I logged onto Twitter and saw Kofo tweet, ‘RIP Niggydip’. I remembered a friend who shared same name but I knew he could not be the one, he was too alive to die.
Then I saw someone describe the deceased as a humorous person. This was looking too much like Niggydip so I checked a mutual friend’s BBM update and it was confirmed.
When friends go, you remember moments in vivid detail. My remembrance of Dipo is distilled to three experiences.
On Friday, I noticed Dipo doing pushups. He was a funny soul and I knew he had a funny reason to explain his new physical fitness quest. The next day, he was off to contest at the Gulder Ultimate Search trials. Now, he was recounting his experience: The guy who drank the entire contents of his six cans before contesting, the person who almost drowned, the one who was already planning how to spend his winnings before even getting into the jungle. It was a funny account of the reality show’s entry competition. A story of his own trial and failure was being presented as humour.
Niggydip stayed in a lecturer’s boysquarters. The area was called ‘Computer’, because it was close to the computer laboratory built by Zenith Bank. I came around the BQ at night and Dipo was outside with clothes. He called me and said he had some clothes he had and wasn’t wearing, pointed to a bunch of clothes, some not worn and told me I could have any (or everything). It was a wonderful assortment – a Man U jersey, some denims – it was really exciting for me, the unexpectedness of it all. I tried to thank him but he was more concerned explaining to me how he had never worn most of them.
Niggydip always had something funny to say about anything. I’m not talking about conditional humour. I am talking about self-deprecatory humour, which is the best kind. So say something bad happened to him, expect him to joke about it.
He is gone now and I don’t remember things like his oil company job, the cool car he had as an undergrad or that he was one of the first people I saw with the iPod Touch. What I remember are scanty conversations in the night, chance conversations at the doorway, random run-ins.
I don’t remember the things we spend our life living for, but the moments. It makes me fear; if I go now, do people have any swear word free moments of me?
Out beyond ideas of right and wrong, there is a field, one filled with moments. What are yours and mine made of? When you lay in the earth and vain accomplishments do not mean a thing, what will people remember?
I will always remember Dipo as a smile, a laugh, a streak of light, an easy soul. Keep making beautiful moments up there bro!
Osisiye Tafa, author of ‘Sixty Percent of a True Story’ is a proud friend of Niggydip.