AbdulAzeez Abdul Maleek Pens Emotional Tribute, Mourns Late “Heroic Father”

AbdulAzeez Abdul Maleek Pens Emotional Tribute, Mourns Late “Heroic Father”.

I lost my icon of hope, beacon inspiration and optimism on Ramadan 3, 1444AH, equivalent of Saturday, 25th of March, 2023. My darling father, Alhaji Dr Muhammad-Hashim AbdulAzeez Ayinla. Oko Ganiyat, Sherifat ati Yusrah. Baba mi, Baba Azeezah, Bushroh, Muheeebudeen, Atiyyatullah, Saheedah, Aisha, Muhammad-Ashraf, Aliyyah ati AbdulMuheez.

Since Tuesday that he had the unfortunate accident, to coma, to his death on Saturday, it has been excruciatingly difficult time and a very unfortunate thing that’d ever happen to me in my years of growing up. That is also true to my younger ones and everyone that has ties with the AbdulAzeez family. He left TOO EARLY. But we can’t help it. I am in pain. I am in pain.

A servant of Allah. A devoted and conscious Muslim. A preacher and actor of Prophet Muhammad (SAW) Sunnah. A man. A true husband. A caring and proven father in deed and indeed. A genuine breadwinner. A support system. The one we all look up to.

A lecturer. A judge. An Imam. An Icon.

A complete gentleman. Wallahi. My dad was a gentleman.

A father to many other sons and daughters. An uncommon student to his teachers. A lifesaver to many.

From Igboho to Lagos. To Libya. To Egypt. To Malta. To U.S.A. Years in foreign land. All in quest for knowledge. Not money. What he brought home is what you’ll find in the next room after our sitting room, his library. And everything in his head.

Back home. Lagos again. To Ekiti. And topped it all in the University of Ibadan. The peak of all he sought. He struggled for it for years. I was in senior class in secondary school that I knew my Dad was a PhD student in University of Ibadan, he got it after I was done in College of Education and already a student in the university.

From Islamic Call College, Tripoli, Libya for some six years or more. To Al-Azhar University, Cairo, Egypt to University of Ibadan. And all universities of the world he has had prints in, – my father was resolute and determined. He was a struggler, a believer. A man in the true definition of man.

My father was a scholar. A very brilliant man. He’d say when scolding me and my younger ones to be the best we can, “you either see me alone in the front or we are two in that front, – you will never see me behind with my contemporaries.” And that is who he was. The best everywhere.

My Dad had no elementary education in a formal setting, but before his death, he speaks sound English language with absolute mastery. He didn’t attend any primary or secondary school. He was 3 years of age when his father died, he didn’t grow to know him. He only had his “helpless” mother and his elderly ones. They’re all strugglers. My Dad most especially fought his way through to everything he became. He practically tutored and mentored himself up. Of course, he had some help. I’m marvelled at his occasional stories of growing up, and how hard and difficult and almost impossible it was for him. He got scholarship for his brilliance and found his way through abroad. In an environment he had no one to fend for him. When others were pursuing luxuries, he used his allowance to buy textbooks. Come and see his library!

He was President of Nigerian Students in his years in Libya. When everything was still flourishing under Muhammar Ghadaffi. He is everywhere within the university in the noon, meetings, joints, everywhere, and alone in the midnight studying. He NEVER lost focus and sight on the bigger price despite all the seeming distractions. Eyes always on the ball.

My Dad was an incorruptible man. He was tested and vindicated. He told me that story. And warned me never to be interested in what’s not mine. He avoid every intentional stain aimed at his golden name, and as myself and younger ones carry his surname, we know it is something we must protect fiercely. In his honour. And we will! Bi idhni Lah.

He asked us to dream big and large, but not to dwell in fantasies and work in the equal of our dreams anx aspirations. He do not harbour indolence. He strive harder in his easy and hardest time. What is more?

I am so proud of him. He was a caring father. A comforter. A frank man. A teacher. A generous giver. I can’t imagine I am writing this, and I shed tears. I am so hurt. I shed uncontrollable tears. I will miss my father. I will miss him. He won’t be there to pray for me again and my younger ones again. He won’t be there to request for me a wife (we were making plans already, someone else will stand for him). He won’t be there anymore. I will miss him!

My father has two houses, one in Ibadan and the other in our hometown, Ighoho. And a school he was developing I think. And clothes, and some footwear. And maybe his benefit as civil servant. But I will not be inheriting any of those. I will be inheriting his character, his virtues, his compassion and love, his generosity, his intellectual property and all that actually defined him as a man.

أبي هو كل شيء أتمنى أن أصبح عليه في الحياة. لا يوجد أحد يستطيع أن يملأ مكانه. سأتذكره دائماً، فهو سيبقى عزيزاً على قلبي. أسأل الله أن يُدخله الجنة.

I am specially grateful to Allah that I came into this world through him. That he was my father.

If my father has ever been of help or use or does something particularly significant, that count for you, please share the story and tag me. I want to read and know more about that man. I think those are the consolations I’ll prefer to have now. I beg of you.

And please, pray for my father. Please. Please for Allah sake, pray for him. Please.

May Almighty Allah be pleased with his soul, accept his return and grant us the fortitude to bear this loss.