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By Taibat Sedua Ngenge
Today, I stand here not just as a daughter, but as someone with a story that is both painful and beautiful… a story of distance, longing, reunion and love.
My father, Pa. Y.A. Omosun, left Nigeria for the United Kingdom when I was just about four years old, and my youngest sibling was barely one. He left home as a Muslim, but somewhere along life’s journey, something changed in him. His principle became: “Religion is nothing if you are not kind—let your attitude show what you believe.”
Like many who leave home, he went in search of a better life—a future he hoped would one day and include all of us.
But life had its own plans.
The journey of an immigrant is not an easy one. My father faced struggles, battles, and challenges in a foreign land—alone. Years turned into decades. For a long time, we waited… hoping, praying and wondering. There were no letters, no calls, just silence. Yet, in our hearts, we held on to hope that he was alive and doing his best.
As life went on, I grew up. I graduated, I got married, I had my children… and through all these big moments, my dad was not there. That absence is something only God truly understands. Still, I never stopped wishing… never stopped hoping that one day, we would meet again.
And then, after 31 long years… we reunited.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. You cannot simply fill the gap of three decades overnight. But we tried. We made efforts to reconnect, to understand each other, and to rebuild what time and distance had taken.
In 2023, I relocated to the UK with my family. Those first years were not easy as we tried to settle. But just when things began to change… just when my father and I started growing closer, truly closer as father and daughter… death came. Death couldn’t wait.
You had planned to come and spend Easter with your grandchildren. We were already preparing your room and thinking of spoiling you with all the local delicacies you loved.
We had also long booked our summer holiday in London, looking forward to spending more time together… bonding even more as a family.
It hurts deeply that those moments will never come.
But even in all of this, I choose to remember who my father was.
He was a great man. A man who loved deeply, even if life made it hard for him to always show it in the ways we expected. He supported family in every way he could. He was a man of principle—someone who stood for what was right, no matter the situation.
He loved people, yet he was also the most private person I have ever known. And one thing about him—he could detach and cut ties when he needed to, without hesitation… a trait I see in myself today.
He found joy in music and dance, and in those moments, you could see a lighter, freer side of him.
My father’s life was not a simple story. It was a story of sacrifice, struggle, resilience, and hope. And though our journey together had its gaps, I am grateful—grateful that we found our way back to each other, even if only for a short time.
Dad, I wish we had more time. I wish there were more conversations, more laughter, more memories to create.
But I take comfort in knowing that we reconnected… that we tried… that love, in the end, found its way back.
You were not just a father—you were a grandfather, a man of strength, a man of dignity, and a man whose story will never be forgotten.
Rest well, Dad, Pa Omosun (April 26 1944 April 2 2026).
You will always be in our hearts.
•By Taibat Sedua Ngenge (nee Omosun)
