What can I say or write? Where should I even start? Those were some of the questions I found myself asking over the last two days.
In fact, it got to a point where it felt like I was dreaming until I saw your grave yesterday. Then it finally dawned on me that you are gone for good—that we can never see each other again until we meet to part no more.
But I can only take solace in the fact that death is inevitable. How can one explain your sudden exit?
I left home early on the morning of Thursday, 20th October 2016, when the news of your death hit me like a thunderbolt.
Coincidentally, I was driving towards your house when the call came in. The voice on the other end was Dr. Seye Kehinde, Publisher of City People Magazine.
“Dare, how are you? How is Bola? We haven’t heard from her, and we thought we should check with you.”
As usual, I responded quickly that she was fine and that I would find out why her phone was switched off and get back to them, knowing full well that I was already very close to her house.
Then “Oga,” as we usually address Dr. Seye, called me back and asked, “How many minutes should I expect your feedback?” Even then, I still didn’t sense that anything was wrong.
Not long after Oga’s call, another one came in—from BKK Ultimo CEO, Alhaji Bashir Kolawole Kuti, who broke the devastating news to me in a very low tone.
“Dare, how are you? They said Bola is dead.”
As if I hadn’t heard him properly, I asked, “Which Bola?”
The next thing I heard was, “What are we going to do now?”
I became so confused that I couldn’t give a reasonable response. I immediately made another call, and the heartbreaking news was confirmed.
Bola Davies joined the saints on Wednesday, 19th October 2016. Her passing brought back memories of the beautiful, difficult, and unforgettable moments we shared together.
She was more than a boss to me. We bonded almost immediately after I joined the City People Ibadan office as an administrative staff member under her supervision.
Within a short time, our relationship evolved from that of colleagues into a family bond. My problems became her problems, and I reciprocated in the same way. We were each other’s best friends and confidants. Hardly a day passed without us seeing each other.
Even when I thought we were at loggerheads, she would call and say, “Dare, iwo lo mo malice to n keep o! Gist dey. How soon can you come over to my place? I give you 30 minutes.” My house was just about a 10-minute drive from hers.
She trained and encouraged me to write stories. Nothing was ever too much for her to accomplish. I can still vividly remember the very first assignment she gave me—to work on a project involving the then First Lady of Oyo State, Chief (Mrs.) Mutiat Olayinka Ladoja.
At the time, I was still on a six-month probation without the company’s identity card. After the assignment was successfully completed, she said, “Yes! I like your zeal. It seems you are ready for this job.”
That assignment, along with many others I completed for the company, paved the way for my confirmation, which came much earlier than usual.
We later formed a formidable team—Sister Bola, Wole Adejumo (my senior colleague and editor), and myself.
Under Bola Davies’ exemplary leadership, our team excelled in story writing, party coverage, and event planning. Those were some of the finest years of the City People Ibadan office.
She was the kind of person who would do everything possible to bring out the best in you, no matter how demanding or stressful it might be. That drive inspired me to become an award-winning staff member.
She was always there for me, even after I was transferred to Osun State as City People’s Correspondent. She stood firmly by me despite the challenges I encountered.
I must also say that I benefited immensely from her generosity. I can’t begin to talk about that now, but the LG microwave she gave me—my very first one—is still functioning perfectly several years later.
With Bola Davies, getting the job done was always the priority, no matter how difficult it seemed.
“When you are not a spy! You are a society reporter. You must go out, you must attend parties, and you must meet people.”
Those words keep reverberating in my mind. I can’t count the number of times you said them to me because I am naturally not an outgoing person. It was through your guidance that I came to appreciate the immense value of networking, especially in journalism.
Bola Davies, you were an accomplished journalist—highly intelligent, beautiful, fashionable, a socialite par excellence, a bridge-builder, and an exceptionally dynamic woman of remarkable quality.
My heart goes out to your family at this very difficult time, and I pray that God grants them, along with all of us who loved you, the strength and fortitude to bear this irreplaceable loss.
The City People family will miss you. My wife and daughters will miss you too, because there will be no more, “Dad, let’s go to Sister Bola’s house.” The ice cream, Rice Krispies, and all the little treats you always had for them will no longer come from you.
I will miss you the most, my Omobolanle Olufunke Davies (née Ogunsuyi)—my gist partner, my friend, my sister, and my boss.
I will no longer receive those “strong-worded” text messages from you.
Lastly, I’m sure the little secret I kept from you must now be known to you. The query letter you asked me to help deliver to the Lagos office after recommending me for disciplinary action never got there. I still have it with me. Wole Adejumo knew about it anyway.
