It was in the niche of classical music that he found his Ikigai. The Japanese word for that ‘sweet spot’ where passion becomes a vocation, a profession and a mission.
Through music, he found purpose, and through service, he found immortality. By mentoring lives—including mine—he ensured that his legacy would outlive him.
Friedrich Nietzsche once said, “Without music, life would be a mistake.” To our Grandmaster, music was never an accessory—it was life itself. His devotion to music was nothing but legendary.
Watching him conduct rehearsals and concerts, it was evident that music lived in his bones and as Bob Marley affirmed, “One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.”
In our conversations, I often asked what occupied his thoughts. His response was always, “Nothing.” And indeed, nothing—because he neither fretted nor worried but was safely cocooned in the orchard of music.
Maya Angelou’s words ring true of Pa Wokoma: “Music was my refuge; I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.”
When I looked at him, I heard Steve Maraboli’s words echoing through his life:
“Live your truth. Express your love. Share your enthusiasm. Take action toward your dreams. Walk your talk. Dance and sing to your music.”
Daddy Wokoma lived those words fully.
His love for humanity and his courage to pursue his passion remained exemplary. Those of us who followed him in real life—not on social media—knew that Marilyn Manson was right when he said, “Music is the strongest form of magic.”
Music was Daddy Wokoma’s element. Whenever he entered the zone, baton in hand, he made magic—conducting his tribe with mastery and grace.
All his nuclear and extended families and his Music mentees called him Daddy. His peers called him Alabo and some others called him Chief, Doctor or Sir. l also called him Daddy but to all who really knew him, he was the Grandmaster of the Orchestra and the Doyen of Classical Music. He wrote it, he taught it, he transcribed it, he played it, he conducted it, he preached it, he lived it, he mastered it and he transitioned in active service to it.
Keith Richards captured it perfectly when he said, “Music is a language that doesn’t speak in particular words. It speaks in emotions, and if it’s in the bones, it’s in the bones.”
Keith Richard’s words were even more evident in Daddy’s twilight years when his bones were becoming frail. His devotion to classical music, his years of selfless service at Christ Church Port Harcourt, and his pioneering vision through the Choral Voices of Port Harcourt opened new frontiers for music lovers and enthusiasts. Through him, many found their voice, their confidence, and their calling.
His protégés—the musically adopted sons and daughters—went on to establish choirs of their own, hosting concerts and nurturing talent. Yet they all acknowledge one truth: Alabo remained the indisputable Grand Master of the Orchestra. Under his direct leadership, his choir consistently stood unrivaled in almost every peer-competition in Nigeria.
As Sarah Dessen said, “Music is the only uniter—an incredible force.” Daddy, thank you for uniting us through your gift. Albert Einstein once said, “I see my life in terms of music.” Daddy did not only echo it—he also lived it.
Benjamin Disraeli observed that “Most people die with their music still locked inside them.” Daddy, at 90, had his music and it touched generations. He unlocked his song and gave it freely. He elevated professionalism in music and wore its mantle like the master he was.
As he celebrated his twilight years, Jean Paul Richter’s words came alive:
“Music is the moonlight in the gloomy night of life.”
Like Beethoven, Daddy Wokoma could have said, “I would rather write ten thousand notes than a single letter of the alphabet.” And as Haruki Murakami expressed, Daddy could have also said “Music brings a warm glow to my vision, thawing my mind and muscles from their endless wintering.”
His 90th birthday celebration was unforgettable. He stood surrounded by love—with our beloved Mummy by his side and generations gathered around. He truly enjoyed the best of both worlds: he lived, he loved, he made music, and he built a legacy that he left behind.
Pa Wokoma was one of the last Mohicans—one who witnessed and shaped the best of the 20th and 21st centuries. He came. He saw. He conquered. And he lived well.
William Shakespeare wrote, “If music be the food of love, play on.” Daddy, as you stepped gracefully into the afterlife, I prayed that you continue to sing unto the Lord as long as you live, and praise Him while you have breath (Psalm 104:33) in the bosom of our LORD JESUS.
As we celebrated you at your 90th Birthday, I imagined your gentle voice command in Arthur Conan Doyle’s voice:
“Hand me over my violin, and let us try to forget for half an hour the miserable ways of our fellow men.”
We looked forward to celebrating the centurion in you—in good health and great joy, but it was not to be. Our Lord had better plans for you. He took you home three months after your 90th celebration on earth and we now count your transition date from zero to one into eternity. Yes it’s now been 5 years and going on 6, counting into infinity.
Life had been generous to him. He was blessed with a devoted wife, accomplished children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who are living testimonies of a life well lived. He did not witness the pandemic of 2019/2020.
Coming from a distinguished lineage—the Inko-Tariah and Wokoma families—he honored that heritage as the Paramount Chief of both paternal and maternal lineage, carrying on both responsibilities with love and dignity.
Beyond family, and beyond professionalism as a renowned Gynecologist, Pa Wokoma was entrusted with a higher calling. That was a life-call to Music. He was indeed the Doyen of Music and the Grandmaster of the Orchestra.
About the Author
Chinwe Ezeanya (The Enabler) is an author, writer, executive leadership coach and convener of The Enabled Community (Clubhouse). She helps C-Suites achieve peak results using performance models and wellness strategies.
