Opinion

Tributes to Dr. Segun Osoba and Abosede Oluwayemisi

Published

2 months ago

August 5, 2026

By Bola BOLAWOLE,

Dr. Segun Osoba, Marxist scholar and historian, was one of my mentors and role models. Our paths crossed long before I came face-to-face with the enigma at the then University of Ife, now Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, where he not only taught me courses in the History department, but was also our staff adviser and comrade.

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Cerebral and unflinchingly principled, Osoba snubbed the usual hussle, if I may call it that, of many academics to attain to the professoral status, preferring to remain “Dr.” even though everyone knew he was not the mate of many a professor!

For me, Osoba’s fame travelled far ahead of him. Appointed by the Murtala Muhammed regime into the Constitution Drafting Committee in October 1975, Osoba, together with his ideological soulmate, Dr. Bala Usman of the History department of the Ahmadu Bello University (ABU), Zaria, broke ranks with the other members of the CDC to author a people-oriented draft Constitution that made the Nigerian people’s interests, aspirations and well-being its focal point. It was termed the Minority Report.

Expectedly, the conservative Olusegun Obasanjo regime that succeeded Murtala Muhammed rejected the Osoba/Bala Usman report while accepting the report of the majority members of the CDC on September 14, 1976. The CDC was chaired by Chief FRA Williams.

The majority/minority report divide apart, the CDC was not without its controversies: The sage, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, had declined to serve on the committee, thereby reducing its members from 50 to 49. There was also the debate as to what would have been the choice of a much more radical Murtala Muhammed had he not been assassinated on February 13, 1976.

Specifically because of Osoba and Bala Usman, I chose to study History in the university! And I was fortunate to drink from the fountain of knowledge at the feet of Dr. Osoba on and off the classroom. As comrades, our relationship did not end at Ife; usually, comradeship is a life-long endeavour.

In late December 2023, after a spell of ‘long-time-no-see’, four of us old students/comrades of Comrade Osoba decided to visit him at his Ijebu-Ode residence – Femi Falana, SAN; Ambassador Ayo Olukanni; Kayode Komolafe (K.K.) and my humble self.

Comrade was still his very sharp and humorous self. Despite his health challenges, he still “recognised” each and everyone of us by our voice. We discussed for hours and it was amazing that ill-health spared his intellect. He was his familiar self – analytical, even if caustic, going down memory lane and recalling facts and figures as if he was reading them from a book spread out before him.

We promised to return. Unfortunately, we procrastinated, despite Olukanni’s repeated prodding. But as individuals, we attended his 90th birthday celebration held at Ijebu-Ode on 9th January, 2025. His book, “Critical and Contentious Issues in the Modern and Contemporary History of Nigeria: Collected Writings of Samuel Olusegun Osoba”, which was unveiled at the occasion, adorns my Library. See also my “Tributes to Comrade (Dr.) Segun Osoba at 90”, published in this column in the Wednesday, 15 January, 2025 edition of the New Telegraph newspaper.

Dr. Osoba passed away peacefully at home in Ijebu-Ode on 14 May, 2026. A flurry of activities by comrades from all the nooks and crannies of this country as well as abroad celebrated his life, extolled his virtues, pledged to continue the struggle from where he stopped, and bid him farewell from this earthly plane. In this were the words of Che Guevara fulfilled: “Wherever death may surprise us, let it be welcome, provided that this, our battle cry, may have reached some receptive ear and another hand may be extended to wield our weapons (Message to the Tricontinental, 1967).”

I was unable to participate fully in some of the activities because of the tragedy that fell at my doorsteps at about the same time.

First, my elder sister’s husband, Gabriel Alani Olusola Omiyale, died on June 11, 2026 at the age of 89 years. He was a mentor. Then came the bombshell: His daughter – and my sister’s second child, Abosede Oluwayemisi – died the same month on June 29th at the age of 54!

That was massive! To say we were devastated is an understatement. If the pains that attended Bose’s death remain indescribable, the ways and manners of her husband and his family immediately before and after her death remain a puzzle. They rubbed insults on our injury.