Once again, thank you for the training, discipline, and values you instilled in us.
But I can only take solace in the fact that death is inevitable. How can one explain your sudden exit?
I left home early on the morning of Thursday, 20th October 2016, when the news of your death hit me like a thunderbolt.
Coincidentally, I was driving towards your house when the call came in. The voice on the other end was Dr. Seye Kehinde, Publisher of City People Magazine.
“Dare, how are you? How is Bola? We haven’t heard from her, and we thought we should check with you.”
As usual, I responded quickly that she was fine and that I would find out why her phone was switched off and get back to them, knowing full well that I was already very close to her house.
Then “Oga,” as we usually address Dr. Seye, called me back and asked, “How many minutes should I expect your feedback?” Even then, I still didn’t sense that anything was wrong.
Not long after Oga’s call, another one came in—from BKK Ultimo CEO, Alhaji Bashir Kolawole Kuti, who broke the devastating news to me in a very low tone.
“Dare, how are you? They said Bola is dead.”
As if I hadn’t heard him properly, I asked, “Which Bola?”
The next thing I heard was, “What are we going to do now?”
I became so confused that I couldn’t give a reasonable response. I immediately made another call, and the heartbreaking news was confirmed.
Bola Davies joined the saints on Wednesday, 19th October 2016. Her passing brought back memories of the beautiful, difficult, and unforgettable moments we shared together.
She was more than a boss to me. We bonded almost immediately after I joined the City People Ibadan office as an administrative staff member under her supervision.
Within a short time, our relationship evolved from that of colleagues into a family bond. My problems became her problems, and I reciprocated in the same way. We were each other’s best friends and confidants. Hardly a day passed without us seeing each other.
Even when I thought we were at loggerheads, she would call and say, “Dare, iwo lo mo malice to n keep o! Gist dey. How soon can you come over to my place? I give you 30 minutes.” My house was just about a 10-minute drive from hers.
She trained and encouraged me to write stories. Nothing was ever too much for her to accomplish. I can still vividly remember the very first assignment she gave me—to work on a project involving the then First Lady of Oyo State, Chief (Mrs.) Mutiat Olayinka Ladoja.
At the time, I was still on a six-month probation without the company’s identity card. After the assignment was successfully completed, she said, “Yes! I like your zeal. It seems you are ready for this job.”
That assignment, along with many others I completed for the company, paved the way for my confirmation, which came much earlier than usual.
We later formed a formidable team—Sister Bola, Wole Adejumo (my senior colleague and editor), and myself.
Under Bola Davies’ exemplary leadership, our team excelled in story writing, party coverage, and event planning. Those were some of the finest years of the City People Ibadan office.
She was the kind of person who would do everything possible to bring out the best in you, no matter how demanding or stressful it might be. That drive inspired me to become an award-winning staff member.
She was always there for me, even after I was transferred to Osun State as City People’s Correspondent. She stood firmly by me despite the challenges I encountered.
I must also say that I benefited immensely from her generosity. I can’t begin to talk about that now, but the LG microwave she gave me—my very first one—is still functioning perfectly several years later.
With Bola Davies, getting the job done was always the priority, no matter how difficult it seemed.
“When you are not a spy! You are a society reporter. You must go out, you must attend parties, and you must meet people.”
Those words keep reverberating in my mind. I can’t count the number of times you said them to me because I am naturally not an outgoing person. It was through your guidance that I came to appreciate the immense value of networking, especially in journalism.
Bola Davies, you were an accomplished journalist—highly intelligent, beautiful, fashionable, a socialite par excellence, a bridge-builder, and an exceptionally dynamic woman of remarkable quality.
My heart goes out to your family at this very difficult time, and I pray that God grants them, along with all of us who loved you, the strength and fortitude to bear this irreplaceable loss.
The City People family will miss you. My wife and daughters will miss you too, because there will be no more, “Dad, let’s go to Sister Bola’s house.” The ice cream, Rice Krispies, and all the little treats you always had for them will no longer come from you.
I will miss you the most, my Omobolanle Olufunke Davies (née Ogunsuyi)—my gist partner, my friend, my sister, and my boss.
I will no longer receive those “strong-worded” text messages from you.
Lastly, I’m sure the little secret I kept from you must now be known to you. The query letter you asked me to help deliver to the Lagos office after recommending me for disciplinary action never got there. I still have it with me. Wole Adejumo knew about it anyway.
Once again, thank you for the training, discipline, and values you instilled in us.
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