Tunde Odesola

H-o-r-r-o-r!? The lamp has gone out in the ancestral grove. Frightening darkness reigns. I step inside the grove, I grope on staggering steps. The gourd is broken. I saw its shattered pieces. I stagger. I can feel the wet wood, torn drum, snapped beads, burning ice, soundless speech, blind sight, lifeless breath, static motion and cold fire. I call out to the deep, but the deep does not call back. The deep is silent. The deep has become a mound. The light has gone out in the grove. Everything is cold.

Don’t our ancestors say if the load refuses to stay on the ground and rejects being hung, there’s yet a place to place it? I refuse to bury. I will perform the rites and turn back the hands of time. I beseech thee, owners of the land, heed my pleading just this once, because when the dead is invoked in the street, it is the living that answers (Ti a ba pe oku ni popo, alaye lo n dahun). Abdulgafar Siyan omo Oyeweso ooooo! Please, answer me, hearken to my chant and heed my plea. Come! Cone back, please! It is me, your little aburo, Tunde, that is calling. It is I, Odesola, your disciple.

Baba Ibeta, I refuse to refer to you in the past tense. Prof, please, I need you to do just one thing for me, real quick. I need you to remember our discussions before sickness struck. Remember our discussions when sickness struck. The one million naira you gave me on your sickbed lies doggo in my account, untouched. You said I should use it for the publication of a full-page colour advert in PUNCH for Prof Olu Aina, who is billed to bag an honorary doctorate from the Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, the prestigious citadel of learning, which you oversee as the Pro-Chancellor and Chairman of Council. From the one million naira, you said I should place radio advertisements to announce the degree to be bestowed on the emeritus Professor Aina, Nigeria’s pioneer and distinguished scholar of Technical and Vocational Education, on December 13, 2025. I have long finished the artwork on The PUNCH advert, which you approved. I was awaiting the radio jingle being handled by ace broadcaster, Oyesiku Adelu. Now, I shall return the N1,000,000.00 to Iya Ibeta because the bowstring has snapped, and the bow has become a mere stick. Ọsán ja, ọrún dọpa.

Bọ̀dá Gàfárù, your humanity is gripping. What manner of man, lying prostrate on a sickbed, would remember to honour the living with his own money? What manner of man, stricken by a stroke, would give out N1,000,000.00 to honour a senior academic, two months before the event was to take place? What manner of man would hover between life and death, and still bend over backwards for the living? That manner of man can only be Siyan Oyeweso. He loves his fellow men and women far more than himself.

Ẹ̀gbọ́n mí àtàtà, I weep bitter tears because I know you do not deserve to go. You do not want to embark on that returnless ‘Àrè Mabò’ journey. As your life hangs by a thread and we pray for your recovery, you said you would be grateful if the Almighty Allah gave you a second chance. You express the desire to write a book, “Siyan Oyeweso: Life After Stroke.” Also, you hope to take delivery of one of your earliest books, “Journey From Epe: A Biography of S.L. EDU,” which is out of print, but is being reprinted. Your book on Ile-Ife and the one on Ikorodu are undergoing proofreading. It’s your dream to see them to the press. In the throes of death, you still cater for the whole family. Now, Iya Ibeta is a widow. Your two-year-old triplets are fatherless. Oh Allah, this grief is unbearable.

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I weep because I have whined with you in the days of famine and wined with you in the days of flourish. I’m with you in defeat and in victory. I witnessed the way you took defeat like a sportsman and celebrated victory with humility. I gnash because you are the ‘opomulero’ pillar behind my literary garden, even though I was never a pupil in the four walls of your classroom. I am the acolyte who sits at your feet after work.

Baba Òyé, I remember how we first met. Our first-ever meeting ended in a fight. That was at the palace of the 12th Timi Agbale of Ede, the late Oba Tijani Oladokun Ajagbe Oyewusi, the Agboran II, in the early 2000s. That fateful day, Oyeweso didn’t come to the palace to fight, nor did I, but the PUNCH spirit of fearless candour overtook me as I challenged what I saw as overpresumption.

