Tag: Commandant

Once in a while, you read an obituary that makes you wish you knew the subject and had interacted with him closely.

That was how I felt on reading the obituary notices and the tributes that have been paid to the memory of General Timothy Babatunde Ogundeko, whose remains were buried this past weekend in his hometown Ijebu-Mushin, in Ogun State.

The one thing that shines through them is that they stemmed more from conviction than from duty.  The picture that emerges is of an exceptional figure.

President Muhammadu Buhari said Ogundeko ”will be long remembered for his towering role as an educationist and public administrator, who immensely contributed to the procedure and processes of training potential leaders in security and socio-political environment of Nigeria.”

To General TY Danjuma, the former Chief of Army Staff whom no one has ever accused of being extravagant with praise, Ogundeko was “simply the best Direct Commissioned Officer that ever served in the Nigerian Army.”

Danjuma, who should know, recalled that “all the professional soldiers who served with Timothy remember him as a mature and seasoned teacher who transformed the Nigerian Army Education Corps through his foresight, dedication, determination and diligence.”

The former Chief of Army Staff also remarked how Ogundeko facilitated the establishment of the Command Secondary Schools to meet the needs of the children of Army personnel, a feat soon copied by other armed services.

What is even more remarkable, Danjuma credits Ogundeko with changing the attitude of the officer corps toward continuous learning and the pursuit of knowledge.  In this respect, it can be said that Ogundeko was ahead of his time, persuaded that the army of the future had to be a knowledge-based institution.

Previously (1962-1972) Ogundeko had served as Commandant of the Nigerian Military School, Zaria, where he also taught chemistry.

Given his profile, and how heavily the ruling military regime was invested in the project, Ogundeko seemed an obvious choice to head the Nigerian Institute for Policy and Strategic Studies, Kuru, Plateau State, at its founding in 1979.

That was a time of heady optimism in Nigeria, where everything seemed no merely possible but splendidly attainable.  Money was no problem; the problem, as General Yakubu had formulated it, was how to spend it.

Ogundeko retired from the position of Director-General and from the Army on health grounds – his eyesight was failing – in 1981.  He was aged only 49 years.  Though brief, his tenure can be regarded as a substantial part of the glory days of NIPPS.

Nomination to its well regarded Senior Executive Course for ranking military and police officers,  civil servants and officials from the organised private sector was highly prized.  Certification from the Institute, which had some of the nation’s best academics on its faculty, was a mark of achievement.

Over time, NIPPS became a haven for coup plotters and a half-way house to retirement for public servants who had minds of their own (Nuhu Ribadu, former chair of the EFCC, is one of the more  notorious recent examples). Funding shrank to the point that, like the universities, NIPSS is now a shadow of what it used to be.

Command at the Nigerian Military School, Transformation of the Nigerian Army Education Corps, establishing the Command Secondary Schools and guiding NIPPS to a good start and nurturing it through its infancy:  These were achievements enough, but they were not what made Ogundeko exceptional.

What made him truly exceptional is to be found in the full page obituary in this newspaper (August 10, p. 32) placed by students of the Nigeria Military School, Zaria, where he taught chemistry and served as Commandant before going to head the army’s Education Corps.

Signed by “Senator (Dr) David A.B. Mark, GCON, President of the 6th and 7th Senate of the Federal Republic of Nigeria” for and on behalf of 50 living and 22 deceased “ex boys” of the NMS Class of 1966 – a troubling attrition rate, by the way — the tribute recalled how, even as a Major, well before he became the school’s Commandant, Ogundeko was a “father figure.”

At the time of the January 1996 coup, Senator (Dr) Mark recalled on behalf of his contemporaries, there were “strong rumours” that the NMS was going to be attacked.  Here, in Mark’s own words, is his testimony of how Ogundeko reacted:

“In his characteristic fatherly role, he gathered all of us in a classroom and said ‘anybody who wants to attack the School has to kill me first.’  He remained with us for two days.”

Mark described Ogundeko as “a role model who led by example” and as a patriot whose patriotism was “beyond reproach.”  And Ogundeko’s wife was just as solicitous of the well-being of NMS students, laughing with them when they laughed and crying with them when they cried.

Nor did Ogundeko’s fatherly disposition towards his students end when they were no longer under his charge.  Here again is David Mark:

“(Ogundeko) followed our progress very closely, monitored and mentored us while we were in the Nigerian Defence Academy and as commissioned officers.  He continued his fatherly role long after we retired and until his last day. . . He was always willing and ready to listen to complaints and assist us as much as possible.”

It was fitting indeed that at their 2009 reunion, the NMS Class of 1966 honoured him as a Patriot. I hope they did more than that.  I hope they asked on that occasion and thereafter what they could do for their esteemed teacher and father-confessor, not what he could do for them.  Ogundeko was unlikely to have made such a demand of them anyway, given that he lived, according to Mark, “a simple and contented life.”

But come to think of it, why should a teacher not gently pull aside those former students who are forever seeking letters of reference or introduction or an endorsement or professional advice or assistance in finding a new job:  Why can’t one gently pull them aside and say to them slowly and deliberately, with due acknowledgement to President JF Kennedy’s gifted speechwriter, Ted Sorensen:   Ask not what your former teacher can do for you; ask what you can do for your former teacher?

To my former students reading this piece:  Don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning.

Back to Ogundeko:  For his labours, he was named an Officer of the Federal Republic (OFR), the nation’s fifth highest honour.  They did well to remember him but he deserved better in a country where higher national distinctions are routinely conferred on public officials, not for any great or even significant achievement, but for holding certain positions at the right time.

There are probably hundreds, perhaps thousands of Ogundekos in Nigeria today.  It should not take an obituary by those who know them well to make us appreciate the exceptional service they rendered when they lived among us.