Me, Football and More: A Selection of the Media Writings of “Mathematical” Segun Odegbami

By Segun Odegbami

Never in the history of Nigerian football had a footballer been a newspaper columnist, I was told. So I would be the first. In fact when the suggestion was made for me to write, I was at the peak of my career in football. I had been a part of the team that won the Africa Cup Winners Cup in '76; been representing the national team fully for two years; played in the African Cup of Nations; won the All-Africa Games silver medal; gone to the 1976 Montreal Olympic Games. I had also been rated as the third best player in Africa, the first time any Nigerian footballer would have been nominated in Africa's official best player poll in 1978 and was to be named second best two years later in 1980.

I was convinced that football followers would love to read about the life and personal experiences of a footballer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Feb 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491886335

Segun Odegbami

Segun Odegbami needs no introduction within and outside Nigeria's sporting establishment. He has captained an illustrious clubside (the IICC Shooting Stars) and the national team (the Super Eagles) in fiercely fought engagements at home and abroad and brought back trophies to the adulation of millions of his countrymen and women. Even after he hung his boots for good …years ago, Segun did not ride into sunset to graze and watch the world go by. Instead, he began a personal odyssey in pursuit of the elusive puzzles of how to transform the raw football and other sports talents that abound in Nigeria into a truly global force. His findings, eloquent, richly detailed civilized observations are at times hilarious, at times saddened, but devoid of cheap cynicism... For all his strongly held convictions, Segun operates a Samurai's quaint set of codes: Integrity, Sincerity, Honour, Courage, Benevolence and Self Control. Now, that is the great plus, the above and beyond football element that is the real essence of the man... This then is the first volume in a series of compilations of the writings of a man, whose fame as a footballer and his various post-playing day's contributions to sports, have tended to eclipse his quintessence as a versatile being for who sports is but an outlet of expression. It raises the curtain into the multi-coloured world of an artist, engineer, writer and philosopher, the world seem content to pigeon-hole as a footballer.

Book preview

ME,

FOOTBALL

AND MORE.

A Selection of the Media Writings of

Mathematical Segun Odegbami

Volume One

AuthorHouse™ UK Ltd.

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: [phone]

© 2014 Segun Odegbami. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,

or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 2/27/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8633-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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Content

Prologue

Chapter One

Strictly Personal

Chapter Two

Inner Vision

Chapter Three

People and Places

Chapter Four

Just a Thought

Chapter Five

In the Very Beginning

Chapter Six

The Footballer & His Game

Chapter Seven

Coaches & Coaching

Chapter Eight

NFA: Custodians of the Game

Chapter Nine

Nigeria in Global Football

Chapter Ten

The Home Front

Chapter Eleven

Great Nigerian Football Ambassadors

Chapter Twelve

The World Cup Bid That Never Was

Chapter Thirteen

Fast Forward: The Return of the Super Eagles

Chapter Fourteen

Managing Sports

Chapter Fifteen

Sports and Education Hand-in-hand

Chapter Sixteen

A President’s Sports Legacy

Epilogue

Publisher’s Note

Segun Odegbami needs no introduction within and outside Nigeria’s sporting establishment. He had an illustrious career with the IICC Shooting Stars and captained the national team (the Green Eagles) in fiercely fought engagem ents at home and abroad and brought back trophies to the adulation of millions of his countrymen and women.

Even after he hung his boots for good, many years ago, Segun did not ride into sunset to graze and watch the world go by. Instead, he began a personal odyssey in pursuit of the elusive puzzles of how to transform the raw football and other sports talents that abound in Nigeria into a truly global force.

His findings, eloquent and richly detailed civilized observations, are at times hilarious, at times saddened, but always devoid of cheap cynicism. For the past 33 years, they have been fed to the sporting public on a weekly non‐stop basis in writings in newspapers and magazines.

For one of Nigeria’s finest sports analysts who lives football, eats football, talks football, sleeps football, Segun leads wannabes, rookies and arm chair football fans into the dilemma often faced by coaches and players in team selection and on the pitch; how to build strength and stamina; how to tap into the extra mile in moments of maximum vulnerability; what needs to be done to literally ensure that Nigeria picks the next Pele, the next Muda Lawal, the next Thunder Balogun virtually from the cradle and nurture him to stardom.

And in moments when he speaks prophetically, you can feel his pain. He knows that his prescriptions would not be tried, because those who have the power to try them are held in chains like Prometheus by a cabal of bureaucrats in the Ministry of Sports.

