Remembering Prince Nazir Ado Ibrahim

My dear brother, Prince Nazir Ado Ibrahim from the Royal House of the Atta’s in Ebiraland, Kogi State, has died and it really hurt me.

We grew up together, shared a rich childhood with many memorable experiences, and faced life together for 60 years.

I thought we would grow old together and enjoy the memories of our childhood in retirement.

I thought we would find comfort in our old age as the world moved on around us.

I had so many plans, but now you are gone.

You were truly one in a million, brother. You always brought joy to everyone around you.

I recall the days at Atta Lodge in Yaba, Lagos, your father’s house, the late Ohinoyi of Ebiraland, His Royal Majesty Dr Abdulrahman Ado Ibrahim. We used to meet with friends there in the late 1970s and early 1980s.

I think back to our time in the UK, at my place in Pier House, Chelsea, my father’s “Tower House” in Temple Gardens, Brighton, and your father’s big mansion in Belgrade Square, Belgravia.

I also remember the Lagos Polo Club, Ikoyi Club, and Apapa Club, where we moved around with our daring group of adventurous friends.

We had boxing and karate lessons together. You were a great warrior and a courageous fighter.

I remember the time we were at JB’s house in Bourdillon, near the National Stadium in Surulere, Lagos, and police raided the place!

We fought shoulder to shoulder against anyone who attacked us. We never lost, brother, and no one could break us apart.

We had our own language and communicated with our eyes.

Together we walked through tough times and, by God’s grace, we survived.

I remember learning to ride horses and play polo with you. We loved driving through the rough parts of old Lagos in flashy cars, showing off our strength.

I recall the rivalries over girls, fights with white boys, and silly arguments. I remember the love among our group and the controversies we got into.

We faced many punishments from our parents for our wild outings. We enjoyed nightclubs like Legends, Tramp, and Main Squeeze in London, Studio 54 and Xenon in New York, and Princes in the Federal Palace Hotel, Lagos.

I remember visiting you in Geneva, New York, where you studied, and how we drove to meet our brother, Des Braithwaite, in Syracuse, also in New York.

I think of your Porsche 928S and how we faced police questioning about our flashy cars at such young ages.

We laughed at them because they didn’t know our story. Those were fun times in the early 1970s to mid-1980s.

Do you remember our wild teenage years?

Do you recall when we stormed the Adeyeye brothers' home at night for making a pass at one of our girlfriends?

Do you remember Layeni Fagbayi, Tonye Amachree, and the Kentucky Fried Chicken gang?

What about that tall, wild white girl from Kings Road who wouldn’t leave my apartment?

Do you remember Glenn “the shady character” in Sloane Square and Etan “the fixer” in Hampstead?

Do you remember Good Earth Chinese Restaurant on Kings Road and Mr. Chows in Knightsbridge? Or the White Elephant on the River and Mumtaz, the best Indian restaurant in St. John's Wood?

We dined and celebrated at these places whenever you flew in from the US.

Do you remember Horn of Plenty, that lovely restaurant in the English countryside of Devon, and Sloopy’s nightclub in Brighton where we met students from Sweden, Norway, and Denmark?

Do you remember Peter Noble, Bertie Wilkins, and Charles Draycott from Brighton College, who we had so much fun with whenever you visited?

Do you remember West Pier, Palace Pier, Devil’s Dyke, Pavilion, Grand Hotel, and the charm of Brighton on a summer day?

Do you recall the sound of seagulls at Brighton beach?

What about the long pink candy known as Brighton Rock?

Do you remember your older brother, Azad’s mews house behind your father’s mansion in Belgrave Square?

We had wild parties there, and Jackie, his caring wife, tried to keep us in line.

Do you remember when I entered politics in 1988 and set up the September Club? You said it was a great idea, even when others disagreed.

Do you recall Tim Espir from Harrow School who brought a large commodity company to Nigeria?

You got along well with him, discussing business in Nigeria.

Do you remember Simon Loopuit, my close English friend from Kelly College? He later founded Vox Gen and another company called Trust Hub.

You both shared dreams and ideas for the future.

Do you recall Indian Azad Shivdasani at Lagos Polo Club? He brought his company, Inlaks, to Nigeria.

What about Julio, the kind-hearted doorman at the Dorchester Hotel? We always tipped him well because he was so happy to see us.

Do you remember Mr. Robert Bairamian, my kind headmaster at Holmewood House School? He taught us much about life in British High Society.

Do you remember our trips to Lords Cricket Ground for the annual Eton versus Harrow match? We cheered for Harrow together.

You went with me to Twickenham for the Oxford versus Cambridge Rugby match, wearing our light blue colors together.

Do you recall your successes in the oil and gas business with your brilliant father?

These memories of our childhood are filled with adventure and mixed experiences.

Each memory is priceless.

Beautiful memories are all we have. They will follow our souls into eternity, reminding us of who we were.

We were a blessed generation of educated and talented minds, destined for great things.

We lived fully with Azad, Des Braithwaite, Kunle Braithwaite, Tonye Amachree, and many others I cannot name here due to space.

In the 1980s, you became my in-law when I married your cousin, Saratu ‘Baby’ Atta, daughter of your uncle, the late Governor Adamu Atta.

We have a lovely daughter, Folake, whom you adored.

So much has happened since, but through it all, we loved each other like Achilles and Patrocholus.

We had each other’s backs, fought over small things, and always came back together.

Sadly, we didn’t spend much time in the last few years and only connected occasionally. But your passing broke something in me.

You were a living symbol of my lost childhood and a star for those who loved you.

You connected the North and the South, proud of your Ebira heritage and royal roots.

You also bridged the gap between children of elites who studied in England and those who studied in Nigeria.

We fought gang wars between these groups during holiday parties, but you united us.

Ours was a generation of love and brotherhood that cannot be replaced.

We were rich, powerful, and healthy. We were the best of society, living without a care.

We had everything and accepted each other as we were.

Those days meant something. Loyalty mattered. Secrets were kept, and brothers stood up for each other.

We took pride in being Nigerians and faced challenges head-on.

We enjoyed life to the fullest, traveling the world without a care, spending like there was no tomorrow.

We were strong, respected, and young Nigerian men who had it all.

We thought those days would never end. Our parents worried about us, but we laughed at their fears.

Then adulthood came with its challenges. We all did our best.

Sadly, our nation changed, and the joyful days ended as Nigeria's fortunes fell.

We lived through the oil boom when one military leader said, "money is not our problem, but how to spend it."

In our time, one naira equaled one dollar, but now it's one thousand four hundred naira for one dollar.

Over 46 years, the naira has devalued by 99.93 percent against the dollar.

In 1980, one million naira was worth one million dollars. Today, it's worth only $726.

Let that sink in.

Inflation has taken its toll, and our nation is struggling.

But there is hope. With God, everything is possible.

He will never leave us if we have faith in our people and our country.

We pray for better days for our children and grandchildren.

I commit you into God's hands, brother.

May He forgive your sins and grant you peace in heaven.

May your name never fade, and may your legacy remain strong.

I miss you already. I miss our time together and our shared secrets.

I miss our childhood and all our brothers who have passed on.

Our generation is dwindling.

We had our time, and God was good to us. Now it’s time for you to rest, brother.

God is with us, and you are with Him. Greet our brothers who went before you and tell them FFK sends his love.

I pray for your soul, brother, and I will NEVER forget you, in this life or the next.

Rest well, Suku Su, and may the Lord bless and protect your family.