AS preparations progress for the May 3, 2025 interment of the elder statesman and patriot, Chief Ayo Adebanjo, on May 3, 2025, we begin the serialisation of his autobiography titled: Telling It As It Is.
Chapter 1
In the Beginning
Salamatu Odubanke, my mother, was graceful and regal. Her success as a trader selling fabrics to Ijebu-Ode high society in the 1920s made her very attractive to men.
But she had a nagging problem. She could not conceive, and twice her marriage had hit the rocks because of this. Without a husband (what the Yoruba call ‘crowning glory’) and a child, the highly prized ‘fruit of marriage’, people snigger and sneer at you.
At this time, my mother was already in her mid-30s, and very worried about leaving the world unfulfilled, without a seed. But she never lost hope. She prayed for her own man, one whom she would keep till death separated them; who would plant happiness and joy in her bosom, and give her what she had desired all her adult life. Her prayers were fervent and deep-rooted, soul-stirring, even very desperate, but she was not despondent. She hardly showed her pains and never felt frustrated enough to take any silly steps.
My mother wanted a husband and a child more than anything else in this world. She was ready to trade her success in business for it. Joel Adebanjo Adedairo, who eventually became my mother’s suitor and my father, the tall, street savvy gentleman who was handsome to boot, had been biding his time.
He was a goldsmith, and also plied his trade in Ijebu-Ode (then one of the provinces of the Western Region), whose people are reputed as shrewd business men and women and love parties and revelry.
Being a good jeweller, my father was patronised by fashionable men and women of the society and this probably was one of the things that attracted my mother to him.
Besides, he was sartorial and clearly stood out as one of the best-dressed men of his age, with a gold necklace to boot.
Despite this, however, people still sniggered at the relationship. Apart from the fact that my mother was older (she belonged to the Oba b‘Eko Age Group, 1893-1896, while he was one of the pillars of the Obalolaiye Age Group,
1897-1900), there was a social distinction between them.
Even my father’s friends warned him, pointing out plainly that he was pushing his luck too far; that he was being too ambitious; that he wanted to start what he could not finish, but he was undeterred. After all, she would only say yes or no, and that way it would be clear where he stood.
One of the things against my father was his village background; what city dwellers regard with veiled disdain as ‘egure’ man (someone from the hinterland), whereas my mother was from Ijebu-Ode township, the capital city of the Ijebus.
Unknown to the detractors, however, although my father was from the village (Okelamuren, in the present Odogbolu Local Government Area of Ogun State), he had been truly urbanised through years of association with friends from the city. He moved with the elite of Ijebu-Ode who patronised his jewelry business.
My mother was from a renowned Muslim family (Anomo family of Agunshebi in Ijebu-Ode) while my father was a Christian.
In the end, Joel Adebanjo Adedairo won Salamotu Odubanke’s heart; they got married! But, as with the previous cases, the new couple became agitated about children. By this time in the late 1920s, some of my mother’s peers were already becoming grandmothers. This was indeed worrisome, but faith encouraged her to keep hope alive, that someday she too would experience the joy of childbirth and motherhood.
Their miracle actually rolled out before their eyes. Not too long after their marriage, my mother became pregnant. No trouble whatsoever. Better late than never, as I could have been a grandchild if they had a child early enough. My arrival elicited great joy within our small community. Okelamuren rocked.
A son had been predicted long before the baby’s arrival. It was at the death of Madam Ogbesemowo, my grandmother (the renowned trader, Joel Adebanjo Adedairo’s mother) that a dream was narrated. In the dream, my mother was pregnant and delivered of a baby boy named Ayo.
When the dream was being recounted, my mother was many months gone, almost with a protruding belly. Pregnant! But the dreamer was not aware.
This is the background to my life that, without scanning, my s3x was determined and the name given!
And so, on Tuesday, April 10, 1928 in the compound of the Adebanjos (Itun Oluwo, Ogbo-Okelamuren), a wailing child came into the world, born in the house, not in a hospital, by traditional midwives. He was christened Samuel Ayodele Adebanjo, but everyone called him Ayo.
However, long after my birth, when I should have been up and about, running and falling, and getting up again and happy to be on my feet, I was still crawling, on all fours, like an infant. I should have been walking like all toddlers, darting and dashing, and full of mischief and pranks.
