Prof Ben Nwabueze: I lost a father figure and a friend

Prof Ben Nwabueze: I lost a father figure and a friend

Prof Ben Nwabueze speaking at the 2018 TheNiche Lecture

Early this year, Mr. Damian Obiefule, Prof. Ben Nwabueze’s Secretary, called to say he wanted to see me.

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I was elated. The last time I saw him was at the 2018 TheNiche Lecture at the Nigerian Institute of International Affairs (NIIA). He sacrificed all to be at that lecture, spending well over two hours on Third Mainland Bridge, even as his health was failing.

In fact, I had pleaded with him two days earlier not to stress himself coming but he ignored my plea, insisting that he would be there even if on a wheelchair. And he came on a wheelchair. He was extremely faithful to friendship.

Shortly after that, the COVID-19 pandemic set in and I couldn’t visit again. So, when Damian called to ask when I would be free, I told him the next day.

Damian was our go-between. Anyone who knew Prof would attest to his peculiar telephone culture – he neither called nor picked calls directly. That was Damian’s remit.

And what an unusual visit it was. Usually, I would sit in the living room and wait for him to come down. But on that fateful day, as I meant to take my seat, Damian said Prof wanted to see me in his bedroom. He was lying down on his bed and immediately Damian announced my presence, there was a huge smile on his face and he opened his arms. I walked straight to the bed, bent down and he put his arms around me in a warm embrace, pulling me close to his chest.

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“Ike, thanks for coming,” he said, his voice husky. “How are you and how is TheNiche?”

“Prof, the privilege is mine. I am fine and TheNiche is thriving. How are you doing too? I just came to say hello and wish you well,” I responded.

Still holding me tightly, lying on the bed, he said, “I am good. Damian has been sending all your messages to me. I appreciate. Please take care of yourself.”

The visit lasted about five minutes and we said our goodbyes. When I got to the door, I looked back one more time. Our eyes locked briefly. The warmth in his eyes was indescribable. As I took my leave, I had a hunch that would be our last meeting. And it is!

I feel very sad at Prof’s death on Sunday, October 29, but I am not mourning. Only few men can beat their chests and say they achieved all they wanted in life as he did.

In our last interview in 2017, he said: “I don’t have any personal regrets. I have achieved all I wanted to achieve. At 86 what else could I want? I am satisfied.”

Nwabueze was born in the bucolic community of Atani, Anambra State and his birthday is a matter of conjecture as he narrated in his autobiography, Ben Nwabueze: His Life, Works and Times.

“Atani as an illiterate community at that time meant that there was no written record of my birth. There was no system of registration of births and deaths, and no certificate of either event.

“The recollections of old family members and certain events that occurred around the time were the usual means of ascertaining the dates of births in the village.

“These means indicate 1931 as the year of my birth, but the exact day and month in 1931 remain a matter of conjecture. The conjecture … fixes March as the month of my birth, probably 22nd March.”

Though the era defined him, when he admitted being “at bottom, a die-hard traditionalist,” it didn’t negate the fact that he was perhaps one of the most urbane, suave and gracious Nigerians schooled in all the nuances that define the present times.

Prof Nwabueze and Ikechukwu Amaechi

Nwabueze explained why and how he was able to straddle both worlds seamlessly.

“People may sometimes wonder how someone schooled in the ways and practices of the learned profession of law, in the ideas and processes of constitutional democracy, and generally in the values and norms of modern life, as I am, has also such strong attachment to African indigenous customs and traditions, as I have.

“The explanation lies partly in the deep respect I have for customs and traditions as an embodiment of the soul of a people, and partly in the fact that as a child growing up in Atani, I was actively involved and participated fully in its traditional and cultural life to such extent that my entire outlook, vision and personality were impregnated by the village’s customs and tradition, to such extent indeed as to make them part of me.”

He would therefore go home every year to celebrate New Yam Festival in style as a titled man.

That was Prof Nwabueze, a man who spent his entire life erecting solid foundation for enduring positive change, a man I had the rare privilege of being inducted into his hallowed loop of friends.

I was told by Damian that the man I revered from a distance fell in love with my column, Candour’s Niche, in the Daily Independent newspaper, which I edited at the time.

Then, he started quoting me in his own articles. The first time he did, I walked on the moon, literally.

Then, I got a call one day from his chambers for a meeting. He had written another book and wanted me to be part of the public presentation. That was the beginning of our very robust relationship.

Prof believed in friendship but at the same time didn’t suffer fools gladly. He was very principled and value-driven in his engagements.

