What Nigeria Lost in Dr. Victor Omololu (In memory of Dr. Victor Omololu Olunloyo (1935–2025)

It began like any ordinary meeting—a brief farewell exchange outside the Afenifere Oyo gathering. He looked a little frail, recovering from an illness, and mentioned that he had just been robbed. Robbed? My heart sank. In what kind of society do we now live, that an elderly man—an icon—could be subjected to such indignity?

Yet, even in that vulnerable moment, his mind was sharp, his voice strong, his words deliberate. “Come and visit next Saturday, 10 am,” he said from the comfort of his car that afternoon. We agreed. We showed up. And nothing could have prepared us for the world he was about to unveil. Stepping into his modest living room in Oke-Ado, Ibadan, I was struck speechless. Books—everywhere. On shelves. On chairs. Under the table. Across the floor. The air felt dense with wisdom, as if the very walls had absorbed decades of insight.

And then he entered.

Leaning gently on a walking stick, Dr. Victor Omololu Olunloyo walked in—not with the posture of a frail man, but with the quiet command of one who had lived several lifetimes in one. It wasn’t long before I realized: I was not just in the home of a former governor. I was in the presence of genius.

A man of over 80 years, he could still recall dates and names with frightening accuracy. He read aloud without glasses. He sang the Hallelujah Chorus from memory. He pulled out his undergraduate and PhD theses—knew exactly where to find them among thousands of books—and recited passages like they were etched into his soul.

This was more than a conversation. It was a masterclass.
(To be Continued Next Week)