MURDERED DOCTOR: Sister's Tribute To Late Brother

MURDERED DOCTOR: Sister's Tribute To Late Brother

The killing of Irawo Adamolekun, the medical doctor who was shot in the head on Friday at Anthony Village in Lagos by a suspected armed robber continues to arouse interest with many calling on the country’s security agencies to fish out the shooter.

The gunman, who was wearing a three-quarter length short, shot the deceased at close range, mounted a waiting motorcycle on the other side of the road and fled the scene.

The tragedy is more profound for the Adamolekun family knowing that Irawo’s elder brother, Imole, the first son of the family, died in a tragic automobile accident on his way back from school at Igbinedion University, Okada, Edo State in May 2004 prompting his sister, Ojia, to pen a fitting tribute to her beloved brother.

This was her tribute to Imole, her other brother on March 3, 2010:

“Affliction shall not rise a second time,” says the Lord.

It was about 6am on May 16, 2004. My phone was ringing so loud I had to get up; it was my mum and I was wondering why she was calling me that early. I picked up my phone and said, “Good morning mum.” She replied in a troubled tone and said, “Good morning baby, sorry I had to wake you up but this is really important and I want you to listen carefully.”

I sat up immediately and I said, “Mummy is there a problem? Is everything alright?”

“I just had a terrible dream about your brothers, that one of them had a bandage around his head and his right thigh,” she said.

Now, at this point I was worried because my mum is a prayer warrior and I had known with time that her dreams were to be taken very seriously. She continued saying, “Please tell them not to get into any fight with anyone please.”

I got up immediately after my mum’s call and dialled my younger brother’s phone and my elder brother picked it up. I narrated mum’s call and told him to pass the message on to our younger brother. He was also worried because we always took dreams from my mum very seriously. He had just finished his third year in medical school and the results were out.

The next day, which was a Sunday, my brothers went to church (BLW in Igbinedion University) and came back to their hostel at about 11am.

Marvin Solomon, a friend of ours from Lagos, who also attended Igbinedion had just arrived from Lagos with a taxi and the taxi was to return to Lagos immediately, so my elder brother decided to take the free ride home with his excellent results in his second MBBS.

They had driven out of the school gate towards the community bank in Okada (one minute from the school gate) when a mechanic was test driving a car and ran into their car.

The school hospital was just two minutes away and people around the area immediately rushed my brother to the hospital.

The doctors said he needed an ambulance to take him to the University of Benin Teaching Hospital immediately because he had a head injury and his right femur had been fractured while he lay comatose.

My younger brother was already with him and called me to give me a feedback on the situation as I was not with them but in Lagos to collect fresh orders of the GLITZ magazine that I did weekend jobs with.

My mum called me and said, “Ojia, please head back to school right away to see what exactly is going on please,” and at this point, pandemonium was an understatement for what I truly felt.

Adrenaline pumped through my system like oxygenated blood. The ambulance had still not arrived and we had to move my brother to the teaching hospital in Ugbowo Benin. I literarily ran to Edegbe Line to get the last bus but they had closed, so was Eagle Line and Delta Line because it was a Sunday evening.

The ambulance never came and my younger brother, Irawo, had to get my elder brother Imole, to the teaching hospital with help from Wale Ojo, a final year computer science student of the institution who had a car.

Events changed as he got to UBTH and was placed on oxygen immediately with a collar round his neck, bandages round his forehead and right femur just as my mum saw in her dream.

Irawo spent the night with Imole as we spoke on the phone every 20 minutes talking about his vital signs and if he had woken up from the coma.

My parents on the other hand, were praying and also calling us for more news on his state.

The next morning, I got up from my bed, (oh, I didn’t get any sleep at all) after saying all the prayers I knew best with all my heart and went to Eagle line in Yaba with a colleague of mine called Vivian Gilbert (now Mrs Vivian Kenedy) and just as we were crossing the road, Irawo called me and said, “Ojia there’s no use, he is dead.”

I asked him gently in the calmest voice I could use. He repeated the same statement with him wailing for the first time in his life. I was in the middle of the road and I started wailing and screaming from my inside; cars just kept going left and right away from me as if they had just seen a mad black woman in rage.

Vivian dragged me off the road to the car-park as we boarded a 504 station wagon to Okada. The journey was the worst I had ever encountered. We sang worship songs to God as I also questioned how He could let this be. When we got to Okada, I went straight to see Irawo and held him with all my heart as we cried in each other’s arms as he was now my only brother.

Imole Seth Ajileye Adamolekun was born on April 18, 1983 and he died in God’s bosom on May 17, 2004 and was buried on May 18, 2004.

Please I use this opportunity to appeal to the government to please equip all hospitals with constant light, ambulances and good doctors.

If my brother was given some resuscitation, he would have survived.

If the ambulance functioned, he would have survived.

If there were no reckless drivers, he would have survived.

If there were airbags in the cab, he would have survived.

This could have been anyone’s son, brother, and friend.


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