They desecrated our Yoruba customs and traditions. Bose had heroically battled the scourge of breast cancer; after undergoing an operation, we were all optimistic she was on the path to full recovery until tests showed she needed more medical attention.

Naturally, she was devastated but, gradually, she built up the confidence and strength required to see her through. No stone was left unturned by her extended family who did not leave the load for the husband and his family to carry. All hands were on deck.

The extended family had always been there for Bose. Her siblings had been wonderful; never allowing her husband’s unstable job situation to show or affect Bose’s treatment and other needs, including her children’s education and welfare. I also played my part. I am grateful to everyone who responded to our clarion call in many ways.

We were hopeful we would all pull through it and that Bose’s case would be another testimony that cancer can be beaten. All she needed – as much as medicare – were words of encouragement and support. That, however, became the weakest link!

Act one: Against the best advice of her mother, my niece was made to consume a concoction that turned the tide. According to her husband, the concoction was procured by his own brother in Akure, Ondo state, taken to a church for prayers after which it was dispatched through a motorpark! Bose drank this concoction and started vomiting. In his own testimonies, Bose’s husband took her to a hospital where she was given drips, which gave her some strength, but because the doctor was late in coming, he took her back home despite the fact that the test they ran indicated that she had a blood infection! That night at home, she started vomiting again and, according to the husband’s testimony, he took her again to the hospital by 1.30am. She was left unattended until late afternoon when she fell into a coma! Bose’s blood infection was never treated until she passed away!

Act Two: Our standard practice had been to always double-check whatever a doctor said or prescribed, but on this fatal day, Bose’s husband kept all of us in the dark. We were not told of the blood infection. We were not alerted when she started vomiting again in the night. We were not informed when he took her again to the hospital. According to him, Bose walked with her own legs into the hospital, climbing the row of stairs all by herself.

Act Three: At the hospital, the husband took Bose’s phone and locked it in the car parked downstairs. So she had no access to her phone – to call out or receive in-coming calls. She was held incommunicado. And there was no one else there with the husband and wife. He called noone; he also snubbed repeated incoming calls into his own phone, including from my elder sister, who is Bose’s mother.

Act four: Later that afternoon, the husband called me to say Bose was not responding to treatment and that I should start interceding for her. I was aghast! I had been waiting all day for them to link up with me for a scheduled appointment. Later, a female voice using the husband’s phone called me to quickly come to the hospital. I was on my way there when Bose’s second child, a girl writing exams at the Obafemi Awolowo University, called me, sobbing! “Daddy, what is happening to my Mom? My Daddy called me and said my Mummy is in coma” Coma! “Yes, sir”, the girl replied, “and my Daddy said my Mummy is dead!” I almost lost control of the wheel because I was driving.

Act Five: On getting to the hospital, they had already started embalming Bose! I screamed at the husband, but the hospital staff restrained me. Why the haste? Without any of her family members present! A thousand thoughts ran riot in my head. At 6.28 pm, Bose’s mortal remains were deposited in the morgue and we left.

Act Six: While we were agonizing about how to break the sad news to Bose’s mother, her husband and his family had posted Bose’s death on every conceivable social media platform, breaking the news to her young children, the oldest of whom is just a little over 20 years while the youngest is 14!

Act seven: We the siblings of Bose’s mother wanted a decent burial for her. We wanted her dreams and visions for her children respected. Bose’s husband and his family spurned all of that! They weaponized Bose’s young children against us. They threw their so-called customs and traditions in our face at every turn – as if the Yoruba have no customs and traditions. They employed deceit and subterfuge and hurriedly committed Bose to mother earth without any of her family members present! We warned! They ignored and played games!

Google says Edema is a name answered by both the Urhobo and Itsekiri people of Delta state. Does their culture permit the trumping of Yoruba customs and traditions? Should a husband boast to his children – while their mother was still battling cancer – that, if she dies, he will remarry? So, expect his wedding invitation!

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Had Bose died of cancer, our pains would have been less insufferable; but she did not! Were they tired of the stress and wanted closure so they could move on with their own life? Hastened to her death! Hurried to the grave! This is to put the records straight. Our immediate attention, however, is the good health of Bose’s mother – and Daddy Omiyale’s burial slated for 29th and 30th of October this year.

