Jare Ismahil Tiamiyu is not my friend. I cannot and will not wish him a happy birthday. He betrayed me twice. He weathered storms without my inputs, and the only thing I could offer was soothing words after he had survived what buried others.
I do not know Jare. I do not associate with “weak men” who cannot cry. I run away from men who do not show signs of weakness. They carry the weight of challenges on their heads and still move gallantly. If he did not tell his story, I would not. Now that he has told his story, I also want to report him to the public.
This ‘idiot’ and ‘weakling’ survived three surgeries in a year. He lost his beloved brother, who was a friend and pillar of support to us, in the same year. He told me about his health challenges, and I recommended a suitable teaching hospital, but I did not know when he went to the hospital and did three surgeries.
How did I know about his surgeries? He called me one day and wanted me to write about a man who was allegedly beaten up by thugs and soldiers loyal to Timi of Edeland. I was shocked by his request. He is not the one that allows others to do human-angle-related stories he’s interested in. He did not reveal his situation; rather, he compelled me to do so with an assurance that he would release a visual interview he had conducted to back me up.
I ended the call. I saw the video interview he did and needed to ask him some questions. I called him again. He didn’t pick it. I called again and again. He didn’t pick it. That’s unusual. Jare is not the sort to make jokes with direct calls. I was concerned, but I reassured myself that he was probably busy.
He later returned my call, and I fired at him. Why didn’t you pick up my numerous calls? Egbon… I cut him. I’m not your Egbon. “You share the same age brackets, or you’re probably older,” I said. I am in the hospital. Doctors were attending to me when you called, he replied. Hospital? Who? Where? When? How? What? A rather confused me asked.
He laughed. “I have done three surgeries,” he said. Three what? Are you sick? Have you gone to the hospital later? Why didn’t you inform me? Is your beautiful wife with you? I was throwing questions at him. My wife and Teslim are here; he answered just one. I asked about his recovery, and he said he’s recovering. I did not tell him that I was in Ife, consuming medications like food. We both joked, and I offered some advice, and we ended the call.
He had barely recovered from surgical wounds and healed completely when the news of his younger brother, Teslim, struck us badly. I am not a strong man like Jare. I was broken. I cannot forgive Jare because I read about it on Facebook. Teslim was our brother and friend. He was humble, gentle, cool, respectful, daring, hardworking, resilient, trustworthy, and dedicated.
I didn’t realize he was Jare’s younger brother. I assumed he was a partner or employee at InsightMedia. He carried the company’s visions on his head, dogmatically. He contributed significantly to InsightMedia’s visual production. When I go to Jare’s office and Teslim is present, I will be completely covered. Jare’s friends can attest to Teslim’s unparalleled loyalty, respect, and human relationships.
I am in pain and anguish as I type this. I never expected to write his condolences. I’m older than him. He should be the one to accomplish this for me. I recall the day his phone went missing from the police headquarters. He later purchased a new phone. He smiled in discomfort. Even as he recounted the episode for us to enjoy. Teslim has trapped us emotionally. We will not be rescued for long. His memory will last forever, and he left as a dedicated media soldier who cared about humanity.
2025 is a year of mixed feelings for the Ilobu-born journalist who is making waves dimensionally. He saw and walked into doom but did not get hurt completely. He has recovered. But memories continue to haunt him. That’s how wonderful souls do. They don’t leave completely. Teslim was a beautiful soul who left and deserves to be remembered always. His memories will haunt Jare and those of us who admired his personality.
When Jare cried out that there’s no week, he would not think about him. I pitied him. He is right. Some pains do not go away easy. Losing a cherished mother, father, brother, sister, or friend is one. I lost my mother in the year 2000. I am still haunted. I welcome Jare to the club—the colony of people with haunted memories. I did not know the meaning of “fortitude to bear the loss,” which people always say after a personal loss, until I lost my mother. Again, I say God will grant you the fortitude to bear the loss.
Jare is a resourceful media manager. He is hardworking. He is evolving too. Although there is no perfect human being anywhere, he has a surplus rather than an excess. As he celebrates his birthday, I wish him God’s favors, blessings, and fortitude to bear the loss of his beloved brother.
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