By Austin Oniyokor
How can I put my thoughts together when a part of me is gone? My friend, brother and benefactor, Comrade Ambassador Tunde Ayinde Oladunjoye (CATO) is gone the way of all mortals! But, how could this have happened so soon and suddenly? Yes, the surprise element maybe in the nature of death. But, it should not have been CATO!
On the 24th of February, 2025, you informed me that you had been on admission for five days at the Babcock University Teaching Hospital in Illishan, Ogun State. You quickly added that you would soon be discharged. I asked what was the diagnosis and you told me they said it was “shortage of blood”.
Three days later, precisely on the 27th of February, 2025, you informed me that you had been discharged. Typical of your workaholic self, while you were on the sick bed, you were preparing for the maiden outing of the Oniroyin Support Initiative (OSI), a non-governmental organisation that you envisioned in support of the families of deceased journalists. This initiative was so dear to your heart that you went straight from the hospital to its formal launch in Abeokuta, the Ogun State capital.
You also informed me that same day that you had earlier booked your ticket to travel for holiday on the 1st of March, 2025, which coincidentally was your 58th birthday. You added that the holiday would afford you the opportunity for further medical checkup.
Upon your arrival in the United Kingdom, we kept talking via calls and text messages. As always, while you were away, you ensured that you were in touch and on top of happenings at home. We compared notes and exchanged ideas on a number of projects and issues. You never betrayed any sign of illness.
As a devout yet liberal Muslim that you were, you partook of the fast in the Holy Month of Ramaddan. So, when on the 25th of March, 2025, you wrote that the fast was making a bundle of lace materials to look like “kilishi” in your eyes, I replied that you were not the only one that was seeing it like that. I never knew that was going to be the last message that you were going to read from me!
The next day, I started receiving calls and messages from people who wanted to confirm if what they had read, seen or heard on the social media was true. I was confused.
However, I told them I was not aware anything happened to you. I added that I knew you took ill sometimes in February but got well and travelled for holiday in the United Kingdom where your eldest child, Ruka resides.
Immediately I got off the phone with the first person, I called your line. It rang through but no one picked it. I called a couple of times; yet,there was no response.
At this stage, I became anxious. I called your Personal Assistant, Rasheed, who told me that although you suffered a relapse, you were responding to treatment. He added that we should keep praying for a quick recovery. And for the past 10 days or so, we have been praying, hoping and checking up, only to be hit with the sad and shocking news of your passage.
I had earlier called Rasheed at about 6p.m. yesterday to know if he had any update on how you were faring. I became a bit apprehensive when he said he called Ruka twice in the morning but she did not pick the calls and had not returned same. Disturbed. Yet, I was hopeful that nothing would go wrong. Now, the worst has happened!
My dear friend, brother and benefactor, Comrade (Ambassador)Tunde Oladunjoye is no more. Indeed, a part of me is gone.
Yes, he was a part of me. Ours was a relationship formed about 28 years ago at the Nigerian Institute of Journalism (NIJ), Ogba-Ikeja, Lagos. Although I was a year ahead of CATO at NIJ, I was attracted to him by his activism, brilliance and bluntness.
Tunde, as we called him, had a clique of highly cerebral and vocal friends like Uche Nnadozie, Olukorede (Sadiq) Yishau, Lere Olayinka and Segun Ikuesan. We became closer as students in 1998 when we began the struggle for the accreditation of the programmes at NIJ.
During the struggle for the accreditation of the programmes, you brought to bear your contacts in the human rights community such that Mr. Femi Falana, SAN; Mr. Nurudeen Ogbara, Mr. Olalekan Ojo and others handled our matter pro bono.
Since then, we have been together as brothers and friends, sharing a lot together – personally and professionally. Even when we belonged to different camps or disagree on issues and our approach to them, we always knew where to draw the lines such that our relationship, which was formed long ago as young students-activist, was not affected.
You were always there for as many whose paths crossed with yours. It was not that you were rich in naira and kobo. Indeed, you showed that being generous is not a function of how rich you are in naira and kobo. Rather, it is a function of how compassionate you are. You were ever giving, always willing and ready to put smiles on people’s faces.
How come death decided to snatch you away at this time? CATO, the journalist, poet, writer, human rights activist, publisher, politician and philanthropist, this is certainly not how to say goodbye!
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