By Abdul Mahmud
How do I begin to write about Prof
Festus Iyayi in the past tense? Where do I find the strength to pen a tribute
and still remain coherent amidst these searing grief and pains? How can I begin
to relieve the memories of this quintessential Marxist-Leninist scholar,
teacher, writer and comrade whose sun tragically dimmed two days ago?
I wasn’t prepared for the tragic news
when I placed the call to my good friend, Richard Akinola. I had missed
Akinola’s calls. "Mahmud, Festus is dead… I wanted to confirm from you; but KK
(Kayode Komolafe) just did,” Akinola informed me immediately he answered my
call. "Which Festus?’’, I asked him, almost screaming. "Comrade, Festus
Iyayi. He died in an accident in Lokoja this morning’.”
Suddenly, we were silent. We
momentarily lost the power of speech. When we resumed the telephone
conversation a few minutes later, it was all eulogies for our departed comrade.
No sooner had I finished speaking with Akinola, Comrade Chris Akani called from
Port Harcourt weeping. Nothing breaks one’s heart than this one.
I met Prof Iyayi for the very first
time in December, 1990. This was shortly after my election as President of the
National Association of Nigerian Students (NANS). As was the tradition, my
comrades and I paid a courtesy call on him at his Centre-Point office, a
shouting distance from the University of Benin.
Prof Iyayi was convivial and jocular
when he ushered us into his expansive office. I didn’t forget to express the
other purpose of our visit when Faith Osadolor nudged me to do the needful. The
needful was "ragging’’. Begging, practically. You see in those days, we
practically ran NANS from contributions we ‘’ragged’’ off committed comrades
like Prof Iyayi.
‘”Comrade, we don’t have money to get to Lagos to address our
maiden world press conference,” I said. ‘’Una and una ragging’’, Prof
Iyayi quipped in his beautiful Edo pidgin. Prof Iyayi didn’t disappoint. We
broke into laughter when Faith Osadolor whispered, ‘’Comrade, dis na oil
money o!’’.
At that first meeting, Prof Iyayi came
across as a lovely fella cast in the mould of Che Guevara (most committed
Marxists are anyway), jocular, teacher and the ‘’excellent [coloured] man in my
town’’ to borrow from WEB du Bois’s ‘’The Souls of Black Folks’’. He was
truly engaging. He took us through discourses on power, democratisation and the
youths, and occasionally punctuated the conversation with anecdotes and jokes.
Having been dismissed from his teaching
position at the University of Benin on account of his opposition to military
dictatorship, he didn’t display any lack of interest in the struggles to rid
our country of the military. If I had any fear as the newly elected President
of the banned radical students’ organisation, National Association of Nigerian
Students, that fear vanished after meeting Comrade Iyayi. Onward Lagos.
That first meeting began the many other
encounters I had with him inside the Campaign for Democracy (CD), Committee for
the Defence of Human Rights, Gani Fawehinmi Solidarity Associations (GFSA) and
other front organisations we belonged to. We didn’t see for a few years after I
took up residence abroad in the late 1990’s.
However, in 2001 I sighted him at
the Lagos-Benin-Usele Roads junction in Benin-city and I immediately signalled.
He pulled over to the roadside. Alighting from our cars, we embraced. We stood
there for almost an hour as we interrogated yesterday. Later, we crossed the
road and walked to my car where I introduced my fiancé to him.
“When are you going to say ‘yes, I do’
to this troublemaker?’’, he asked Sadat. Smiling, I gave him the invitation
card to our wedding which was only three days away. He expressed his regrets
and wished us the best. ‘’Take care of madam, Mahmud. Marriage no be struggle
o!’’, he advised in an authorial way. I nodded the way a student nods with
approval before his teacher. Yes, in many ways, Prof Iyayi was my teacher and a
teacher to many of my generation.
I met Prof Iyayi again in May 2012 at
the memorial night organised by comrades in Abuja for late Olaitan Oyerinde.
‘’Mahmud, I couldn’t recognise you. You don kpoof’’, he whispered as I
introduced him as the co-chair and walked him to the high table. We didn’t
exchange many pleasantries during the memorial night. We had lost a vibrant
comrade in the most ghastly way and that night was too sombre for anyone to
catch up on the past. I asked for his telephone number as we walked into the
Abuja night which he graciously gave me.
Concerned about the terrible public
relations backlash ASUU was suffering in the social media; and concerned about
the attacks on ASUU by certain elements in the civil society with ideological
affinity to our ASUU comrades, the trenchant positions the government and ASUU
had taken, l made a few telephone calls to comrades and pleaded that we impress
on ASUU to return to the negotiating table.
Falana and I had over twenty
minutes’ conversation on the subject; and we agreed we should explore our
common fraternal channels and impress on our ASUU comrades to return to
negotiation. Later, I placed a call to Prof Iyayi. After three failed calls, I
finally got through to him.
Having exchanged pleasantries, I quickly broached
the purpose of my call. We discussed at length, dwelling extensively on
government’s insincerity as we skirted the many failed behind-the-scene moves
to convene a presidential parley. That was a week and half ago. As I write the
once vibrant comrade lies lifeless in the morgue of a Benin hospital. Life is
cruel.
Sometimes when I get on the phone to a
comrade, the feeling that comes through is that we would always meet after
every goodbye. Unfortunately, it isn’t always the case. Yes, we don’t own our
lives. But, there is always the expectation of life’s tides turning in our
individual shores just as the hands of the clock turn before our very eyes.
We
aren’t always fortunate to watch the turning of our individual tides and times;
and for those whose tides and times turn home early, and tragically too, prayer
and commitment to the ideals they lived for are the debts we owe them. Prof
Iyayi is gone, gone forever. The greatest tribute we can pay to his memory is
to keep alive his radical vision of ridding our country of those who oppress
the masses of our people. May his kind soul rest eternal.
Follow this writer on Twitter:
@AbdulMahmud1
Source: The Scoop
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