A Tribute to Chief Michael Akande, Elebu of Ogidi-Ẹla.

I struggle to find the words to capture the depth of loss I am feeling. With the passing of Chief Elebu, affectionately known to many of us simply as Mike, a part of Ogidi’s warmth and spirit has gone with him. I do not know of anyone else in Ogidi who could make me feel so wanted, so loved, and so genuinely welcomed. His presence was not just comforting, it was anchoring.

My first close encounter with Mike’s extraordinary nature was in August 1982, and it has remained etched in my memory ever since. My wife Grace and I were at Ilorin train station, about to embark on a long journey to Kano. It was the first time I would be introducing my fiancée to my elder brother. We had bought second-class tickets and were waiting quietly when, out of nowhere, Mike appeared. Somehow, he had spotted us, rushed over, and without hesitation took our tickets. He marched straight to the booking office and returned with first-class replacements. That act of generosity turned our journey into a romantic and unforgettable experience, one we have cherished ever since.That was Mike: thoughtful, attentive, and always giving, without waiting to be asked.

One of the most remarkable things about Mike was his humility. No matter how small or serious the concern, if I ever raised an issue about something he had done or said, he never became defensive. Instead, he would gently say, “Boda Ade, please forgive me, I didn’t see it that way.” And just like that, the air would clear. His words had a magical, soothing effect. It takes a rare kind of soul to respond that way, with such grace, respect, and sincerity. It showed not just his character, but the deep regard he had for our relationship.

Over the years, every time we returned home to Ogidi, he was always the first to knock on our door. His visits were never occasional; they were consistent, warm, and deeply meaningful. Sometimes he would come twice in a day, just to sit with us, talk, laugh, or share a moment of silence. He made home feel like home again.

Even during my most recent visit in March, when his health was visibly declining, Mike never missed a day. He still came, still smiled, still asked after everyone, still made sure we felt his love.

It still doesn’t feel real that you’re no longer here, Mike. The house will feel quieter. The village will feel dimmer. And yet, I know you now walk among our ancestors, your beloved parents and the many forebears of the Idawẹrọ clan who sacrificed so much to build the legacy we inherit today. You are now part of that eternal company of love, wisdom, and courage.

On behalf of my wife, my children, especially Olukorede, whose well-being you never failed to ask about, and all who were touched by your kindness, I say:

Sun re o, Mike.

You were a brother, a friend, a guardian of tradition, and a true son of Ogidi.

We will miss you.

We will remember you.

And we will carry your light in our hearts, until we meet again, never to part.