It is the voice of a young schoolboy singing Superman (It's Not Easy)by the band Five for Fighting. Across from them sits Muirne Lawler, the former choir teacher who taught Qayyum more than a decade ago at St Joseph's National School in Dundalk, Co Louth.

She had arrived unexpectedly at the family home while his father Ibrahim Balogun, mother Teslimot Balogun, and stepmother Loveth Patrick were speaking about the devastating loss of their eldest son.

Loveth sits holding the phone, heavy tears begin to fill the room where his mother and father all sit looking at the child they all adore singing: “I can’t stand to fly, I’m not that naive, I’m just out to find, the better part of me.”

The moment Muirne began talking about a performance she had never forgotten, the family searched through old videos until they found it.

"I'll never forget him singing that song," she said.

There was one particular line that stayed with her through the years.

"It's not easy to be me." As soon as he sings it, dressed in his Superman costume on stage with his fellow pupils, the tears flow again.

Every time Qayyum sang those words as a fifth-class pupil, she recalled, both she and his teacher would find themselves fighting back tears.

"He put so much feeling into it," she said.

Looking at the video now, Muirne sees the same child she remembered from vividly from the school choir.

"He was a beautiful singer, a beautiful child."

For the Balogun family, the unexpected visit brought comfort during an unimaginably difficult time.

“Thank you so much for coming,” said his heartbroken father, adding:  “It is a scar that will never heal.” 

“He was such a beautiful boy," said his mother.

Knife attack on Grafton St

Qayyum died following an alleged knife attack on Dublin's Grafton St in the early hours of Monday, June 1.

He had gone to Dublin with his friend and sister Aliyah, aged 20, for the June bank holiday weekend to see the Nigerian singer-songwriter Famous Pluto. 

The siblings had finished their exams in Maynooth the Friday before he passed away. Qayyum was a third-year student in computer science. His sister is on a psychology course.

They were due to stay in Dublin on the night of his death, but they separated after she went back to the hotel and he said he would catch up with her.

When she called to check on him, there was no reply. Instead, an incoming call from his friend changed their lives forever.

It was around 3.30am and Qayyum’s friend explained he was being rushed by ambulance to St James's Hospital where he later passed away.

“She was ringing me, panicking, at 4am,” says their father Ibrahim. 

“I was in Nigeria, Qayyum had been there as a child, but I wanted him to come on this trip, and he said he couldn’t because of his exams.

“I looked at the phone, and I just knew something was wrong... I just couldn’t believe it.

“I got the flight home, and it was a stopover and I barely remember the flight, I didn’t pack my suitcase even.” 

They all sit together wiping away tears, a blended family sharing their suffering for the boy they all adored.

Qayyum, who was born in Dublin's Rotunda Hospital, lived with his father and stepmother Loveth and siblings on Eco Rd, Dundalk. His mother 

Teslimot lived nearby with his sister Aliyah.

"He was such a pleasant child," his father said. "He didn't disturb anybody."

Messages of support

As news of his death spread through Dundalk and beyond, messages of support poured in from friends, neighbours, former classmates, and complete strangers.

"Our son died a tragic death, but the people's commendation about him is overwhelming," he said.

"If it was a bad child, people wouldn't be coming."

His teacher Muirne said the news came as a profound shock. “I nearly crashed the car.” 

Her memories of him stretch back to fourth, fifth, and sixth class, when he spent three years in the school choir.

"He was such a lovely child," she said.

The choir travelled regularly for performances, including Peace Proms concerts with the Cross Border Orchestra of Ireland. Every summer, children who attended choir events throughout the year were invited to a barbecue at Muirne's home.

There would be dozens of children running around the garden, climbing on bouncy castles, and queuing for burgers and hot dogs.

Among them were Qayyum and his sister. "They were so respectful," she recalled. "No bother whatsoever."

The memories continue to surface as photographs are passed around the room.

There are pictures from birthdays, family celebrations, and school days. One photograph shows Qayyum as a smiling toddler. Another captures him in his school uniform. Others were taken during family trips to Nigeria.

His parents speak proudly about the young man he had become, dedicated to his studies and working part-time at weekends.

Only days earlier, they had been joking together in the kitchen about the family car. While his father was away, his stepmother had deliberately hidden the keys. "I don't want any problem," she recalled telling him. "A boy with a car."

Laughing, he questioned whether his father might have secretly left the keys behind.

"Auntie, are you sure?" he kept asking me.

It was an entirely ordinary exchange between a mother and son.

Now it is one of the last conversations she has with him. “We were worried about the car,” said his father, “but then this happened.” 

Realities while processing grief

The tragedy has also left the family navigating practical realities while trying to process their grief.

As practising Muslims, they would normally expect a loved one to be buried quickly. Instead, they have spent recent days waiting for investigative processes to be completed before funeral arrangements can proceed.

"Whatever justice happens after his demise doesn't bring our son back," Ibrahim says.

The wait has been especially difficult because of traditions surrounding burials in their faith.

"By our culture and tradition, we can't stand and witness the burial of our child," he explains.

Prayers have already been held for Qayyum at the local mosque, while family and friends continue to rally around the Baloguns.

A balloon release organised by friends took place in St Helena’s park on Wednesday, hundreds embracing and listening to music, balloons sailing overheard amid sobs.

The family return once more to the photographs spread across the room. There is a strong resemblance between Qayyum and his mother.

Teslimot smiles when she this is pointed out by his teacher as she sits next to a photo of him in a frame in front of her.

For a moment, his father looks down at the photographs in his hands.

Then he adds softly: "Part of me still considers he's still alive. We just have to try and keep strong.” 

Joshua Brodericks, aged 25, of Gleann Dara, Rahoon, Co Galway, is charged with violent disorder and assault causing harm to a man but is not accused of attacking Mr Balogun.