Oyeweso had come to address a news conference, whose exact purpose I can’t recall, but the conference was certainly in the interest of Ede, the illustrious town Oyeweso lived for. I came to the news conference as PUNCH reporter from Osogbo, the state capital. And katakátá burst when it was question time.

Then, I was new to Osun State, having just been transferred from the Lagos headquarters of PUNCH. Oyeweso had answered a couple of questions from faces familiar to him within the Osun Correspondents chapel and was in a hurry to attend another assignment on behalf of the town. I raised my hand to ask a question. Exuding confidence and convivality, Oyeweso said everything there was to know lay in the press release shared to journalists at the conference. “No more questions, please,” he said. Anger boiled inside me. Who is this palace jester, I thought.

“I can’t come all the way from Osogbo to be told not to ask questions here,” my anger boiled over. All heads turned in my direction, eyes piercing to see if there was a tag on my clothes suggesting I was a member of the union of road transport workers. “From where did this one stray?” the looks asked. But I continued, “I’m not going to write any story from this press release if you don’t answer my question!” Heads turned away from me to Oyeweso, who didn’t show he was rattled. He smiled, held the right hem of his agbada and folded it on his right shoulder. He did a similar folding to the left hem of his agbada, beaming his trademark ‘ẹ̀rù òbodò’ smile.

Then a journalist whispered, “He is Professor Oyeweso!” “So what!?” I shot back outside the earshot of Oyeweso. “My dear brother from PUNCH newspapers,” he began, sugar in his voice, “I do not mean to evade questions, far from it. If you know me, you would know I enjoy talking. In fact, I talk for a living. But the Timi, Oba Tijani Oyewusi, has just sent me an urgent text, demanding I run an errand, and I don’t want to keep him waiting. I’ll leave my numbers with you, so you cakl and ask any question as I run the king’s errand, please.”

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That was the day our journey began. You were still a professor at Lagos State University then. This was before the Olagunsoye Oyinlola administration established the multi-campus Osun State University, and you moved back to your home state. You are the inaugural Provost, College of Humanities and Culture, UNIOSUN. Twice, you vied for the post of Vice Chancellor, UNIOSUN, and lost not for lack of competence, but to power play. The next day after each loss, you dust yourself up and trudge on as if nothing had happened.

To understand the Oyeweso enigma, picture a vehicle shaft connecting the two opposite wheels. This is why the late Ooni of Ife, Oba Okunade Sijuwade, and the late Alaafin of Oyo, Oba Lamidi Adeyemi, opened their palace doors to his erudition even though both monarchs hardly saw eye to eye on many issues. Baba Iremide’s charm infects the political board. This is why he was embraced by both Governor Oyinlola and Rauf Aregbesola, two gladiators from different political camps. Despite being from Ede, the hometown of the popular Adeleke family, Baba Adekunle stayed true to his political ideals, pitching his tent with the BATified All Progressives Congress. Their differing political alignments notwithstanding, Oyeweso did not spoil Ede, his hometown, because he was going to Ẹ̀dẹ̀, the hallway. This is why the Adeleke family maintained the communal bond by supporting him on his sickbed. Minister of Marine and Blue Economy, Alhaji Adegboyega Oyetola, supported Oyeweso before and during the sickness. In fact, it was Oyetola, aka Baba Jeje, who recommended Oyeweso for the post of Pro-Chancellor and Chairman of Council, Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife.

