, altruistic, compassionate, cultural, and genuine lovers of people. For them, there was no class distinction; they related with the high, mighty, rich, and poor in equal proportions. I ended by saying, “They all seem to say, like Mark Anthony does about his beloved Julius Caesar, ‘Here was a Caesar! When comes such another?’ Indeed, here was a Captain; when comes another? When comes another Captain of industries and Captain of goodwill? When comes another Captain raising an army of philanthropy against poverty and lack? When comes another Captain that’s a cultural icon and an ambassador from Benin to the whole world? When comes another?”

I have wondered how I would mourn him. Would I, like the endless Sunday rain, flow ceaselessly in amazing pain? Will I be like Odia Ofeimun, screaming, “The drum is silenced in mid-throb; The flute is flung away, and ears strain to master the malediction of the thunder”? But I choose to follow the pathway of gratitude. I chose to celebrate his imperishable legacies because he touched my life in no small measure. I chose to shed tears openly, for, as José N. Harris has said, “Tears shed for another person are not a sign of weakness; they are a sign of a pure heart.”

I will celebrate because I am able to remember with fond memories the honour of identifying with you publicly when it mattered most. You’re simply unforgettable. It will never become hackneyed what William Shakespeare penned, “When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.” Continue your deserved rest, Captain; you lived life, and life knew you lived. Captain never dies.

Kept in evergreen memory by,
Chief Owen Chamberlain Obaseki, JP.