For all his strongly held convictions, Segun operates a Samurai’s quaint set of codes: Integrity, Sincerity, Honour, Courage, Benevolence and Self Control. Now, that is the great plus, the above and beyond football element that is the real essence of the man.

In one of his columns published in this book, Segun Odegbami expressed his admiration for ‘The Prophet’, a best seller whose author’s name he said he could no longer recall.

We got hold of a copy of this great little book. The author of the book is a Lebanese‐ American poet, philosopher and artist named Kahlil Gibran. We read through the book that contained little nuggets of wisdom. We found two quotes that might well explain Segun’s reticence in calling a fool a fool.

Says Kahlil Gibran:

"No man can reveal to you aught but that which already lies half asleep in the dawning of your knowledge.

If he is indeed wise, he does not bid you enter the house of his wisdom.

But, rather leads you to the threshold of your mind’.

And there is another nugget directed by Gibran to the wise man tempted to display arrogance at the obvious stupidity of others. It runs thus:

Say not, I have found the path of the Soul,

Rather, "I have met the Soul walking upon my path.

For the Soul walks upon all paths.

The Soul unfolds itself

Like a lotus of countless petals."

This then is the first volume in a series of compilations of the writings of a man, whose fame as a footballer and his various post‐playing day’s contributions to sports, have tended to eclipse his quintessence as a versatile being for who sports is but an outlet of expression. It raises the curtain into the multi‐coloured world of an artist, engineer, writer and philosopher, whom the world seem content to pigeon‐hole as a footballer.

Preface

I have always loved to write. But I never trained as a writer. My love for Literature in English whilst in secondary school ensured that I did my little bit of writing poetry and essays, and illustrating them (as I was also good in fine arts).

When Banji Ogundele invited me to keep a weekly column in Sunday Tribune, where he had just resumed as Sunday Editor in 1978, although I was flattered, I had never thought of writing, least of all in a newspaper. I always thought that writers in newspapers, particularly, columnists, were special. And, of course, they are, as they must represent the best in the subject matter they write about.

Accepting to write took a little bit of convincing and reassurance from Banji. Finally, I took up the challenge.

Never in the history of Nigerian football had a footballer been a newspaper columnist, I was told. So, I would be the first. In fact, when Banji made the suggestion, I was at the peak of my career in football. I had been part of the team that won the Africa Cup Winners Cup in 1976; been representing the national team fully for two years; played in the African Cup of Nations; won the All‐Africa Games Silver medal; gone to the 1976

Montreal Olympic Games. I had also been rated as the third best player in Africa, the first time any Nigerian footballer would have been nominated in Africa’s official best player poll in 1978 and was to be named second best two years later in 1980!

By the time of the African Nations Cup in Ghana in 1978, I was easily one of the most popular players in Africa!

Banji convinced me that Nigerians would love to read about the life and personal experiences of a footballer.

Without realising what I was getting myself into, on January 10, 1979, I wrote my first column. It was the start of a journey that has not ended!

In that period, in various newspapers and several other publications, my writings have been published. In that time, week after week, I have written about football and several other subject matters in national newspapers including Sunday Tribune, the Punch, Daily Champion, Vanguard, Weekend Trust and the Guardian. I have also written for specialist sports publications such as Sports Souvenir, Complete Football magazine and Complete Sports. I also wrote in other publications that had nothing to do with sports – Climax, The Director, etc.

Last year, 2012, I was reminded that I had been writing almost non‐stop for 34 years, and that I have materials enough to make 10 books, covering a whole range of subjects beyond football!

Thus was born the idea to put together some of the materials in a book from purely archival material of my views, thoughts and experiences on various issues, and (to my surprise) in reading through the write‐ups, one could ‘catch’ bits and pieces of some of the events that took place at the time of the writing. Thus, history, through the eyes of a footballer, could be glimpsed.

I have read through the materials selected by my friend, Remi Akano, from a huge pile of literature. I do not know how he did it, or why he selected the articles in this book, but to him belongs that responsibility!

Even as I write this, I am worried about my strong views on some issues at various times in the past, how they could revive buried emotions; how they could generate negative reactions.

I am hoping that in reading through this compendium, however, people will situate everything within the context of the time they were written and still enjoy it.

I do not know what purpose this book will serve, but I hope it does something for everyone that finds the time to read it, for it is about football, me and much more.