Your uncommon equanimity is the reason why I gave you my support when you expressed the desire to vie for the House of Representatives ticket in Ede-North-Ede-South-Egbdore-Ejigbo federal constituency. When that also fell through, I became a thorn in the flesh of Oyetola, whom I called morning, day and night, urging him to reward Oyeweso with a position. One day at a public function, an exasperated Oyetola saw Oyeweso and said, “Prof, tell Tunde Odesola to unclasp his fingernails on my neck o. I have told him repeatedly that you shall get an appointment, but he won’t leave me alone. Ha!” Shortly after the encounter, Oyeweso called me, and said, “Tunde,” I answered, “Sir!” Oyewso said, “Please, unclasp your fingernails on Oga’s neck o. We were at a function today, and Oga said, “So fun Tunde Odesola pe ko tu ekanna lorun mi o.” We both laughed. Aside from me pestering Oyetola, Baba Oluwasikemi would surely have a couple of other voices putting in words of recommendation on his behalf. So, his appointment was a collective victory for sagacity, hard work, resilience and vision.

Oyeweso was initially appointed Pro-Chancellor and Chairman of Council of the Federal University of Lokoja, Kogi State, before he was later announced as the Pro-Chancellor and Chairman of Council, OAU, in June last year. Therefore, it is not out of place to say that death did not allow Oyeweso to enjoy the fruit of his labour, affirming the philosophical thought that the world is a vanity fair. I do not believe in this philosophical thought; I believe Oyeweso’s life tramples vanity to affirm virtue.

This is why Oyeweso blends perfectly into any setting – be it rural or urban, academic or marketplace. When you see him on the street, he could pass for a nobody. But when he mounts the podium, you hear an oracle of history. This virtue is what endears Oyeweso to the masses, and I suspect, it is one of the reasons why some of his colleagues despise him – they believe he mixes with every Tom, Dick and Harry. To this tribe of his colleagues, an academic should possess raised shoulders, a back haunched by the weight of poring over books, and a nose in the air.

I haven’t come out of mourning the Owa of Igbajo, Oba Adegboyega Famodun, when the Oyeweso disaster hit below the belt.

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Where will I find another soulmate? Though we were born sired by different parents in the February of different years, Oyeweso took me as his blood brother, confiding in me his innermost wishes and fears. Who will call me “Prof Tunde? Who will come to my house unannounced? Oyewso would call my wife and say, “Hello, ma; Tunde o sun ile loni o. Odo mi lo ma sun” – “Tunde is not sleeping at home today. He’s sleeping in my house.” Then we would begin the intellectual rigour of writing and editing late into the night. The Nation Correspondent, now an oba, Kabiyesi Adesoji Adeniyi, Prince Wale Olayemi, my childhood friend, Abiodun Idowu, a psychiatrist, Temitope Ajani Fasunloye, Ismaeel Uthman, among others, participated in the rigour Oyeweso took us through – analysing and discussing. We did not do this on empty stomachs. There was plenty to eat and drink. At times, when Prof eventually allows you to go home, all you want to do is just go home and sleep. At times, I ran away from him. When I ran from him, he appeared in my house or office unannounced and says, “Ha, I caught you.”

Who would host a party for my promotion? Who would host a party for my homecoming? Death has crept upon us and taken our most prized jewel away. Oyeweso. I woke up that day around 6 a.m. I checked my phone. I saw your picture on Professor Samuel Gbadebo Odewumi’s reel. I told myself, Prof Odewumi is probably celebrating your recuperation. Still in bed, I scrolled and saw a post by Saturday Tribune Editor, Lasisi Olagunju, announcing your death.

Frantically, I checked Osun WhatsApp platforms. And there I saw the news of your passing into eternity. I then noticed I had received many calls and texts. It was dawning, but I was denying. I called. I asked questions. I blamed the Nigerian healthcare system, saying Oyeweso wouldn’t have died if he lived in an advanced country. I cited the misdiagnosis of the late Mohammed Fawehinmi in Nigeria, following his auto accident. But my oga and Managing Director/Editor-in-Chief, Mr Adeyeye Joseph, reminded me that the legendary Gani Fawehinmi, Mohammed’s father, was misdiagnosed in England.

So, I kept my mouth shut. And submitted to the will of Allah. Ina Lilah Waina Allah Rajun. Baba mi, I never thought I would ever write this about you. If tears could wake up the dead, you would be in our arms today. Orun re ire o, oko Nike.

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