Let Dr. Segun Osoba rest in power! And eternal rest grant Abosede Oluwayemisi Edema (nee Omiyale), O Lord!

(Published in the TREASURES column on the back page of the Wednesday, 5 August, 2026 edition of the New Telegraph newspaper).

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Opinion

Tegbe’s 24-Hour Energy Zones and the Shift From Megawatts to Money

Published

1 week ago

October 2, 2026

Mariam Balogun

By Sufuyan Ojeifo,

There is a point at which a country’s electricity problem ceases to be merely an electricity problem. It becomes a problem of economic geography.

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Where can factories operate with confidence? Where can businesses plan beyond the next appearance of a generator? Where can hospitals, schools, technology companies, markets and households begin to organise their lives around the reasonable expectation that electricity will be there?

This is the thinking behind the latest initiative from the Minister of Power, Joseph Tegbe, to develop what the Federal Government calls Energy Zones – defined corridors where homes, businesses and industries could receive stable, 24-hour electricity.

The proposed zones cover the Lagos axis, the Abuja-Kaduna-Kano corridor and the Enugu-Port Harcourt corridor. Tegbe’s latest move is a meeting with selected electricity distribution companies to begin working through what it would take to make the idea real.

At first glance, it sounds like another promise of uninterrupted electricity in a country that has heard too many such promises. However, there is something more consequential in the architecture of the proposal.

Tegbe is asking Nigerians to look at the power problem differently.

For years, the national conversation has been dominated by generation. How many megawatts are being produced? How much can the transmission grid carry? How many generating plants are working? These are important questions. But electricity does not become useful simply because it has been generated.

It must travel. It must be received. It must be distributed. And ultimately, somebody must be able to use it. That last part has often been treated as the end of the conversation when, in reality, it is where the economic value of electricity begins.

Tegbe has put the point plainly. The constraint is not limited to generation and transmission; it also includes how much electricity can be taken up and delivered at the distribution end.

The proposed Energy Zones are intended to address precisely that gap while improving commercial demand and the revenue performance of the distribution companies.

There is an important idea here.

Nigeria does not necessarily have to wait for every weakness in the electricity value chain to be solved simultaneously before beginning to create pockets of reliability.

A country of more than 200 million people, with enormous differences in industrial activity, population density and commercial demand, may have to proceed through carefully selected economic corridors while the wider system is repaired.

This is not an argument for abandoning the national grid. It is an argument for making the grid more economically purposeful.

The three corridors selected by the Ministry are revealing. Lagos and its adjoining industrial axis represent perhaps the country’s most concentrated commercial and industrial demand.

The Abuja-Kaduna-Kano corridor connects the political capital with major commercial and industrial centres in the North. Enugu-Port Harcourt links important commercial, manufacturing and energy-producing communities in the South-East and South-South.

These are not simply lines on a power map. They are lines on Nigeria’s economic map. That distinction matters.

For too long, Nigerians have experienced electricity largely as a household inconvenience. The light goes off. The generator comes on. A business buys diesel. A manufacturer factors self-generation into production costs. A hospital makes contingency arrangements.

A young entrepreneur learns, often painfully, that the real price of electricity is not what appears on the bill but what it costs to keep the business alive when the supply fails.

A reliable electricity corridor changes that equation.

If a factory knows that a particular industrial cluster has dependable power, investment decisions begin to change.

If a commercial district can plan around predictable electricity, operating costs become easier to manage.

If businesses can depend on supply for most of the day, generators can move from being the first line of defence to being what they were always supposed to be: backup.

This is where Tegbe’s technocratic instincts may prove significant.

His background is not that of a career power-sector operator. His professional experience has largely been in consulting, fiscal and economic reform, institutional transformation and advisory work. That background has been visible in his early approach to the ministry – diagnosis, audits, financial questions, infrastructure bottlenecks, and attempts to identify where one part of the system is preventing another from functioning properly.