Segun Odegbami, MON. January 2013.

Acknowledgments

The list is long.

This is a collection of written material that has taken almost 34 years of an unbroken commitment. The list of those that have influenced this unusual relationship that has now resulted in the compilation and publication of this book must, therefore, be long!

The odyssey started in 1979 with my friend Banji Ogundele. He started all this by insisting that I had a flair for writing that must be published in the national weekend publication he edited – Sunday Tribune. He literally threw me into the middle of the sea without a compass. I thank him.

I thank all the editors of the following publications; Sunday Tribune, the Guardian, The Punch, Vanguard, Weekend Trust, Daily Champion, Complete Football, Climax, Complete Sports, Nigeria Home News, The Director, and many other publications that gave me the space to express my views and tell my stories in my own unique way and style.

My friend and business partner, Sunny Obazu‐Ojeagbase, never stopped telling me how well he thought I wrote, and often helped me with crossing the ‘t’s and dotting the ‘i’s, plus the support of Mumuni Alao and Complete Communications Ltd.

All the English Language teachers at St. Murumba College Jos, in the years I was there as student must take credit for my foundation. They planted the seed of Literature in me, and nurtured it well. Their teaching has not left me over four decades after.

Readers of my columns, through their criticisms and comments have helped me to put in additional effort to ensure that I kept them informed and entertained. They instilled in me the consciousness of my responsibilities to history, to sport and to future generations.

I thank my secretary, Rita Njoku, who almost single‐handedly re‐typed all the articles I have written from 1979 to date, a monumental task by all means that took her almost one and a half years.

To Salu, a former student of the University of Lagos that designed the caricature I used for years in my Saturday Punch column and that I have now adopted aptly as the cover of this book, and Phillip Lahan that redesigned it to what we now have, I say thank you.

I thank all the great scholars of the English language, for allowing me to escape with my ‘pretence’ of being a writer, and the readers of the section of this collection titled ‘ME’ who have collectively taken my simple writing to commanding heights of elocution, delivery and dramatization, hopefully helping to create a new generation of those that would appreciate the art of reading.

I hope this creates a tsunami and unleashes a revolution in the scholarship of the written and spoken word.

As the work on this book concluded, one person stood up magnificently, sharing the days and nights with me in my quest for direction, taking the slack of my doubts, and restlessness, and turning them into bouts of confidence and courage, making me to aim beyond the skies, and supporting me to the finish line in grand style what I had started only as a small mustard seed of an idea. I thank you Oyindamola Adeyemi.

I thank my entire staff at Worldwide Sports Limited that ran the final lap of this publication with me.

As this book was being put to bed, my elder brother, Mr John Dele Odegbami, passed on. I dedicate this book to his memory!

Segun Odegbami

Foreword

The pleasure I have to write a foreword to a book by Chief Olusegun Odegbami, MON; aka Big Seg is immeasurable, because he has been an inspiration to me for over three decades.

Since he first came into my consciousness, my admiration for Big Seg has continued to grow in leaps and bounds. First, it was for his mathematical precision on the pitch, which earned him the sobriquet Mr. Mathematical Odegbami in the 70s that has stuck till today. After his retirement from professional football in 1984, it became for his uncanny ability to reinvent himself and remain relevant in the scheme of things.

From footballer, to shrewd businessman, to journalist, to author, to respected commentator, sports ambassador and sports administrator‐ you name it, he has done it. And this is apart from his lesser‐known interests in the arts, literature, television and travel.

I have always been drawn to individuals whose dedication to a worthwhile venture; any worthwhile venture is total and consistent. A dependable columnist of many years and an avowed apostle of sports as a catalyst for development, Segun Odegbami has demonstrated a greater dedication to the development of Nigerian sports; particularly football, than perhaps any other Nigerian dead or alive. And nowhere is this more demonstrable than in the pages of this collection of articles, where his love for football and sports generally, is palpable.

This book is a football lover’s delight. It is a treasure trove of sporting facts and is sure to become a bible and a one‐stop reference for Nigerian sports and football. The article Who Wins, IICC or Sharks, is an invaluable slice of history. We learn how the Black Scorpion, Brigadier Benjamin Adekunle contributed to making Big Seg a better goal scorer. And those who did not know will now be able to understand why the Lagos State Stadium was named after Teslim Thunder Balogun.

