Dr. Murjanatu, whom everyone in her family fondly called “Taiwo”, was also known as “Aunty Taiwo” by her younger ones, and her classmates simply called her Murjanatu Akanni. She was not dark-skinned nor extremely fair but possessed a radiant chocolate-toned beauty—what many described as a “chocolate beauty.”
She was tall, with a graceful, slightly plump figure—not the type of weight one would call excessive, but rather the healthy kind that added elegance. Her body was well-structured, her long Fulani-shaped face highlighted by the bright eyes of a Yoruba woman. Taiwo’s straight, fine nose resembled that of her maternal grandmother from Gombe, fondly known as “Nani Oummana.”
Her height was moderate and attractive, and her physique was perfectly balanced—neither too slim nor too broad, but with the elegance of a Coca-Cola bottle shape. At the time, she was about thirty years old, a woman whose aura reflected dignity, class, and the heritage of noble Yoruba women. Her walking style itself was captivating; she carried herself with confidence, pride, and poise, always adorned in impeccable fashion.
Every movement—whether a smile, a word, or her elegant steps—reflected her noble Yoruba royal blood. People could see in her posture and gait the kind of majesty that comes from a deep-rooted lineage of honor.
Home, Work, and Family Life
That evening, just as a storm was about to break in Lagos, Taiwo drove home from her hospital training program (housemanship) at the Lagos State Teaching Hospital. Her residence was a stylish duplex in the upscale neighborhood of Eko Atlantic, where she lived with her family after moving from Ilorin.
She arrived in her Hyundai Creta, but her thoughts were centered on her three-year-old daughter Ruqayyat, nicknamed Kiki. Since beginning her housemanship, she had left Kiki in the care of Bunmi, a young Ibira woman and a devout Muslim who proved to be reliable and nurturing.
Kiki was a lively child, often called “Kiki” by her uncle Prince instead of her real name Ruqayyat, because of her plumpness and playful restlessness. To him, the name suited her better. He adored the little girl deeply, sometimes even more than her own mother, and Murjanatu often joked that if men could give birth, her brother Prince would have chosen to deliver Kiki himself.
Prince Abdulrasheed, her twin brother—known in Yoruba as Kehinde—was her closest companion in life. They were born together, raised with Islamic discipline, and grew inseparable as siblings, friends, and confidants. Prince, a polo celebrity, frequently appeared on Global Polo TV, and though unmarried, he loved Kiki like his own daughter.
Dreams, Marriage, and Determination
Murjanatu was married to Dr. Taofeeq Adam Adebayo, a distinguished professional working with the European Union. His work kept him mostly outside Nigeria, leaving her to manage home and career largely on her own. While many believed her royal background meant she did not need to work, she was determined to pursue medicine—not for money, but for two reasons:
1. To ease the loneliness of being apart from her husband.
2. To serve her country, especially women, as a doctor in obstetrics and gynecology.
She often said that the shortage of female doctors in Nigeria was a call to duty. For her, becoming a doctor was a patriotic mission and an act of faith, aligning with both religion and responsibility.
Her dream was not only to provide for her own family but to help women across her country. Despite her royal heritage and her husband’s prestige, she held firm that service to her people was the greatest honor.
At heart, she prayed that her brother Prince would one day find a good wife who would share his love for children and family life. Until then, she remained deeply connected to him, her daughter Kiki, and the noble dreams that drove her every day.
Description
Dr. Murjanatu’s Appearance and Background
Dr. Murjanatu, whom everyone in her family fondly called “Taiwo”, was also known as “Aunty Taiwo” by her younger ones, and her classmates simply called her Murjanatu Akanni. She was not dark-skinned nor extremely fair but possessed a radiant chocolate-toned beauty—what many described as a “chocolate beauty.”
She was tall, with a graceful, slightly plump figure—not the type of weight one would call excessive, but rather the healthy kind that added elegance. Her body was well-structured, her long Fulani-shaped face highlighted by the bright eyes of a Yoruba woman. Taiwo’s straight, fine nose resembled that of her maternal grandmother from Gombe, fondly known as “Nani Oummana.”
Her height was moderate and attractive, and her physique was perfectly balanced—neither too slim nor too broad, but with the elegance of a Coca-Cola bottle shape. At the time, she was about thirty years old, a woman whose aura reflected dignity, class, and the heritage of noble Yoruba women. Her walking style itself was captivating; she carried herself with confidence, pride, and poise, always adorned in impeccable fashion.
Every movement—whether a smile, a word, or her elegant steps—reflected her noble Yoruba royal blood. People could see in her posture and gait the kind of majesty that comes from a deep-rooted lineage of honor.
Home, Work, and Family Life
That evening, just as a storm was about to break in Lagos, Taiwo drove home from her hospital training program (housemanship) at the Lagos State Teaching Hospital. Her residence was a stylish duplex in the upscale neighborhood of Eko Atlantic, where she lived with her family after moving from Ilorin.
She arrived in her Hyundai Creta, but her thoughts were centered on her three-year-old daughter Ruqayyat, nicknamed Kiki. Since beginning her housemanship, she had left Kiki in the care of Bunmi, a young Ibira woman and a devout Muslim who proved to be reliable and nurturing.
Kiki was a lively child, often called “Kiki” by her uncle Prince instead of her real name Ruqayyat, because of her plumpness and playful restlessness. To him, the name suited her better. He adored the little girl deeply, sometimes even more than her own mother, and Murjanatu often joked that if men could give birth, her brother Prince would have chosen to deliver Kiki himself.
Prince Abdulrasheed, her twin brother—known in Yoruba as Kehinde—was her closest companion in life. They were born together, raised with Islamic discipline, and grew inseparable as siblings, friends, and confidants. Prince, a polo celebrity, frequently appeared on Global Polo TV, and though unmarried, he loved Kiki like his own daughter.
Dreams, Marriage, and Determination
Murjanatu was married to Dr. Taofeeq Adam Adebayo, a distinguished professional working with the European Union. His work kept him mostly outside Nigeria, leaving her to manage home and career largely on her own. While many believed her royal background meant she did not need to work, she was determined to pursue medicine—not for money, but for two reasons:
1. To ease the loneliness of being apart from her husband.
2. To serve her country, especially women, as a doctor in obstetrics and gynecology.
She often said that the shortage of female doctors in Nigeria was a call to duty. For her, becoming a doctor was a patriotic mission and an act of faith, aligning with both religion and responsibility.
Her dream was not only to provide for her own family but to help women across her country. Despite her royal heritage and her husband’s prestige, she held firm that service to her people was the greatest honor.
At heart, she prayed that her brother Prince would one day find a good wife who would share his love for children and family life. Until then, she remained deeply connected to him, her daughter Kiki, and the noble dreams that drove her every day.