By Tunde Olusunle
Ade Emmanuel Abanida, a very senior medic and longstanding brother and I had been in regular talks in the last two years about our mutual mentor and confidant, the most charismatic Albert Sunday Anjorin. Abanida and I encountered the octogenarian Emeritus pathologist, seasoned teacher, affable humanist and free-spirited scholar, charismatic colossus at various intersections in our lives. Whereas Abanida was Anjorin’s postgraduate student in pathology at the University of Ilorin during the 1986/87 academic session, I had met the old man years earlier and been wholly adopted by him as a beloved kid brother, ardent mentee and loyal ally. Professor Anjorin was very ill, Dr Abanida had informed me, and his former students were polling support for him.
I immediately put a call through to Prof Anjorin to hear his trademark voice. A critical part of me remains in Ilorin till date. Long before our roads fell into gross dilapidation and became fertile hunting ground for freelance criminals and ransom takers, it was most convenient for me to be chauffeured from Abuja to the erstwhile address of the legendary warrior, Afonja. Nothing would equate sitting down with Prof and engaging with him, and enjoy our father-son conversations, which would typically switch from English, which he spoke with the fervour of William Shakespeare, to our home-tongue in the Okun country, Yagba, and thenceforth to Yoruba. This will be interspersed by wise cracks of the very humorous old man and his patent royal laughter. My heart was eternally with him.
Last October, I braved it to Ilorin and headed straight for his home in GRA, in the Kwara State capital. His choice of a location for his very spacious retirement home, in the “Government Reserved Area,” tells you something about a man of taste and distinction. My good friend, Segun Sobogun who picked me up from the airport and I were received by Prof Anjorin’s long-serving driver, Moses Ayoade and settled in the living room. Prof Anjorin knew my whole family and my closest of friends. He adopted everyone as family and was selfless in pouring his being assisting in times of need, in whatever way he could. Sobogun, Toyin Olaoye, Martins Oni and John Audu are some of my Ilorin-based friends he knew so well. Ayoade left us for a moment ostensibly to inform Prof that I was visiting. He returned in a jiffy to inform us to proceed to his bedroom on the first floor of the edifice. Prof Anjorin sprang up from the bed once we walked in and greeted him. “Olusunle,” the way he typically called me, oju re, (is this you), he asked in Yagba. “So good to see you,” he continued as he struggled to get on his feet to acknowledge my friend and I.
O ri ighin mo ku wa, (can you see how emaciated I’ve become), he continued as I embraced him. Stretching out his hand to greet Sobogun, he asked me: “Where did you find this man,” in obvious reference to the fact that he hadn’t seen him in a long time. “Sobogun, where is Olaoye?” I waved him to his bed, pulled a chair and asked for details of his situation. He narrated same very enthusiastically, graphically. He spoke about how his former students, many of whom he couldn’t remember, and friends, had been magnanimous in ensuring steady supply of his medications, some of which were either unavailable locally or priced beyond the reach of a retiree like him. I got him to speak on phone with my wife Funmi, whose wedding to me he co-chaired over three decades ago; my cousins, Pastor Kayode Elebiyo and Dr Toba Olusunle who he co-mentored, and Dr Ade Abanida, among others. You could see his excitement, the sheer joy of being able to engage with many people he hadn’t seen in years but who loved and respected him still.
He looked around the room as if searching for something. Ki ma’n se o olojo lo, Olusunle (what do I offer you on this your august visit, Olusunle)? “When you’re stronger, Prof, it will be my utmost delight to fete you to your favourite catfish peppersoup,” I joked with him and we both had a good laugh. After being with him for over two hours, I told him I would love to take a photograph with him as keepsake until our next meeting. He got up and wore a neatly-tailored top with exquisite pens peeping from the breast pocket. Me ma’n wo sokoto, (I won’t wear my trousers), he warned. Hinmi re, Prof, (never mind Prof), I reassured him as I requested Segun Sobogun to kindly take us a few photographs with my phone. “Tell Sobogun,” Prof Anjorin warned as Segun adjusted my phone to get a good angle, ewo’m e gbedo yo ninu foto ma fa, (my scrotum must not appear in this photograph) and we all had a good laugh.
We exchanged farewells and I assured Prof I’d see him on my next visit to Ilorin. He walked us to the tip of the stairs and pleaded not to have to go with us downstairs. We thanked him for receiving us so very warmly and reliving the memorable times we shared with him. Weeks later on December 2, 2025, Abanida sent me a post from the Nigerian Medical Association, (NMA), Kwara State branch, announcing the transition of Prof Anjorin. Just in case I hadn’t seen the post, Dr Abanida followed up with a call, both to notify me of the sad development and to commiserate with me knowing my very special relationship with Prof. Looking back now, I’m glad I saw him that Thursday October 16, 2025, in the course of my trip to Ilorin.