Big Seg reminds us of other long‐forgotten heroes of Nigerian football like Father Tiko, whose antics on the training field belied his age; Segun Rock Olumodeji, Sam Sagalo Opone and Isaac Akioye and throughout the book he shows off his remarkable analytical (and sometimes prophetic) prowess.

He takes on his colleagues in Nigerian Footballers are Dedicated. We share in the joy of his recognition in far away Borno State and are half alarmed, half amused by the account of his chance encounter with a Leper’s Colony in Kano.

In You Can Eat Your Cake and Have It, Big Seg shows that you can actually have it all ‐ be a well‐educated sportsman or woman and therefore be self‐reliant after retirement. This particular article struck me with its uncommon candour and is a must‐ read; not just for aspiring sportsmen and women, but for anyone who wants to make a mark in life.

An incisive and analytical writer, his considerable ability makes the book a fascinating read. There is an effortlessness to his craft that would make trained journalists green with envy and Mr. Mathematical Odegbami leaves no one in doubt that his nickname is as apposite off, as it is on the field of play.

At the beginning of the book, he declares: . . . I have always looked upon Pele as both an idol and a standard . . . For me this is a very subtle but nonetheless profound reminder that you can idolise someone and yet not bother to measure yourself against him or her, thereby never attaining or even exceeding your own full potential.

The collection is called Me, Football & More, so it is hardly surprising to read about the mystery of the beautiful Mount Kagara, that makes one want to rush there immediately to see it for oneself, or articles like "A Little of My Mum in Nigerian Female Athletes! and There is an Angel Missing in Heaven, that have little to do with sports. Indeed articles like these, as well as the moving piece, The Houses My Father (Never) Built" imbue the discerning reader with gratitude at the privilege of sharing in such personal details of Big Seg’s life.

In "Lagos, the Eden of our Time" and in the prologue, an article on Oshodi that he wrote in 2002, the reader can feel the deep pride he has for his adopted city.

Football gave Big Seg a passport to a world of limitless opportunities. He grabbed it with both hands and has still not let go. By his own admission, he managed to stay on top of his game by acknowledging his limitations and leading a disciplined life.

One can see that it has stood him in good stead and therein lies the lesson for us all. If this book teaches us anything at all, it teaches us that what we consistently do shapes our lives and that there is no magic or mystery to success. It is simply the natural consequence of continually applying the basic rules.

This theme is omni‐present throughout the book. It peeks out at you subtly from under layers of prose in some places. In others, it envelopes you like a warm blanket. In yet others, it hits you right in the face with its boldness and clarity.

Consequently, although he is far from modest, and he unabashedly blows his own trumpet in parts of the book, it does not diminish him or the book in any way; first because it is the truth and secondly because he does not spare himself from his characteristically brutal frankness.

I commend this collection to all sports lovers and all who share Segun Odegbami’s passion for meaningful contribution to the advancement of humanity and his desire to constantly present the best version of himself to the world.

Me, Football & More, presents to us a man determined not just to fit in but also to stand out. In that, he has certainly succeeded.

Finally, let me say thank you for a chance encounter that has remained impactful all my life as I remember it vividly to this day. For me, the sobriquet Big Seg is more apt than many might think, in describing our author. For those who knew me as a teenager, Segun Odegbami was my football hero. I idolized and venerated him. One school day in

1976 when I was thirteen, I decided to play truant.

IICC Shooting Stars were camped in a hotel behind Tejuosho market preparing for a continental match and I had strayed there hoping to catch a glimpse of my hero. I ended up in a sports store at the end of Iyun Street, adjacent to the hotel. I was admiring a pair of green football shorts but certainly could not afford to buy them.

If dreams come true for children, mine came true many fold that day. As I was longingly admiring the shorts, the man I came to catch a glimpse of walked in and asked me if I liked them and when I nodded, he asked me to take it and told the shop keeper that he would come back to pay for it. Big Seg was big then in my eyes and he remains even bigger today.

So I seize this opportunity to say ‘thank you’ for the smile you put on my face on that fateful day.

Babatunde Raji Fashola, SAN

Governor of Lagos State

March 2013.

Prologue

Oshodi: A Slum, a Tourist Attraction!

Saturday Punch, August 17, 2002

Have you ever stopped at the top of the overhead bridge at Oshodi in Lagos?