His Energy Zones proposal fits that pattern. It treats the electricity market less as a single machine waiting for one dramatic repair and more as a system of interconnected constraints that can be isolated, diagnosed and addressed.

Tegbe had already identified the three corridors as priorities for grid stabilisation, with technical audits intended to establish the condition of critical infrastructure. The latest engagement with DisCos suggests that the idea is now moving beyond technical diagnosis towards the more difficult question of how distribution will work within those corridors.

That is where the hard work begins.

A 24-hour power zone cannot be created by a press statement. It requires generation that is available when needed, transmission capacity that can carry it, distribution infrastructure capable of receiving it, transformers and feeders that can withstand the load, metering that properly captures consumption, customers willing and able to pay, and a commercial structure in which the various participants have an incentive to keep the system working.

It also requires protection. Vandalism and energy theft do not respect administrative boundaries. Neither do faulty equipment, unpaid bills or poor collection practices. Tegbe himself has acknowledged that the sector’s problems reinforce one another. Weak collections affect the market. Market weakness affects maintenance and gas payments. Unreliable supply in turn depresses collections.

This is why the Energy Zone experiment, if it is to succeed, must be judged by more than the number of hours electricity is available.

The real test will be whether reliability begins to produce economic consequences. Does industrial output increase? Do businesses spend less on self-generation? Does investment respond? Do DisCos collect more because customers are receiving a service they can trust? Does the government recover enough value from improved commercial activity to justify further infrastructure investment?

Those are the questions that should eventually accompany the glossy language of 24-hour power.

And there is another question that Tegbe and the Federal Government will have to confront: what happens outside the zones?

Nigeria cannot become a collection of electrically privileged corridors surrounded by communities waiting indefinitely for their turn.

The logic of concentrating investment in high-demand areas can be defended economically, especially if the resulting commercial activity strengthens the wider electricity market.

But the strategy will ultimately have to demonstrate how successful zones become stepping stones towards broader reliability.

That is the difference between an experiment and a system.

There is also a danger in admiring the architecture of reform from the comfort of an office.

It has to be said here that the statement issued by the minister’s media aide was long on ambition and conspicuously short on the details that matter. No timeline. No capacity targets. No specific investment figures. It is the kind of announcement that has, historically, been the precursor to nothing at all.

So Nigerians should watch the idea with interest, but also with the healthy scepticism that comes from decades of promises about electricity.

The minister deserves a measure of credit for at least diagnosing an important part of the illness.

For once, the conversation has shifted from the head to the feet – from generation to distribution, from megawatts to money.

At the same time, the Nigerian people have been given blueprints before. They have learned to admire the drawings while the building crumbles.

The Energy Zones remain a proposal. The government has not yet announced the detailed capacity requirements, implementation timetable or precise infrastructure investments that would make 24-hour supply possible.

That is not necessarily a fatal flaw. It may simply mean the idea is still being worked out.

But it does mean that the language of 24-hour power should be treated as an aspiration until it is matched by the machinery of implementation.

Yet the proposal deserves attention because it reflects a potentially important shift in the way the power problem is being conceived.

Nigeria may not fix its electricity crisis in one heroic sweep. It may have to build reliability corridor by corridor, demand centre by demand centre, and economic cluster by economic cluster.

There is nothing inherently glamorous about such work. It is engineering, finance, regulation, distribution and relentless attention to the weak link in the chain. But perhaps that is precisely the point.

The country has spent decades waiting for the great national electricity breakthrough.

Tegbe’s emerging approach suggests something less dramatic and potentially more practical: make a few economically critical parts of the system work properly, learn from them, strengthen the model, and expand it.

The success of that approach will ultimately be measured not in speeches or megawatts, but in what Nigerians can do with the electricity when it arrives.

Does the factory run a second shift? Does the business hire more workers? Does the hospital keep its equipment running through the night? Does the young entrepreneur stop budgeting for diesel and start budgeting for growth?

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That is where the real power story begins. And that is the standard against which Tegbe’s Energy Zones should ultimately be judged: not by whether 24-hour power sounds impressive in a press release, but by whether the lights stay on long enough for Nigerians to build something with them.