I first met Prof Albert Sunday Anjorin 45 years ago. My cousins, Kayode Elebiyo, Toba Olusunle and I, all wrote and passed our West African School Certificate Examination, (WASCE), in Division One, that same 1980, in our various schools in the old Kwara, Kaduna and Bendel states. My father, Pastor Jacob Adeniyi Olusunle, had relocated from Benin City to set up his own enterprise the year before and our new home in Ilorin was going to be the new hub for as many members of the family, immediate and extended, who desired a convenient environment for instruction, spiritual growth and educational advancement. Elebiyo was Head Boy of his alma mater, St Kizito’s College, Isanlu, in contemporary Kogi State, when 37-year old Anjorin was Guest Speaker at the prize giving day and graduation ceremony of his class in June 1980. The strikingly grey-haired, younger, dashing Dr Albert Anjorin who travelled from his desk at the fledgling University of Ilorin to speak to the youngsters, dazzled Elebiyo and his classmates with Oxford-style brilliance and erudition at the event.
As the “Olusunle trio” of Elebiyo, Toba and I sought to proceed with our education, we needed guidance, we needed mentoring. Elebiyo quickly remembered Anjorin and we went in search of him at the mini campus of the University of Ilorin one harmattan morning in 1980. He received us very warmly but advised us to visit him in his official quarters in GRA, Ilorin so we could have ample time to discuss. Since the three of us didn’t make the cut for the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Examination that year, he advised us to hasten to obtain application forms to enable us get places in the School of Basic Studies, (SBS), Kwara State College of Technology, Ilorin, where we would write the very highly regarded Cambridge University-moderated Higher School Certificate Examination, (HSC). We all got placements, even as we clutched to him as our pathfinder.
He wholly and totally adopted and indulged us. His doors were open, his car keys typically on a table in his living room. He shared beers very freely with us and regularly pampered us with sizzling peppersoup. One of those days we got to his house before him, we began depleting his stock of lager even before his arrival from work. Since there were 12 bottles in the fridge and there were four prospective consumers, the “Olusunle trio” and Anjorin, simple mathematics meant, were each entitled to three bottles. Since Anjorin didn’t return early and we needed to wait to see him, we cleared the stock. It was a thirsty Anjorin, confident he could refresh with a very cold drink on his return to his home, who came in shortly after.
He opened the fridge only to discover it had been emptied. He looked at all three of us, thoroughly exasperated and said in Yagba: “Ha, you these boys, you drank up a whole carton of beer including the few bottles which should be mine. Beer that I bought myself and kept to chill. I bet you, on this one, God will ask you questions!” We froze in our seats knowing the gravity of our offence. He walked to the kitchen, got himself a glass, inspected the bottles of beer we were just settling to consume and seized them. He poured himself a drink and told us we would be forgiven if we promptly replaced what we took “illegally.” We winked to ourselves as Toba dashed off to restock! Prof Anjorin had no space for bile and malice. He forgave whatever was thrown at him and just moved on.
Toba left for the primeval University of Ife, (now Obafemi Awolowo University), one year into our programme in SBS, Ilorin. Elebiyo and I visited him often and fell in love with the ambience and aesthetics of the campus. For the 1982 university entrance examination, we chose Ife so we could rejoin Toba. Once we didn’t make the first list, we both panicked. We went straight to Prof Anjorin. He acquitted himself on that occasion as the quintessential marketer for the burgeoning University of Ilorin. “Young men,” he addressed us. “But for your teenage fantasies about Ife, the new big thing in the Nigerian university system is Ilorin, okay. Some of the best academics from across the world, from across Nigeria, are congregating in Ilorin. We are maintaining very high standards comparable to, if not higher than Ife and UI, okay.”
Prof Anjorin continued. “I’m glad you both made your Cambridge HSC papers. Rather than wait endlessly to be admitted into 100 Level law in Ife, both of you should write to JAMB for change of university, change of course and admission into the direct entry class. Go and meet my friend, Tayo Adido, Admissions Officer in the Faculty of Arts and tell him you’re from Albert Anjorin. You resume in 200 Level. You can always go back to law if you want after your bachelors, okay. Elebiyo, once you get your admission letter from JAMB, walk to Hakeem Danmole in History and tell him you’re from me. Olusunle, report to Olu Obafemi once you resume in English. They are your lecturers, not your college fathers. They are tough scholars and they’ll keep an eye on you. Congratulations! All the best.” And that was it.
Anjorin was right. In Unilorin, I met some of the finest, most rigorous scholars who put me through the grindstone of thorough scholarship. Profs David Cook, (who mentored Ngugi wa Thiong’o); multiple award-winning Nigerian-American Tayo Olafioye; Prayag Tripathi, (who co-supervised my masters thesis); Stephen Lubega, and Russell Chambers, all of blessed memory, left lasting imprints on me. Emeritus Professor Olu Obafemi who has received almost every topmost honour for scholarship from institutions, academies and country, is thankfully very much around and well. I didn’t need to rethink the imperative to return to Unilorin shortly after completing the mandatory National Youth Service Corps, (NYSC), during which I continued to benefit from the goodwill and guidance of Prof Anjorin. By this time, I had developed a very keen interest in pursuing a career in journalism. I contributed regularly to The Guardian, Daily Times, The Herald and Nigerian Tribune, while working as a schoolteacher.