Some years ago, I was working on a film project with Rod Hay, an Australian film producer, on a documentary on the city of Lagos when I had an incredible insight into the other side of Oshodi. Rod had come to Lagos with a crew that included a sound recordist from South Africa and a cameraman from New Zealand. I had hired a helicopter for the team to take pictures of the city from the sky. It was a truly revealing experience.

Some of the pictures we shot from above Lagos have remained indelible in my mind – sprawling Ajegunle, the wood bridge beside the Third Mainland Bridge, the National Stadium and National Theatre environment (with the abandoned Teslim Balogun Stadium looking like the ruins of an Amphitheatre in ancient Rome), the reclaimed lands around Lekki peninsular and Oshodi!

Oshodi it was that held the greatest wonder and magic. Let me tell you about it. During the day, Oshodi offers a view from the sky such as I have never seen anywhere else in the world. It is simply indescribable.

Come with me on this imaginary visit to Oshodi (the same that you know). Shut your mind to the mayhem that you are familiar with. Climb to the top of the overhead bridge, and take a look left and right of the bridge! You can be immediately revulsed with the absolute chaos that assaults you and your sensibilities but be ready for another experience. Look closer, look beyond the chaos and confusion, beyond the dirt and disorder. Determine to see Oshodi with an eye of the adventurer, the artist, the tourist seeking unusual sights and sounds. A thousand unbelievable and unique scenes will start to unfold before you. This is what my foreign friends saw that day.

There is a rail track and a train that runs on it twice a day. The relationship between the track, the train and Oshodi is a life drama.

Scene One: A sprawling market of traders, an endless sea of heads, of buyers and sellers of everything from a salve to a star in every direction as far as the eye can see.

A loud distinguishable blaring horn indicates the approach of a train but there is no train or rail line in view anywhere. The answer provided with a scene that unfolds reminiscent of the biblical parting of sea.

The market, this sea of wheelers and dealers below you, suddenly vomits a rail track. There is a scramble in the mass of people below you as several gather on either side of a passage that suddenly appears to reveal two tracks. The people then stand in a line on either side of the tracks carrying their wares in their hands or on their heads in salute of an old train moving slowly, growling, puffing and heaving past its subjects in majestic splendor. Within seconds the market swallows the tracks again as the people move back their wares to the tracks and life resumes with the train continuing on to its destination! For the eyes and mind that can appreciate the unusual this is simply magical.

Scene Two: Top of the bridge itself

Here, there is a human cauldron, and every group can be counted in their hundreds. There are the thieves and pick pockets, bus conductors, different traffic and security agents, motor and garage touts, local government and market officials, officers and men of the Road Transport Workers Union, commuters, idlers, trekkers, young boys and girls dashing between moving cars selling their wares, Okadamotorcycle riders carrying two, sometimes three, passengers, crawling chain of ‘bruised and battered’ molue buses, most of them bellowing smoke, or noise, or both! It is the ultimate human melting pot.

It may be the rowdiest sight in the world but it holds a remarkable attraction for those who see the fascination in this rich Kaleidoscope of colours, sights and sounds. My foreign friends were hooked by the scene.

That is not the end. There is still nightfall.

At night Oshodi undergoes a total, almost magical, transformation. It may be one of the most dangerous places in Nigeria but that takes away little from the unbelievable scenes it conjures at night.

For years, I had been going past Oshodi on my way home every day and never realized that Oshodi had more to offer than the dangerous image that a mere mention of it usually conjures.

At a point during our visit to the place with my guests who wanted to see from close up some of what we had seen earlier from the sky, one of them, the South African sound recordist, who had earlier been complaining about the filth, noise and pollution of Lagos, suggested that we recorded the awesome sight before us. Steve Lidgerwood, our cameraman from New Zealand also took out his camera and started to shoot the night scene. Soon we were documenting sights and sounds that were truly magical. You couldn’t find comparable pictures anywhere in the world!

On both sides of the bridge along Agege Motor road at night it is always dark. There are no streetlights. Yet there are thousands of flickering lights from oil lamps throwing up silhouettes of everything around in the night market. Against the light from these lamps are the reflections of people’s eyes glittering from a distance like millions of stars! Vehicles also are captured in their silhouettes, their shadows formed by preceding headlamps of other vehicles and producing a sensation of dancing vehicles in this chaotic labyrinth. The traffic is bumper to bumper, hardly any spaces between the vehicles. The noises produce an interesting, eerie but melodic sound – hooting buses, haggling traders, the sound of thousands of human feet, conductors calling their passengers. Left and right of the bridge, for as far as the eyes can see, is another endless stream of dancing and moving lights and silhouettes of more people and cars against a pitch dark background. Picasso will come to Oshodi and find enough material to last him a lifetime of artistic creation

But what a truly incredible sight! Behold the darkness; behold also the beauty it throws up!