I was ill and people in the village could not readily determine what was wrong. Eventually, they discovered that I was a product of Orisa Ala and, pronto, they went to work, made all necessary propitiation before the deity and applied the traditional concoction. I was force–fed this until I regained my strength, colour and limb.
I was strong again, began to totter and walk erect, and did things peculiar to my age.
I was very lucky, they later told me. If the propitiation had not been made and the concoction had not been mixed and applied on time, I would have ended up a hunchback. I would have had the disadvantage of being ‘disabled’ (what the urbane refer to as ‘physically challenged’) and the predicament of not being able to compete well in life.
I learnt later that I had good breeding with an enviable lineage to the bargain. From my paternal side, my grandfather, Adedairo Bada was a renowned herbalist, popular near and far, and very well respected in all the villages around Okelamuren. An area spanning Ikofa to Abapawa, Isanya Ogbo, Iken, Odoagameji, Ibido Imaweje, Ijagun, Ilarowo and Ibehin. He was married to Ogbesemowo, the successful trader (the first woman to build a house with corrugated iron sheets adorning the roof in Okelamuren where I was born).
Between them were three children – Uncle Martins Oguneyingbo (who was a farmer), Abigail Bodunrin (whose skill as an agidi pap trader was well known beyond her domain), and Joel Adebanjo Adedairo (my father).
I recall going to the farm with Uncle Martins before I came to Lagos when I was about 4-5 years old. I knew both my uncle and aunty very well. I spent few holidays with them and enjoyed their guardianship, love and warmth. I relished the companionship of my cousins, Alphonso and Adelaja Oguneyingbo and Alfred Bodunrin (Alphonso was an apprentice goldsmith in my father’s outfit in later years). I was always treated as one of their own.
At home I was never short of love. I remained the only child of my mother (though she got pregnant again, delivered a baby boy but lost the tot before he could be christened). Being an only child, however, did not mean that I was spoilt or permitted to throw tantrums.
I was never allowed to misbehave. Though fawned over, and given a lot of attention, I was brought up in the best traditions, constantly guided aright, and disciplined when I went astray or wide off the mark.
I was taught morality, decency and boldness. My father was especially fond of me. He wasted no time in teaching me the rudiments and essence of life: how to be fair to all and do the right thing; how to become an ‘omoluabi’ (a refined soul with enviable manners and good form). I learnt well and fast.
So, anytime I was involved in a fight or a quarrel, my father knew I was reasonable and well-behaved enough and was only upset or angry because of an infringement. Justice glowed in my heart; it was my watchword. My father was proud of me, always on my side.
But you couldn’t say that about my half-brother, Lawrence Adebisi Adebanjo. He didn’t have my kind of patience and my father wouldn’t come to his defence in a fight without listening to both parties. Lawrence was an elder brother from my father’s second wife, Lucia Adebanjo.
The senior wives were both traders, but they were not as successful as my mother was.
While my parents (Salamotu and Joel) lived at Okelamuren and worked in Ijebu-Ode, I was attending primary school, Christ School, in Okelamuren and enjoying my early years; just happy to leave the house, mix and play with my age mates, carefree, with no worry in the world.
My parents, however, were apprehensive, anxious about the future. They worked on a better tomorrow for the family. They wanted a larger space, to operate as goldsmith and trader respectively with an expansive customer base. Also, to get the opportunities available outside of the province, outside of Ijebu-Ode or its environs.
Lagos, the commercial and economic heart of Nigeria, was more than appealing. Many of their kith and kin were already relocating to Eko (as Lagos was fondly called then), enjoying a new life, a worthwhile novel beginning.
My parents decided to give it a try, to move to the centre where everything appeared to be happening in the early 1930s.
My father led the way, arriving Lagos and preparing to resettle the family in the heart of the flurry. And Mama Ayo, my mother, along with myself, also left Okelamuren, initially for Ijebu-Ode, where we boarded a bus to Ikorodu Port. From the port, a ferry owned by Owolowo and Ricketts sailed to Idumagbo, on Lagos Island, where we were to begin a new life full of opportunities and promise.
Lagos, the wondrous metropolis, was the place everyone, those with high hopes, ambition and drive, wanted to be. Eko Ile was for the lion-hearted and courageous, those seeking glorious opportunities and greener pastures, willing to work hard and smart, those serious enough to bend down and ‘pick the gold on the streets’, willing to find worthwhile pursuits, livelihoods and fortune.
