The Sun News

Farewell, Bayo Oguntuase

WHEN he was clinically confirmed dead at the Lagos University Teaching Hospital (LUTH), Idi Araba, Lagos, in April this year, following a fatal descent in his Ikorodu palatial home, I still believed that Baba Adebayo Solomon Oguntuase—about three weeks to his 79th Birthday—could miraculously resurrect! For me, that was a comma in his life since there were existential humanistic prospects and utopian anticipation of his uncanny comeback, No more punctuation marks as the man’s chapter is closed!

Alas, this weekend, July 14 and 15, 2017, finally punctuates the life of my assiduous teacher with a full-stop as he will be interred in a blaze of glory. Here comes the end of time for an accomplished grammarian and language activist who pursued linguistic purity with a measure of restiveness and restlessness. On some occasions, he became combative with incorrigible people who interminably disagreed with him on his correctional approach which they considered vituperative and in dissonance with a septuagenarian.

In the two articles on his transition that prefaced this latest intervention, I had captured the circumstances of his death, his life and our robust relationship. Today serves as a testamentary day on his attitudinal disposition to life, his character, love for others and my especial cousinship with him in its extrapolative context.

Baba Oguntunase was an outstanding all-rounder: he knew something about virtually everything on earth with mathematical precision. He was a fountain of uncommon knowledge, exceptionally brilliant and very methodical. Despite studying Engineering and German language, he stamped his unassailable authority on the right usage of the English language more than even professors of this global means of communication.                             

Last Wednesday, July 5, a service of songs was held for “Mr. Grammar” at his Ikorodu residence. In spite of the sobriety of the ceremony, he was duly celebrated.

Baba was a lexical pathfinder, a torchbearer of dynamic lexis and structure, emulating his grammatical prowess was almost inimitable, an intellectual colossus, and an unparalleled syntactic leader in all departments of the language.

This teacher of teachers was a grammatical usage colossus and priest with bishopric candescence on stylistics, his grasp of the language was inestimable which made him the Asiwaju of second-language users in Nigeria and, of course, the doyen of English language therapists in the country.

His professorial mastery of the language was unequalled. An English language perfectionist who used the language to build bridges, he would never be forgotten except the language dies!

If Bayo Oguntunase’s name does not ring a bell to you, it is either you not been an avid reader of Nigerian newspapers in the past three decades or you are not bothered by the horrendous ungrammaticality of such publications. This man was the most consummate, popular and authoritative English language surgeon in his time. So, my mentor, teacher, language activist/therapist and consultant up till April this year is now written about in the past tense? Life is becoming increasingly meaningless to me.

I do not know how and where to begin this lachrymal tribute to a man who had an unparalleled love for me despite the gulf between our ages and ethnic configurations. Our amity was such that he ranked second in my rating of friends from the South West—the first, of course, being my greatest benefactor, Dr Mike Adenuga, Jr., GCON, an Adonis of philanthropic incomparability and compassion profundity, a unique testament to his being one of the 300 richest men in the world according to Forbes magazine.

Baba Oguntuase and I got to know each other in the late-80s. While he wrote his column entitled “Mind Your Language” in the defunct National Concord, Daily Times, in its heyday, served as my own platform for the racy language series known as “Wordsworth”.

The first time we met on the premises of the Daily Times of Nigeria Ltd. (later PLC) at Agidingbi, Ikeja, Lagos, he said he thought I was “an old man” like himself! I was very boyish then and full of youthful exuberance in appearance, but deep and mature in communicative style that you would have thought I was an emeritus septuagenarian teacher. Alas, I was just a teenager about to enter the Nigerian Institute of Journalism (NIJ), Ogba, Lagos, under the distinguished directorship of an erudite scholar, the late Dr. Tony Nnaemeka.

On copious occasions, we agreed, disagreed and exchanged robust and intellectually-stimulating ideas and thoughts on the dynamism of the English language. Baba’s mastery of this tool of global communication was exceptional. As his mentee, I never stopped marvelling at his optimal grasp of this foreign language.

Baba was old enough to have fathered me, yet he had enormous respect for me. His humility was exceedingly great. He used to call me “Oga mi” (my master) notwithstanding that he was my teacher and far older than me. It was just demonstrative of his fondness of me—he was far ahead of me in virtually all departments of life.

My command of the English language pales into insignificance as Baba was on a summit pedestal. Who is going to civilize me on the usage of the English language with the exit of my chummy of almost thirty years or thereabouts? Who will fill the vacuum he has created?

Is it Prof. Adidi Uyo, Ndaeyo Uko, Phrank Shuaibu, Sunday Dare or one of his numerous students in the person of this columnist? Nobody can meet my grammatical expectations that were superlatively addressed by Baba with boundless passion, overwhelming candour and overflowing joy! Even doctorate degree holders in English language cannot do what Baba did with enthusiasm, flair and authoritativeness.

Pa Oguntuase was quite old but very agile and youthful. A voracious reader who stocked books of multifarious disciplines with emphatic interest in the English language, he knew almost something about everything. His interactions overseas, particularly Germany, exposed him to a goldmine of knowledge and broadened his views about issues.

The day I visited Baba at his Ikorodu modest home late last year with my personal assistant, Pelumi, the red carpet was rolled out for us. It was like a governor was visiting! After exchange of pleasantries, he took me to his one-room library where I saw a sea of books of different dimensions. The only space left in the room was for navigation. Every other space was taken over by an assortment of books. I joked with him that I would like to transplant the room to my own home. We laughed over the utopian idea. Such was the camaraderie that characterized our relationship.

From the library section, we returned to the sitting-room for a sumptuous lunch of amala and ewedu soup filled with fish and assorted cow parts. After the gastronomical assignment, bottles of fresh palm wine were assembled for us to “wash down” the near-constipation exercise that early afternoon. Now the icing on the cake: as we were about to leave for Surulere, Baba arranged more take-away bottles of palm wine and 15 brand new classical books as my gifts for “coming to his village from the city.” Anytime—which is every time—I see those books atop my table in my own mini-library, I marvel at the love of this man for me despite my poverty of reciprocation.

If Baba had a Will or had an uncanny opportunity to write one shortly before his death assuming we know when the final bell will toll for us all, he would have assigned at least 25 per cent of his English language textbooks and reference materials to me. I have the conviction on this considering the way we related and the deep affection he had for me which surpassed feminine love.

Egbon, rest in peace! May God forgive you of all your frailties and compassionately accommodate you in His bosom. Amen.



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