My friends were mesmerised by the sight and sound of Oshodi. None of them had seen a sight or experienced an event quite like Oshodi in their lives.

I have since been seeing the potentials of turning this unique place into a tourist magic. I bet people will come from all over the world to behold it.

I have it all in sound and pictures, and every time I want to be reminded of how to look at the poor state of Nigeria, look beyond the disorder, the ugliness, and think of the opportunities the country provides, and appreciate the virgin nature of its terrain, I go back to the pictures we took that day of Oshodi and see an incomparable asset. It may be one of Nigeria’s ugliest slum areas, but it has the potential of being also one of Nigeria’s greatest tourist attractions.

It is all a matter of perception.

Section I

ME

Chapter One

Strictly

Personal

Lagos – The Eden of Our Time

Saturday Punch, October 26, 2002

I LOVE Lagos!

More by accident than by design I was born in Lagos! I was named Olusegun by my father. The name, which means ‘God has conquered’, captures the circumstances of my birth in Lagos. So, my mum loves to tell the story to anyone that cares to ask.

Once she gets started she would veer to other stories, how she carried me on her back traversing Northern Nigeria; how she sat, with me by her side, by the roadside in Fort Lamy, on Nigeria’s border with Chad Republic in 1956, waiting for the once‐a‐week lorry that came to that oasis in the desert bringing essential supplies to the Fulani nomads and few other dwellers that lived in that environment in those days whilst Queen Elizabeth the Second was visiting Nigeria; how she had to feed me for days on Fura de nono, a Fulani staple of cow milk and millet when my food supply ran out.

I was weaned in that environment and, perhaps, that is why, somewhere in my subconscious, I am enraptured by images of sand storms and sand dunes, why I admire the desert so much, and why I fall under its spell, its beauty, its power and its endless mysteries. Perhaps, that’s why I identify with ‘The Prophet’ one of the best books I have ever read (sorry, I cannot recall the name of the author now). The story of the prophet is situated in a desert.

Back to Lagos.

I did not grow up in Lagos even though I have loved the city all my life. My earliest memories were of Holloway Street in Ebute Ero, in the heart of Isale Eko, where my mum’s sister lived and ran a bukateria for decades. I remember my first sight of the lagoon; how I ran to the waterside to taste what I had been told was salty water, only to experience the foulest taste in my life, and to realise that the lagoon at the Marina was the dumping site of all the faeces in Lagos. That’s what I tasted!

I remember neon lights at night on shop fronts and high‐rise buildings, red Municipal double‐decker buses, well lit streets, table tennis tables that seemed to be on every street corner, the water fountain at Tinubu Square, night and day blending into one endless stream of social activity. I remember the music of Fatai Rolling Dollar, and of Fela Ransome‐Kuti and the Koola Lobitos (I loved the sound of their names). I remember going to the Bar Beach one Christmas season with my cousins. They had lived at Igbobi for over 20 years at the time and had never crossed Carter Bridge to the Island. Going to Lagos Island, even for those on the mainland in Mushin, Agege, Yaba, Ikeja and so on, was like going to London. You needed to prepare for it, to wait for the occasion or the event. You just did not wake up and visited Lagos. It was too much to accomplish just like that.

I remember my student days in Jos and the reaction of other students when some of us returned from a visit to Lagos. We became gods. I recall walking around school for days with a chip on my shoulder. It was an indescribable experience to visit Lagos. We spent a whole year preparing for it. We announced our intention to everyone we met, and several of them escorted us to the train station either in admiration, or in envy. We were journeying to the moon.

The agony of spending two whole days at the train station before departure, and an additional two days as the train crawled all the way from Jos to Lagos under some of the most harrowing conditions, became fun. The trains were always tightly packed with people (that was the period of the Nigeria civil war, remember). Passengers had to sit in the trains two days before departure to secure seats. People hung from windows and the entrances to the coaches. Others stood on their feet in the coaches, bodies pressed together, unable to sit or sleep, most of the way until the train crossed River Niger at Jebba and started to discharge its cargo of southern Nigerian students.