A far cry from Okelamuren and Ijebu-Ode, it was a city with a master plan, where everything appeared to be in order and organised. Many of the streets were well laid out and paved. The houses were better built and more beautiful, some even sprawling and majestic. There were many tourist spots and leisure arenas.
I remember the Bar Beach where weekly Sunday rendezvous were regularly staged, with fun seekers either picnicking, swimming in the ocean or horse-riding. There was the Marina, with a park where you could relax, unwind and wish all your troubles away, listen to the waves and breeze;. There was another park on Ajasa Street and Rowe Park, away from the Island, near Ebute-Meta on the Mainland.
There was the Supreme Court in Tinubu, where legal luminaries in sombre colours of seriousness – black and white, with their wigs and gowns – congregated.
Some short distance away was Broad Street Prison (now Freedom Park) which kept those who strutted on the wide street, who avoided the narrow path of glory, behind bars. At at times the prison became the temporary accommodation of freedom fighters, patriots and activists.
Lagos was the centre of governance, what they called government business; and also the headquarters of the country’s economy and commerce.
Nothing I had seen in my first six years on earth compared to it. The Lagos of 1934 was a pleasant and exciting place to live and earn your wages. It was bustling and full of beautiful people; a colourful medley. Those high up, rubbing shoulders with white men, and those aiming to settle among the upper class. Everyone could have a go at his ambition. Well populated by more desirable elements, with miscreants and hoodlums few and far between, and crime was negligible.
Affluent Nigerians resided in the heart of Lagos Island and the well-appointed parts of town. They were politicians, professionals or civil servants and businessmen.
There were different kinds of areas, depending on your status and income, and there were already legions of prominent Nigerians at this time – doctors, lawyers, engineers, journalists and successful entrepreneurs and technocrats. Even freedom fighters – those publishing newspapers to demand for equality and freedom.
We had Alex Taylor (leader of the Bar who was then known as the ‘cock’ of the Bar and father to J.I.C. Taylor, who became the Chief Judge of Lagos State and a Supreme Court Justice), H.O. Davies, M.O. Magnus Williams (a columnist with West African Pilot whose column titled
‘Between Ourselves’ was very pungent), Eric Moore (father of Ladipo Moore), Adeyemo Alakija (the first President of Egbe Omo Oduduwa), the legendary Nnamdi Azikiwe (whose column, ‘Inside Stuff’, in West African Pilot founded by him on November 22, 1937, was a must-read), Mbonu Ojike (alias ‘Boycott the Boycottables’) and Sir Herbert Macaulay.
There was already Lagos Daily News (promoted by Sir Herbert Macaulay in 1925) and the Daily Times (which was established on June 6, 1925 by Messrs V.R. Osborne, L. A. Ariher, R. Barrow and Adeyemo Alakija with the publication debuting on June 1, 1926).
In the same class was the Daily Service, founded by the Nigerian Youth Movement with such names as Ernest Ikoli, Ladoke Akintola and Bolaji Odunewu (brother of Alade Odunewu, better known as ‘Allah Dey’ in his celebrated newspaper column). It was easy to see that you could excel and prosper if you were educated, dogged and focused.
Unlike in Isanya Ogbo, Okelamuren or Ijebu-Ode where you could count the number of schools under one breath, there were numerous elementary, secondary and technical schools in Lagos in the mid-1930s.
It was easier to conclude your preliminary education and proceed abroad, to Europe or America and train as a professional. Lagos was the land of opportunities and choices.
My parents were determined to make the best of these opportunities, and eager to sacrifice as much as possible. They were willing to go the extra, painful and strenuous mile.
From our own house at Okelamuren, we began anew in Lagos in a rented apartment in Olowogbowo quarters, a tenement building (what we call ‘face-me-I-face-you’), with many rooms on two rows. These rooms had their doors almost facing each other with a ‘passage’ in the middle, running from the main door through the back of the house. At the back there would be a common kitchen, a bathroom and toilet (and you took turns to use these conveniences).
Your room was your own space, your refuge, where you could do almost anything you wanted. But they hardly escaped your neighbours’ notice. They heard your conversations and partook in your quarrels or fights. They could hear you munching, from the passage or their rooms. They knew when your fortunes changed, when you cooked a new pot of soup or stew.
