By Folu Olamiti
This is a tribute to Segun Awolowo, now gone to the world beyond. I remain in a daze, struggling to accept that I will not see him again until we meet at the feet of our Lord Jesus Christ. It is difficult-and painfully surreal-to write a tribute to a younger brother who, only a few weeks ago, told me he was getting better and that I would soon see him in Abuja. Those words lifted my spirit after months of silence. His passing is traumatic, devastating and deeply disorienting. He was ebullient, cerebral, sociable and profoundly religious. To imagine that a man in his early sixties could suddenly kiss the canvas is heartbreaking.
My first encounter with Segun traces back to 1984, during the nationwide campaign tours of his grandfather, Chief Obafemi Awolowo. On one of the Kaduna legs, young Segun joined the campaign train while on vacation. I was Tribune’s Chief Reporter on Papa’s entourage, with the rare privilege of flying in his chopper to remote communities. Inside that chopper was Segun, bearing Papa’s unmistakable eyes. As soon as Papa saw me, he introduced him and, half-teasing, asked me to keep an eye on him. Segun protested immediately, and Papa burst into laughter. I can still see that radiant set of teeth as he laughed. That simple, tender moment marked the beginning of a friendship that endured for life.
No tribute to Segun would be complete without recalling his early ambition to become a successful lawyer like his grandfather, and his later desire to venture into politics. From his days at Ago Iwoye to the establishment of his law chamber in Lagos and his eventual public-service years in Abuja, he never drifted from my orbit. Whenever I faced challenges-whether in journalism or public service-he stood firmly by me, without hesitation. And I did the same for him. Many assumed Segun lived a life free of worries. He did not. He carried burdens, and he often sought my counsel, which I gave gladly and without reservation.
Segun valued education with a near-sacred seriousness, especially regarding his children. He ensured they followed the strong academic legacy that ran through their father and grandfather. He lived as a responsible father and a doting grandfather. He cared deeply for his siblings, who looked up to him as a rallying point and a moral compass. Segun touched countless lives. He once confided in me the number of young people from poor backgrounds he had sponsored through higher institutions—quiet acts of kindness he never publicised.
In public service, Segun brought glamour, intellect and fresh imagination. He left clear, deliberate footprints in every office he occupied. He loved to travel, enjoyed meeting people and built networks that cut across ethnic and social lines. He had explored many parts of the world and was already putting finishing touches to his memoirs when death intervened.
My deepest concern today is for his mother, Abbah, whom he loved with an intensity that defined him. I pray that God comforts her in this painful hour, grants her the grace to bear the weight of losing her only son, and strengthens her in ways only heaven can.
And so, this tribute closes with a simple truth: Segun came into this world, he saw, and he conquered. The lesson for all of us is timeless-it is not how long we live, but how well.
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