He started inviting me to his house at Ajao Estate – first for interviews, then for lunch. With time, I will visit just to have a chat. One day I went with a friend, who was then a law student at the University of Lagos. He didn’t believe me when I told him we were going to see Prof Ben Nwabueze. In his presence, my friend was so star-struck that he became incoherent. That was the “Nwabueze effect.” Till date, my friend remains grateful for making it possible for him to have a handshake with the legendary constitutional lawyer.

An intellectual pugilist, he never ran away from any scholarly fight. He was cerebrally arrogant. And why not? But even in his arrogance, he elevated every discourse with superior argument.

When he agrees with you, he does not only stop at reading the article and nodding his head, he sends a “thank you letter.” When he disagrees, he does same or writes his own article.

When we were about to set up TheNiche, I hinted him but forgot to alert him when we hit the newsstands. When he eventually saw the newspaper, he was jubilant and quickly sent a mail.

“Dear Ike, what I saw of the publication, TheNiche, was superlative beyond description; it is not of course less than what I had expected. Congratulations!”

In celebration of his 85th birthday, he assembled some accomplished scholars to write a book in his honour and invited me to be part of the project.

Again, the ever ubiquitous email.

“Dear Ike, knowing how busy you must be putting materials together for future issues of TheNiche every Sunday, I have some trepidation in requesting you to undertake an assignment involving considerable study, thinking and writing.

“But I do want you to be part of a book project consisting of essays by various contributors, including yourself, with the title, Challenges of Good and Democratic Governance in Nigeria: Essays in honour of Professor Ben Nwabueze.

“The title of the chapter I would like you to write on is ‘The impact of jumbo remunerations for National Assembly members and the high cost of governance generally on good governance in Nigeria.’”

For me, it was not a mere request. It was an “order” from the Field Marshal of Intellectualism.

Then came another mail from him in 2016.

“I seek permission from TheNiche and yourself, as author of the article titled: Time to rethink Nigeria, to publish the article as appendix in my forthcoming book, The National Question & Corruption – With Form of Government as the third agitating issue. I would be pleased to get your approval as quickly as possible.”

Prof cared deeply. We had an interview with him once which we wanted to run in two editions. He was unsparing in his criticism of the Muhammadu Buhari government. We had published the first part of the interview which he saw but unfortunately the next week we went to press with the second part but the press stalled and we couldn’t print.

When he could not see the newspaper on the newsstands, he became agitated, afraid that the government may have clamped down on us. After several calls which I missed, he mandated Damian to track me down. When finally he got hold of me and I explained what happened, he was greatly relieved.

One day, he surprised me with a cheque for N200,000 unsolicited. “I know you spend a lot of money running this business. Please use this to print the next edition,” he wrote in a note attached to the cheque.” I will never forget that kind gesture.

That was the relationship I had with the learned professor whose children reverently called “Oduah,” and others “Akunnia.”

Nwabueze, as another great Igbo son, Professor MJC Echerou, noted was everything – “a junior civil servant, high school teacher, law student and teacher, solicitor and advocate in private practice, minister of education in military administration, legal adviser to a large multinational financial institution, adviser to a United Nations board of labour experts, and co-founder and for nearly three decades secretary general of Ohanaeze, the pan-Igbo cultural organisation.”

Then throw into the mix a haul of over 200 peer-reviewed articles, over 100 conference keynote speeches and at least 34 books, with the first, “The machinery of Justice in Nigeria,” published in 1963, the transcendental and mythical image Akunnia carved for himself looms large.

Though he had no personal regrets, he was greatly burdened that Nigeria still crawls at 63.

“I am disappointed for the nation,” he once said. “The country is not what I had expected it would be or what I thought I would leave behind when the time eventually comes. I regret that we don’t seem to have learnt from the point of view of good governance. I don’t think we have learnt what good governance means, what its demands and challenges are. Our founding fathers meant well but since that time, leadership has been disappointing, very disappointing.”

But the patriot he was, even in his disappointment, he wished Nigeria well till the end: “Hopefully,” he often told me, “one day a leader imbued with passion for revolution will emerge, not all these ones shouting ‘change, change’ without even understanding what change means. You can only have change when you have a leader imbued with a passion for change.”

Prof Nwabueze lived a charmed life. From his humble beginnings, he grew up to become perhaps Nigeria’s most authoritative legal export while at the same time dominating, in significant ways, the domestic legal environment, becoming the most quoted legal authority in Nigeria.

Akunnia humbly wanted to be “remembered as a poor village boy born of illiterate parents who knew the value of education … as a true patriot of Nigeria … as a man passionate about knowledge” when he is gone.

But he will be remembered for much more. Goodnight Oduah!