Only those who could afford first class tickets enjoyed some semblance of comfort. The difference was that they had toilets to use.

For those of us in third class the little cubicles that were toilets became no‐go areas shortly after the train left the station. Only a few hours into the trip the toilets became decorated with faeces. The worst parts of the coach were the seats closest to the toilets. I do not know how people survived the stench. The best ‘seats’ were the entrances into the trains and the connecting passage between the coaches. Both provided the only convenient facilities to ‘toilet’ on the train.

Here passengers, always male, just unzipped and deposited either urine or faeces, or both, along the rail tracks. The only problem was that these special areas had to be shared with beggars.

Sixteen years after I moved to the city to live permanently as one of its 14 million, or so, inhabitants, Lagos continues to hold an indescribable magic for me.

Every day I observe the city I cannot help but bemoan the incapability of those managing her. I have observed the city grow and groan through the years.

The Lagos of today is filthy, polluted, crime‐ridden, littered with bad roads and nightmarish traffic, dark, ugly, lawless, bereft of recreational facilities, and decaying!

Yet, this is the city that an Indonesian business man friend of mine described as Eden, a virgin territory for all bright ideas, a land of inestimable opportunity, the most profitable place for business in the world, where it takes so little to become a hero or be successful.

What Lagos needs now are leaders who want to be heroes, who appreciate the enormity and complexity of her problems, who have the vision and the will to change her fortune, and who see the Eden that Lagos once was and could be again.

Back to my Roots

Saturday Punch, August 16, 2003

I was going through the directory of Federal Government parastatals recently and, to my shock, discovered that I am occupying a political slot of Osun State. Whoever had recommended me for appointment had assumed that I come from Osun State. I have tried to work out rather unsuccessfully how such a conclusion could have been drawn. No matter how much I juggle everything I have done or being in my life I just can’t seem to arrive at a satisfactory reason why anyone would conclude that I come from Osun State. It is a lovely State, with great people, but I have had very little linkage with that geographical area, so I continue to wonder.

I spent a long time in Ibadan (15 years) after I finished secondary school in Jos. I played football loyally and diligently for Shooting Stars of Ibadan throughout the major part of my footballing career. So, if anyone had assumed I came from that ancient city, one of Nigeria’s largest and most populous, it could have been totally understandable.

When late M.K.O Abiola founded his famous football club and lured players of Shooting Stars to the team, he started by inviting those from Ogun State. I was not even approached, even though I was at the height of my career and was extremely close to him. My dedicated commitment playing for the Stars must have been interpreted to mean that I came from Ibadan or, at least, somewhere in Oyo State. So, for most observers, it is easy to remember that period and eliminate Ogun State as one of the possible states I could have come from.

I was actually born in Lagos, in the heart of Isale Eko, registered at birth in a Lagos hospital, and have spent the past 15 years of my life living in the city and contributing to its socio‐economic development with total commitment. Also, Jacob Street in Odi‐ Olowo area of Mushin, off Adesina Street in the Igbobi‐Fadeyi axis, near Ikorodu road, was named after my father (yes, the same one who just passed away). The first resident of that street, owner of houses 7 and 9, late Mama Mushin, Mrs. Collins, was my father’s elder sister (of the same direct parentage). She it was who gave her youngest brother’s name to the local council for the street to be called many decades ago! She had lived on that street since the 1930s and all her children and grandchildren are Lagosians to the core. I also lived with her briefly in the early 1960s. Considering all the above it would also have been totally ‘correct’ to assume, that I come from Lagos State.

Many of my relatives that bear the Odegbami surname have had to defend their relationship with me purely on the conviction of several people that I come from any other State except Ogun State where all other Odegbamis come from. But, that’s where I come from.

The burial arrangements for my father have finally brought me face to face with my roots. When the family was considering where to bury him, it became a rather interesting debate. My father was born in Abule Olose, Wasimi. After his father died (he was only about seven at the time), he spent several years in Ile‐Ife with one of his elder sisters. He later returned to Abeokuta for his elementary schooling. Thereafter he moved to Jos where he spent 22 years. In 1962 he migrated to Gombe and spent the next 14 years. In 1976 he moved to Lagos where he spent the last 27 years of his life! He was a proper nomad!

After his death, I took a trip to Wasimi, and fell in love with this rustic forgotten hamlet situated in a trough within very dense, unbelievably beautiful