“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.” Thomas Campbell, a Scottish poet, who served as Lord Rector of Glasgow University from 1826–1829.
On April 30, 1932, in the sleepy, rural community of Mopa, in the present day Mopa-muro local government area of Kogi state, a baby boy was born to the family of Pa Solomon Iwalaiye and Mama Dorcas Omoboja. The boy ended up being the only surviving child of his mother, due to the fact that the children that came before him died in their infancy.
If you are conversant with the poem – Abiku (spirit child) – with the opening lines being: “Coming and going these several seasons…” and the closing lines: “Then step in, step in and stay; for her body is tired, tired, her milk going sour; where many more mouths gladden the heart”, written by John Pepper Clark, you would understand the pains of Mama Omoboja.
The birth of the boy on a Sunday, the day of the Lord, was to serve as a terminus to the tragic narrative of infant deaths that had plagued her, little wonder she was called Mama Sunday while she lived. In Yoruba land, such children are given special names that would define their individualities. He was not only named Sunday, he was also called Bolorunduro (meaning, one standing with God). Bolorunduro (Duro, for short), in the Yoruba folklore, literally means “do not go.”
Sunday Bolorunduro, the son of Pa and Ma Solomon Iwalaiye Awoniyi, survived the vicissitudes of life to become a personage who positively impacted his eon. He was Secretary to the Executive Council of the Northern Regional Government where he worked very closely with the late Premier, Sir Ahmadu Bello, the Sardauna of Sokoto. And, because of that closeness, he was schooled in and affected by the Sarduana’s world outlook. He thus became known as Sardauna Keremi (meaning, in Hausa, small or little Sardauna).
He was a consistent man of industry, courage, fairness, transparency, propriety in conduct, a stickler for integrity and widely respected and trusted public administrator. I had a rare privilege of a very close relationship with theSardauna Keremi, who was also the Aro of Mopa, as a retired public servant who was actively engaged in politics and socio-cultural engagements in the third and fourth republics before he passed on due to injuries he sustained in a fatal crash along Kaduna road on November 19, 2007. He was then the chairman of the national executive committee of the Arewa Consultative Forum (ACF) and was travelling to attend a meeting of the forum.
This is the tenth year of his passing; and, I have decided to do two ultimate posthumous publications on him: one to commemorate his birthday, 85 years today; and, the second, a befitting ten-year remembrance tribute on November 28, this year. He died on that date at 11 pm in a London hospital, despite effort to save him.
S. B. Awoniyi, as he was popularly known, was a good and decent man whose reputation was unimpeachable. Our paths crossed in Abuja. I was deputy bureau chief of Vanguard newspapers and had the responsibility to furnish him with complimentary copies of the newspaper every day, being a director of the newspaper. That was how I ended up having daily engagements with the profound mind that he typified.
I learnt many virtuous things from him: integrity, discipline and fastidiousness. He also taught me to love country and eschew nepotism. He would do what he had promised. He was disciplined with time management and fastidious with his writings. He would have to go through his speeches many times, making amends and supplying accurate details.
Awoniyi followed my progress in journalism. He would always have one positive comment to give about my reports. There was a particular tribute I wrote during one of his birthday celebrations. He called me up and excitedly, on the other end, declared: “Oj (short form for Ojeifo, which was how he referred to me), I have just finished reading your brilliant write-up. You have done what Napoleon could not do. You have surpassed yourself.”
Now consider this: I was asked by the publisher of Vanguard newspapers, Mr Sam Amuka, to immediately resign my position as Bureau Editor of the Abuja office on August 12, 2005. The then Administration Manager, Mr Timothy Etoh, had called to pass across the management decision to me. He asked me what I did to the publisher and I asked Mr Etoh what the publisher said my offence was. What he told me was that the publisher said he came to the Abuja office and one of the florescent tubes in the office was not working.
Although, I knew the workplace politics that underpinned my exit from Vanguard; it was certainly not on account of editorial incompetence or gross professional misconduct. Awoniyi was in London when the management took that decision. I called him up to brief him. He was shouting at the other end. “I am calling Sam right away,” he said with pains in his voice.
But he got a shocker from me when I told him he should not bother to call him and that I would rather move on with life. He could not believe what I said. Between the time that I spoke with him and two days later when he returned to Nigeria, he had called me and my wife separately nineteen times on phone. It was incredible. He was encouraging and assuring me that God and my goodwill would speak for me.
I moved on with life. I took the next six months to round off a postgraduate programme at the University of Abuja. Immediately, I completed the programme in 2006, it was Awoniyi who discussed, without consulting with me, with Malam Kabir Yusuf, who was then the editor-in-chief and managing director of Daily Trust newspaper on the possibility of my working with the newspaper. That was how I berthed in Trust as a special correspondent for six months before I resigned and joined THISDAY as political editor in Abuja in 2006.
Awoniyi also became very interested in my family. I remember when I travelled to Indonesia in 2000 to cover the Inter-Parliamentary Union conference and my pregnant wife gave birth to my second son, he took it upon himself to visit her constantly in the hospital while I was away.
One day, he called on phone. When I picked, he exclaimed: “Omo okun, aku rigidi” (meaning, son, take care; we are taking things in our strides). At first, I was flummoxed. Then I replied: “This is Ojeifo, Sir.” I thought he dialed the wrong number. Then he replied: “I know.” At that point, it occurred to me that, as a father, he was trying to integrate me into his Okun heritage as a foster son of sorts.
He would always inform me of his movements, including the fatal last trip to Kaduna. Besides, he always met minds with me on his media engagements. For instance, when he was contesting to be chairman of the Peoples Democratic Party (PDP) in November 1999, I played some roles. He ensured that he discussed with me appointments from journalists for interviews before granting them. The relationship was very close and I still cherish it even in his absence.
While I contemplate a final good bye to this great man in a posthumous publication (in which I would explore his many parts) on November 28, this year, I wish to leave you with an apt description of Awoniyi, former super permanent secretary, businessman, third republic senator and politician, which was contained in his citation for the award of national honours of Commander of the Order of the Niger (CON) in 1977: “A man of great integrity and deep sense of public service, a candid and fearless adviser, a brilliant, innovative, yet, self-effacing officer.” I concur and this tribute is celebratory of his personality.
Mr Ojeifo, an Abuja-based journalist, contributed this piece via ojwonderngr@yahoo.com