They knew when you skipped meals, when you were sick and down. They could keep track of your movements, your actions. They knew you through and through. Privacy was a scarce commodity.
The compound and the ‘common rooms’ were kept clean by each family, one after another, according to a roster agreed upon by consensus.
And it was in such compounds in Olowogbowo area, at first on 14, Bishop Street (now Issa Williams Street, named after Justice Fatai Williams’ father), later on Daddy Alaja Street and eventually on 67 Marina (near the old Niger House), all on Lagos Island, that we settled.
While my father re-established himself as a goldsmith of note, attending to the engaging glamour set and well-settled icons of that era, with a shop in front of our house, Mama Ayo changed her line of business entirely. She set up shop in Idumota, on Bajulaiye Street, the centre of small-scale merchandising where wares were exhibited and sold.
All sorts of things were displayed in Idumota and many people from all corners and beyond came here to buy whatever they needed. It was the warehouse of almost anything you could think of.
Instead of the fabrics (textiles) that was her major forte in Ijebu-Ode, the business that made her well off, comfortable and desirable, my mother changed to provisions (what’s today called groceries) in Idumota where she went at dawn and returned home at dusk every day except on Sundays.
I was only seven years old but already fascinated by Lagos. In fact, I was enraptured by the magnificence of it all. My parents not willing to take any chances, quickly enrolled me at St Saviour’s School (founded by Chief J.O. Osibogun who also later established Otubu Memorial School in Ijebu-Ode) in 1935. I left the following year for Holy Trinity School, Ebute-Ero where Mr. M.A. Osanyin (who later became a clergyman) was the headmaster. He was succeeded by Chief S.O. Adenubi, father of Prof. Mrs Oyin Elebute. Fondly called ‘L’ogun L’Eko, Adenubi was the longest-serving headmaster of Holy Trinity and was also a businessman. M.A. Abosede (father of industrialist, Mr. Olu Abosede of Aboseldehyde Industries’ fame) was also my class teacher in standard 3 in 1941. He later left to join Government Press on Broad Street.
And here, I began to discover myself. When I was being admitted, I was handed over to Mr. W.O. Osilaja, himself an Ijebu man, who was somehow related to my mother. Osilaja was the headmaster of the Infant School.
The teacher took me under his wing and encouraged me to join the Wolf Cub (in the mould of Boys’ Scout and Boys’ Brigade), where he doubled as the cub master.
Mr. Osilaja persuaded parents who could afford the uniform to enrol their children as cubs. The uniform was a green shirt and khaki shorts. Among other members were Ladipo Ogunmekan, Abiodun Osisanya, Siji Osisanya and Abiodun Oni-Orisan. I enjoyed myself thoroughly as a cub, and I was always eager to don my uniform. We went to camp occasionally. There were cub meetings on Wednesdays and Thursdays.
At the Wolf Cub, we were taught how to serve the society better, how to be better citizens and leaders of tomorrow.
We also learnt many practical things, including first aid and how to tie wool knots; what to do in emergencies, especially during fire and accidents.
Members were sometimes on parade ahead of scouts or brigades, during special occasions. At church harvest and thanksgiving, we partook in some activities, led to the altar by our cub masters.
There were many advantages of being a member of the Wolf Cub, but the most exciting was when we went camping. Apart from being away from the watchful gaze of our parents, the prying eyes of our neighbours and the tyrannical stare of teachers, we were amidst youngsters like ourselves. We enjoyed some freedom and learnt a few things. We were also admired by those who couldn’t have such an experience. Going once as far as Ikenne (near Ijebu-Ode) with both a camp master and a scoutmaster in charge, ensuring that all went well with no mishap; camp was more than fun.
I remember when we went to Makoko, near Herbert Macaulay Street, Yaba. We went at the weekend.
We were in the bush and, in the night, we set up campfire. The impression then was that the campfire would scare away dangerous animals. It was very interesting and exciting.
I could be described as an average student. I took my education seriously and was determined to use education as a platform for a better life. My favourite subjects were English Language, Religious Knowledge, Literature and History. My mathematics was not too good.
READ ALSO: A peep into an ancestry through Pa Ayo Adebanjo’s eyes
and then