SIR: The recent demise of Otumba Michael Olasubomi Balogun (CON) had such an effect on me. Admittedly, I never set my eyes on him while he lived. Pictures of him on the television, social media and the newspapers notwithstanding, I might not have been able to identify him even from a gathering of two.
The same cannot be said of the late Ide Alex Ifeanyichukwu Ekwueme. Apart from when he was Vice President, he used to hail from my Local Government Area. On account, I had occasions to see him physically, though from afar. Like when as VP he paid a courtesy visit to the palace of our then traditional ruler – also late – and met his absence. Passing by, we beheld him and his entourage at the palace gate with teenage glee.
Like it came to pass, I wasn’t to meet him face to face until preparations for his 80th birthday got underway. One way and another, I had gotten a commission to interview the erudite renaissance man ahead of the event. This time the glee was even more palpable. It was more like American writer James Baldwin Going To Meet The Man alive.
Anyway, the interview session was to prove that I was in the right place. Of course none else could tell the Ekwueme story. From a backwoods school in the east he went to Kings College Lagos and the USA to later become the nation’s first elected Vice President.
But of the many names that propped up while the discussion lingered, none enthralled me like that of Balogun. Like the latter concurred in his autobiography, The Cross, The Triumph and The Crown, their relationship dates back to the pre-Civil War days when they ended up as neighbours somewhere in Lagos.
Following the outbreak of hostilities, Ekwueme had had to beat a hasty retreat to the east to save his head from decapitation. Only to return to meet his house renovated and rented by Balogun who promptly squared him the accrued rent. A favour returned by Ekwueme when as VP he helped him get approval for his bank, First City Merchant Bank.
Then it came to pass that when my wife put our next issue to bed, she turned out with a complication. After all, the local consultations in our Onitsha residence, one verdict prevailed: that we should take the baby to the University of Ibadan Teaching Hospital. We – my wife and I – could not but oblige.
After a harrowing trip by road to the town of rust and gold, she was admitted to the ICU of the paediatric ward. Lo and behold, it was bequeathed by Balogun’s philanthropy. Though the baby gave up the ghost some three months later, she succeeded in indenting Balogun’s name in my heart. And it has remained there ever since.
Isidore Emeka Uzoatu wrote from Onitsha, Anambra State.
