There is no former Nigerian Head of State or President whose record on transparency rivals that of former President Olusegun Obasanjo. I say this with conviction, having studied him with the intensity of a PhD candidate researching a dissertation.
It pains me deeply to see a man who sacrificed so much for Nigeria, both in war and in peace, repeatedly maligned by individuals who may not fully grasp the extent of his personal suffering and sacrifices in pursuit of a better nation.
On the issue of self-enrichment, the facts speak clearly. President Obasanjo did not loot Nigeria. On the contrary, historical records show that on Friday, May 7, 1982, General Obasanjo was weighed down by heavy debts owed to several banks, including the United Bank for Africa. His financial situation had deteriorated so badly that he wrote a desperate letter to his former colleague, Chief Samuel Ogbemudia—years before Ogbemudia became Governor of Bendel State—seeking a loan of ₦80,000 to save him from near insolvency.
That letter still exists.
To the best of my knowledge, Chief Obasanjo remains the only former Nigerian leader who, upon leaving office, voluntarily wrote to the government requesting that auditors be sent to audit him. This was not required by law, service rules, or convention. It was a burden he chose to place on himself.
Remarkably, Mr Obasanjo also wrote formal letters rejecting certain allowances paid to him, insisting he was not entitled to them. Those letters, too, still exist.
Even after leaving office on May 29, 2007, I am aware that he owed significant sums to Nigerian banks that had financed his agricultural ventures through loans.
There is something deceptive about his appearance—his face belies his intellect. But anyone fortunate enough to read his handwritten correspondence would immediately recognize a deeply cultivated mind, so refined that one could easily fall in love with it, regardless of gender.
It fills me with pride that the Nigerian Army produced a man of Olusegun Obasanjo’s calibre.
In 1999, I was personally handed some of his handwritten letters by Stephen Akiga of blessed memory. Those letters remain in my home in California. I have rarely encountered writings as profound as those pages.
Equally moving are the letters exchanged between Major Chukwuma Nzeogwu and Mr Obasanjo. Anyone who has read them might pray for a friend as decent and dependable as Obasanjo.
He did not refer to Nzeogwu’s father formally as “Mr Nzeogwu.” He called him “Dad” and treated him as his own father. From his modest salary as a Major, Obasanjo supported Nzeogwu’s parents and siblings throughout their lives.
After his release from prison by General Abdulsalami Abubakar in June 1998—following a mystical incarceration lasting exactly three years, three months, and three weeks—one of Obasanjo’s first visits was to Nzeogwu’s mother in Okpanam, an Igbo-speaking town in Delta State.
If given a choice between a biological brother and a friend like Chief Obasanjo, wisdom would favour the latter. He embodies the words of Proverbs 18:24:
“One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.”
I have one final, deeply personal reason for my affection for Chief Obasanjo. In the late 1970s, while he served as Military Head of State, he inspired my late mother to begin dressing me in Aso Ofi (Aso Oke)—a passion I have proudly carried into adulthood.
For all these reasons and more, Nigeria owes Olusegun Obasanjo far more gratitude than it often shows
