And here is the part I have never shared publicly. For forty-five (45) years, I have kept that same Primary One result sheet. Not a copy. Not a parody. Not a similitude. That same result sheet.
============
A few weeks ago, while celebrating the elevation of my childhood mentor, Dr. Ifedayo Adeola Odeniyi, to the rank of Professor, my thoughts drifted back to the fragile beginnings of my academic journey. That reflection reopened a door I had not entered in decades—a door that led me back to a story I have quietly carried in my heart for forty-five years.
Today, 26 December, 2025 —I walk through that door again.
Today, I celebrate not only a woman turning eighty-five, but a moment of encouragement that altered the course of a young boy’s life forever.
Her name then was "Alhaja Owodunni, a firm, disciplined, and highly respected teacher at Local Government Primary School, Itire Road, Mushin—fondly called Maburo. To pupils of that era, her name alone commanded instant obedience. I feared her deeply, especially after being corrected by her on the assembly ground. From that day, I made every effort to remain unnoticed whenever she was nearby.
Then came the third-term examinations in Primary One.
Teachers were rotated for fairness, and fate arranged that my examiner would be the very woman I feared most. My heart raced, but I remembered the hours of careful preparation and mentoring I had received during the holidays from Prof. Ifedayo Adeola Odeniyi and Engr. Segun Odeniyi. Quietly, I told myself, "Do your best. Do not disappoint yourself".
During the written papers, she noticed that I finished early and submitted confidently. She reviewed my script repeatedly, her stern expression slowly giving way to curiosity. Then came the oral reading. When my name was called, I stepped forward—trembling on the inside, but resolute.
I read fluently, despite my speech impairment. She turned another page. I read again—without hesitation or stutter. Then another, with even greater clarity and confidence. And another. Page after page—almost ten in all—until something extraordinary happened.
She stretched out her hand and shook mine.
In those days, a handshake from a teacher was rare. From Alhaja Owodunni, it was priceless. In that moment, fear melted away and confidence was born. That single gesture planted something deep within me—something that has guided me ever since.
During the break, classmates gathered around me, gazing at my hand as though it carried a golden imprint. Whispers travelled across the school: “That boy got a handshake from Alhaja.”
When the Yoruba oral reading followed, I read even better. She shook my hand again, then proudly took me from class to class, saying, “Come and see this boy. He can read any part of the book.”
That was the day I became a star boy.
At the end of Primary One, I emerged as the overall best student. During the prize-giving assembly, I received yet another handshake—this time from the Headmistress, Mrs Aromolaran—along with a gift: a pair of white stockings. I wore them into Primary Two with reverence, stepping carefully, as though walking on clouds.
And here is the part I have never shared publicly.
For forty-five (45) years, I have kept that same Primary One result sheet.
Not a copy.
Not a parody.
Not a similitude.
That same result sheet.
It has travelled with me through life’s many seasons—through growth, setbacks, achievements, and responsibilities. Folded carefully, preserved quietly, it has remained a silent witness to the day encouragement rewrote my destiny.
Today, as *Alhaja Muilimot Adetoun Abike Okeowo (née Owodunni)* turns eighty-five (85), I go to meet her again—carrying that same result sheet. Proof that a moment of belief, once given, never expires.
And I will not be going alone.
I will be joined by my classmates from that same Primary One class—children of yesterday, elders of today—men and women whose lives were shaped within those same walls. Even my seatmate, Bolajoko Atobatele, the one who shared my desk, my books, my whispers, and my childhood fears, will be there with me. Together, we return not just as individuals, but as living testimonies of a teacher’s silent labour.
This time, I return not as a frightened Primary One pupil, but as a Professor and Vice-Chancellor. I also return as a Mogaji in Ibadanland, a society that practises gerontocracy, where leadership is entrusted to those refined by time, patience, and service—a traditional pathway that, by honour and patience, leads toward becoming the paramount ruler of Ibadanland, His Imperial Majesty, the Olubadan of Ibadanland.
And so, this handshake carries deeper meaning.
It is not only a reunion with the past, but a quiet prayer for the second half of life—for wisdom, restraint, humility, and grace to shoulder greater responsibilities. Another handshake, not for academic excellence alone, but for leadership, stewardship, and service to humanity. A handshake for a "better and more prosperous tomorrow", guided by the same values of discipline, encouragement, and integrity planted in me as a child.
This story is a gentle reminder to us all: not every reward must be monetary. Sometimes, a handshake, a word, or a moment of belief is enough to ignite a lifetime.
Happy 85th Birthday, *Alhaja Muilimot Adetoun Abike Okeowo*.
May the Almighty Allah crown your years with peace, honour, and joy.
Thank you for planting greatness in a young boy—and in many of us—who desperately needed someone to believe in him.