I shared with Prof Anjorin my career intention and asked if he knew Dr Yemi Ogunbiyi, who by then was Managing Director of the Daily Times of Nigeria Plc. Happily, Anjorin and Ogunbiyi were friends as students in the University of Ibadan in the 1960s. They also belonged to Sigma Club, a classy collective of like minds in their time. One of those evenings as I shared fellowship with Anjorin in his favourite watering hole, the “fish pond” in Adewole Estate, Ilorin, he put me on notice that he would be travelling to Lagos in a few days and I could come with him. I put my credentials together and created a file of the various articles which had been published in newspapers. That April morning in 1990, Prof Anjorin and I drove in his famous Peugeot 505 saloon car to Agidingbi, Ikeja, Lagos, the operational base of the organisation.
We met Dr Yemi Ogunbiyi and Anjorin introduced me to him in very flowery terms. Once Anjorin left us for his other pursuits in Lagos, Ogunbiyi put me through the briefest job interview I ever attended. “Yeah, Tunde, your uncle has just spoken very glowingly about you. How can you make Daily Times better?” I pulled out the file of some work I had done for The Guardian where Ogunbiyi had pioneered the very authoritative and robust literary section. My file included full-page interviews with David Cook; Zulu Sofola, Africa’s first female playwright; Oludare Olajubu, pioneer exponent of ewi egungun, and theatre reviews. In Daily Times, I had written about Emeritus Professors Niyi Osundare, Obafemi and so on. Ogunbiyi looked up from the file: “Are you the same Tunde Olusunle who has been writing these?” I answered in the affirmative. I was immediately hired!
In the course of my postgraduate work in Unilorin, I met my wife, Funmi. As our courtship blossomed, I introduced her to Prof Anjorin who had effectively become family. He kept close watch and once he discovered we were serious, he sent for me one of those evenings and asked that I come alone. As we sat to interrogate the victuals of aquatic delicacies, he spoke to me: “Olusunle, I may not be the best person to offer advice about marriage because my own marriage failed quite early. I can see that you’re serious about Funmi and I’m happy about that. But please note that very substantially, the responsibility for the success of a marriage, resides with the man. Keep that in an important place in your heart. And please invite me to your wedding when you eventually pick a date. Wora.” With the late Prof Tunde Ipaye, Nigeria’s first Professor of Guidance and Counselling, Prof Anjorin was co-chair of my wedding in Ibadan, in the early 1990s. He was such a rare breed.
Early 1997, I travelled to Ilorin to have a surgical procedure at the University of Ilorin Teaching Hospital, (UITH). I was Chief Press Secretary to the Military Administrator of Kogi State and was granted just enough time for the surgery, brief recuperation and resumption at work. After all pre-operation tests had been concluded, I was given a deferred date for the procedure. The official explanation was that medical students of the University of Ilorin were to write their examinations. Professors and consultants would all be involved and so my procedure could not proceed. Anjorin stepped forward. He met the Chief Medical Director, (CMD), and explained that the permit I was given by my boss in Kogi State was like a military pass. I was expected to be back on my desk on a particular date and he desired the hospital worked towards helping me achieve that. He requested that the surgery be conducted before the commencement of the examinations for the medical college. He promised to oversee my convalescence by co-opting consultants who were not necessarily engaged, during that examination window. Prof Anjorin’s intervention worked! He was that compassionate, that concerned about everyone.
Back in 2004, Chief Onyema Ugochukwu who was General Manager when I was employed during the tenure of Dr Yemi Ogunbiyi as Managing Director of Daily Times, proposed me for investiture with a revered traditional title in Abia State. My parents, Pastor and Deaconess Jacob Adeniyi Olusunle led the delegation. My father personally called and co-opted Prof Anjorin and designated him my “uncle,” apart from being special guest at the event. He travelled with my family all the way from Ilorin to Ekenobizi, Umuahia South in Abia State, to grace the occasion. He set aside his research, teaching and supervision of students within the period, just to honour me on that occasion. Prof Anjorin was so unusually selfless. For a man who did so much for others without scruples or strings attached, all he needed do was snap his fingers when his son, Olumide, was wedding in Kaduna, about a decade ago. Olaoye and Sobogun joined me in the old administrative headquarters of Northern Nigeria to support a man for whom doing good was second nature.
Whenever I sneaked into Ilorin and didn’t make it to his place to pay homage, I had to watch my back to avoid being “caught” by Prof Anjorin. After putting your “crime” to you, to use a legal term, he fined you on the spot. “Olusunle, you will be responsible for the next two bottles of Star I will be taking. And this comes with a well-appointed plate of peppersoup as you very well know.” He was that down-to-earth. Prof Anjorin was urbane, cultivated, genial and ebullient. He was compassionate, bohemian, extroverted and large-hearted. He was extremely witty, his laughter, infectious. His worldview was so broad, he had a perspective to virtually every subject on the floor, whether it was local or global. Simply put, Prof Anjorin was beyond mere mortal. He was indeed an icon. To say he will be missed is an understatement.
Rest well, Prof.
Tunde Olusunle, PhD, Fellow of the Association of Nigerian Authors, (FANA), is an Adjunct Professor of Creative Writing at the University of Abuja
