She Made a Home for Me: A Tribute to Mrs. Christiana Olufunke Owolabi
There are people whose kindness never announces itself loudly. It simply settles into your life and stays there, quietly holding you up. Mrs. Christiana Olufunke Owolabi was one of those people for me.
When I was admitted to the University of Ibadan (UI) as an undergraduate in the early ’90s, far from everything familiar, she opened her home to me. I had only just met her through her son, Niyi (Hightone), so nothing obligated her to take me in; only a warmth that made her house feel like mine from the very first day. I remember how easily she welcomed me: the shared meals, the small acts of care that never called attention to themselves but meant everything to a young person still finding his footing. Her home was more than a place I stayed; it became a home away from home, and she became more than a guardian. She became family. She called me “Paschal”, my stage name from Rockforce, the student dance and entertainment group on UI’s campus in the 90’s.
Mummy Owolabi’s kindness was steady and unhurried. She had a way of making you feel seen; of asking after your well-being not as a courtesy, but because she genuinely cared how you were faring, in your studies, in your health, in your heart. In a season of life that can feel uncertain and lonely for a young man, her presence was an anchor. She gave generously of her time, her home, her food, her patience, and her guidance, asking nothing in return except, perhaps, that I do well and stay grounded. Subsequently later in life, she was the first person I introduced my fiancée to, even before my parents met my wife, and her home was the center of activities on our wedding day. She doted on my wife and accepted her as a daughter-in-law immediately.
Words fall short of capturing the full weight of what her care meant to me. But this much is certain: the person I became during my years at the University of Ibadan was shaped, in part, by her generosity. She taught me, through example rather than words, what it means to open your home and your heart to someone who is not your own blood, simply because they need it. A legacy she passed down to us, and one my wife and I have carried forward here in Canada.
On May 8th, 2026, Mummy Christiana Olufunke Owolabi became a memory we hold instead of a hand we once held. We thank God for a life so well lived. The warmth she gave so freely remains: it lives on in me, and in every person she guided, every student she sheltered, and every life she touched with her quiet, unfaltering kindness.
Death is so cruel;ikú n’íkà. It has no mercy;ikú kò n’íyọ̀nú. Rest well, Ma. Your home may be still now, but the home you built in the hearts of those you cared for continues. Thank you for being my guardian. You will not be forgotten. We all (Mariama, Jesse, Emmanuella, and I) mourn you.
Sùn re ooo abiyamo tòótọ́, Mama Lanre, Mama Niyi, Mama Dapo, Mama Tokunbo !
By Adebayo Aregbesola, Ottawa, Canada