Exit of Agagu

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September 17, 2013 by Niyi Akinnaso (niyi@comcast.net) 3 Comments

   

| credits: File copy

“He lived a simple but a fulfilled and happy life. He left amazing memories and fantastic legacies behind. I will miss the friendship, I will miss the advice. He was pretty much anything any wife, son or daughter could ask for in a father. He was a mentor to many, a brother, a benefactor; I’m sure a lot of people will miss him.”

—Feyi Agagu, son

When, at 65, Dr. Olusegun Kokumo Agagu suddenly bowed out last Friday, September 13, 2013, a wave of conversations swept across Ondo State and beyond, each contributor recounting one thing or the other for which he would always be remembered. Condolences poured in from various sources, ranging from President Goodluck Jonathan and the Ondo State Governor, Dr. Olusegun Mimiko, to the Peoples Democratic Party chiefs and the man on the street. The reason is not far-fetched. Agagu had served Ondo State meritoriously as Deputy Governor and Governor, and the Federal Government as Minister. Those who benefitted from his services in various positions could not but remember him fondly, and they were many across the state and the federation.

However, like every politician, he could not satisfy everyone, given the multi-party and fractured state like Ondo, and country like Nigeria, where varying interests and demands often coincide with partisan, geographical, ethnic, religious, and other social divisions. We already knew about the levelling capacity of death and its finality. It was the suddenness of Agagu’s death that drew shock from everyone beyond habitual grief.

You might have disagreed with his politics and policies as Governor, but you could hardly find fault with his work ethic. He was known to have painstakingly read and scrutinised every document that came to his desk, and got files moving at the earliest possible time. You also might have had difficulty in reaching him in the office, but you discovered a different, approachable, individual when you met with him one on one.

Outside the office, he was particularly jovial, loved music, played lawn tennis, and enjoyed wine and champagne. He wore an apparently gentle, unassuming, and “soft” exterior. But, make no mistake about it, his interior was fortified by a “deep” intellectual base, which was often misconstrued, just as his cool demeanour and moderated smile were sometimes mistaken for aloofness or even snobbery. He was a very good listener, who made one feel satisfied that he took in all one had to say. But he often had a template against which available information was evaluated and acted upon.

I had known him for over 35 years, and never had reason to change these views about him when he was the Deputy Governor of Ondo State (1992-1993); Federal Minister (1999-2003); and Governor of Ondo State (2003-2009). However, for friends, like me, and foes alike, those views were shaken to their foundation between 2007 and 2009, when the legal battles over the 2007 elections led to the termination of his tenure. He was humbled by the court’s verdict, and even doubly so when he lost again in 2011 in his bid for the Senate seat in his Senatorial District. What was remarkable about his reactions to the electoral misfortunes was the fortitude with which he bore them. He remained loyal to the PDP and continued to function as its accredited leader in Ondo State.

My disagreements with him over the 2007 elections notwithstanding, we remained friends. Whatever differences existed between us were buried when two mutual friends, Chief Pius Akinyelure and Dr. Yemi Ogunbiyi, intervened independently of each other. Shortly thereafter, Monica and I spent a few hours with him and Funke at his Bodija residence in Ibadan. He told me during the visit that he was working on a book, with contributions from members of his cabinet, on his services as Governor of Ondo State. It would now appear that the book died with him. Another issue he raised, which has stuck with me, was his regrets about not going home, that is, Iju-Odo, and visiting the South Senatorial District well enough before he became Governor, and also while he was in office. “As a result,” he surmised, “the people didn’t quite know me and I did not know them well enough.”

His biography provided the basis for the regrets. Save for four years of initial primary education in Okitipupa (1954-58), he had the rest of histraining, that is, primary, secondary and university education, up to the doctorate level, at Ibadan, except for two brief years (1973-1974) when he attended the University of Texas at Austin for his Master’s degree in Geology. With a doctorate degree in Petroleum Geology in hand, he started his professional career in teaching and consultancy at the University of Ibadan, and made the city his permanent residence. He would eventually return there after his governorship, although he also has a beautiful house in his native Iju-Odo, where his body may be laid to rest. As an indigene and a former Governor of Ondo State, he should not have rested permanently elsewhere.

Agagu’s sudden departure evoked other thoughts beyond the above intimate ones. I was struck by the manner of his departure. After a long-haul flight from the United States on September 12, he was already up an running the following day, attending a meeting with select indigenes of Ondo State. While this may have illustrated his indefatigability and strong work ethic, it raises questions about possible triggers of sudden death, especially in the light of the revelations that he had hypertension and diabetes as well as high cholesterol.

True, Agagu had superb medical attention before leaving the United States, but the need for those over 60 to begin to “take it easy” cannot be over-emphasised. This is particularly true of those who combine pre-existing conditions with hard work and busy social engagements. Besides, we are constantly reminded of the danger of sudden deaths by the examples of Prof. Olikoye Ransome-Kuti and Debo Akande (SAN), who died suddenly while being actively engaged shortly after a long-haul flight. The preventability of such sudden deaths is what makes them all the more painful.

But death is painful, no matter how and when it comes. In one version of Greek mythology, Sisyphus tied Death in chains in the attempt to remove the pain of death. But other gods got angry. Led by the god of war, Death was released and Sisyphus was condemned to eternal labour by rolling a rock to the top of a hill, whence the rock would roll back to the bottom on its own weight. Sisyphus would repeat the act endlessly.

The myth was central to Albert Camus’ theory of the absurd, focusing on the futility of our existence. Those who are privileged to enjoy the good life may not agree with Camus about the meaninglessness of our existence. But Camus is not to be taken literally. After all, he embraced the dualities of happiness and sadness; light and darkness; and life and death. The pertinent question for me is: Within the context of the absurd life, what is life really worth, when it is lived in the shadow and certainty of death? The awareness that we live to die, but just can’t be sure how and when, is a motivation for many to do the best they can while still alive.

Agagu certainly lived the good life and did the best he could for his family, his state, and the nation, as aptly captured in the opening epitaph by his son. That’s why he will be sorely missed by his wife, Funke; his children, Feyi, Solape, and Omowumi; the people of Iju-Odo, his hometown; and the citizens of Ondo and the Federal Republic of Nigeria.

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