Baptist minister. Built a church, raised a congregation, kept the hymnals in his own handwriting.
Their life, as remembered
7 memories
1945· Ibadan, Nigeria
Born under a mango tree during a rainstorm
His mother had walked four miles to the clinic when the storm caught her. She took shelter beneath a mango tree at the edge of a field, and Samuel arrived there at 3pm on the 18th of August 1945. "The mango dropped as he cried," his aunt wrote in a letter to his grandmother. "He was a fruit of that tree, too."
The only surviving photo from his childhood. Sent to his grandmother in Abeokuta.
Shared by
“The mango tree is still there. I stood under it last Christmas and remembered him. He always said the rain followed him for his whole life — and it did. He died on a Sunday afternoon during the heaviest downpour we'd had in forty years.”
Mama Folasade·Cousin
1963· Outside Ibadan
The night he decided to become a preacher
He was seventeen, walking home from a wedding where he'd been asked to read a psalm because the deacon was ill. He said later that the words felt louder in his mouth than his own. Halfway home he sat down on a low wall outside the cotton factory and cried for an hour. When he stood up, he knew.
Shared by
“I was at that wedding. I remember Samuel reading the psalm and the whole tent going quiet. Not because he read it well — his voice shook — but because you could tell he meant every word. He was never the same after.”
Prof. Adebayo Ola·Schoolmate
1972· Brixton, London
Arrived in London with £12 and a suitcase of hymnals
He came over to complete theological training at Spurgeon's College. The suitcase was lined with hymnals because he'd heard London congregations had "forgotten their melodies". He slept on the floor of a Brixton rooming house for the first six weeks, eating one meal a day and writing to his fiancée Yetunde every Friday.
Leather softened by decades of train journeys. The lining is brown where the hymnals sat.The coat was a hand-me-down from a fellow student.
Shared by
“He sent me 34 letters in the three years before I joined him. I have all of them. I was going to burn them when he died so they'd stay private — but the children asked me not to. I'm glad I didn't.”
Yetunde Abayomi·Wife
1978· Peckham, London
Founded the Church of the Living Word, a congregation of eight
The first service was held in a living room in Peckham. Eight people came. Samuel preached for forty minutes. He said later that he could feel his knees trembling the whole time and had planned an exit route in case no one came back the next week. They all came back. Within a year, they needed a bigger room.
Eight people, one Bible, one out-of-tune guitar.
Shared by family & friends
“I was one of the eight. I'm the last one still alive. I remember every word of his first sermon — "small rooms hold the largest truths." He quoted it at my wedding, at my wife's funeral, and at his own daughter's ordination.”
Deacon Samuel Obi·Founding member
“Dad kept the room number (Flat 3, 14 Mildred Road) written inside the cover of every Bible he ever owned. He called it his "anchor page".”
Rev. Grace Abayomi·Daughter
1995· Church of the Living Word, Peckham
Started the Saturday breakfast club — "no sermon required"
He was worried that the young men in his congregation felt preached at, so he quietly started a Saturday morning breakfast where people came if they wanted to, ate if they wanted to, talked if they wanted to. He never preached once in twenty-three years of Saturdays. He estimated he cooked 18,000 egg-and-tomato rolls over that time.
The griddle he bought in 1995 is still in the church kitchen.
Shared by
“I was 14 when I first went. I kept going until I was 25. Pastor Samuel never once asked me why I was there or what was on my mind. I told him anyway. He cooked while he listened. I'm named my son Samuel.”
Marcus Thompson·Came to breakfast for 11 years
2010· Peckham
The hymnal he copied by hand, in the margins of a borrowed book
In the 1980s his copy of the Baptist hymnal fell apart. He couldn't afford a new one, so he wrote the words of 287 hymns by hand, in ink, into a spiral notebook. He added his own annotations: which key the choir preferred, which stanzas tended to make the older women cry, when to slow down. The notebook is now in the church archive.
Two volumes. Notes in blue ink. Annotations in red.
Shared by
“When I was ordained, Dad gave me his hymnal. I couldn't stop crying. It's the most valuable thing I own. The choir at his funeral sang from it — we held it up between us.”
Rev. Grace Abayomi·Daughter
2018· Church of the Living Word, Peckham
His last words, caught on a voice memo by accident
His granddaughter had been recording the choir for a school project and had forgotten to turn off her phone. He was helping her tidy the hymnbooks after the service. You can hear him say, "These ones go on the shelf with the old ones, Ayo. The new ones they don't need — they already know the tunes." Then he laughed. Then the recording ends.
Shared by
“I still listen to the 34-second recording. I haven't played it for anyone outside the family. I think he'd have liked that — small, private, only shared with the people who loved him. The new ones don't need it. They already know the tunes.”
Ayo Abayomi·Granddaughter
This is a sample. Real families use this to remember real people.
