Over drinks, on the night of May 30, 2024 at the Tennis Section of the Abeokuta Sports Club, we sat together, chatting about sundry matters—retirement, golf, tennis, the media, writing, and publishing.
“You’re looking so fresh, your cheeks are rosy. Retirement surely sits well with you,” I observed.
“A b’ori nkan,” he said. “There’s not much to do. I enjoy my golf. I share in the joy of anyone rejoicing, and I enjoy the company of Yeme.”
“Gbade is enjoying himself, so much that I hardly see him, and he’s supposed to be my neighbour,” Funso, my brother and our host, said.
We moved on to other subjects, laughing. When it was time to leave the Tennis Section, we walked across to one of the bungalows called the Justice Ademola Bakre Tennis House. We examined the layout of its bar and noted a couple of things that could be arranged differently.
It was, therefore, shocking to learn that exactly two months later Life’s rude intruder, the ugly one called death, would take him away.
Prince Adegboyega Olutoyin Gbadebo of the Larun Ruling House at Ake, Abeokuta, simply known as Gbadeh, was a happy-go-lucky man, who saw life as a massive canvass on which he painted joyful strokes.
We became acquainted in 1974 as A/Level students in the Polytechnic Ibadan. We were part of the grand experiment that collapsed A/L studies in Western Nigeria into what was known as Basic Studies and students who would ordinarily have attended missionary and state-owned schools in such places as Abeokuta, Ayetoro, Ado Ekiti, Ijebu Ode, Ondo, were assembled in the Polytechnic Ibadan.
It was a large population of students drawn from various backgrounds and it came with a lot of challenges. Our population was a challenge as we were so large that we outstripped the regular adult tribe of Ordinary and Higher National Diploma students, many of whom saw us as overindulged young men and ladies. The school’s treatment of us as adults who were spared the chore of wearing school uniforms was also a challenge. Instead, we imbibed the practice in higher institutions of wearing mufti to classes and basked in the freedom of escaping the regimented O/Level school life where we were told when to attend classes, when we should go to bed, and when we could read.
Yes, there were advertised feeding times, but we were not compelled to eat what was offered. We had the choice of choosing from the various bukaterias around, or preparing our own meals.
It was indeed a great transition for us—mostly senior teenagers—to deal with the newfound freedom without losing sight of why we were there. Many indeed took their eyes off the field and paid dearly for it.
Toyin Gbadebo was one of the students who dealt admirably with life in the Polytechnic. He was streets smart. His intelligence showed in class without him straining to display it. He was no nerd. Rather, he was a witty and humorous chap, who easily lit up the room with tales that made us hold our ribs in laughter. In addition to what many students did aside from studying, his stomach could hold a drink, he smoked and partied. He was also good at coining nicknames for friends, foes, and teachers.
We bonded with each other and soon graduated to visiting each other at home. While mine was in Lagos, his was in Abeokuta but as he often stayed with a cousin in Lagos, the Ibadan rendezvous went a notch higher.
I credit him with coining lasting nicknames for the following friends: Tunde Babarinsa (Bibrino), Yemi Gbenro (Aye), Femi Aridegbe (Tintin), Remi Adegboyega (Rexona), and the Aridegbe twins (Tico & Rico).
When we left Ibadan, we linked up in Lagos at the University of Lagos. Whilst he was in the social sciences, I was in the arts faculty. His choice of a career in Broadcasting was certainly not a surprise after recording a second class upper degree in Mass Communication.
In Unilag, our circles of friends widened and our perspectives of life continue to grow. When it was time to settle down, we followed him to Otta where he tied the nuptial knots with the love of his life, Yemisi (Yeme) and he reprised the same when we did ours.
Career wise, he rose to the position of a Deputy General Manager at Ogun State Broadcasting Corporation after distinguishing himself in programming. Professionally, we met at the programmes of the Guild of Editors. I also involved him with the jury work of the Diamond Awards for Media Excellence where he served for several years.
Gbadeh was a loyal friend, respected colleague and a great companion. One final subject that I discussed with him in Abeokuta was to urge him to write his memoirs. I volunteered to be his editor and he told me he would do so. Sadly, it’s a promise he couldn’t keep. I had looked forward to it as a way of getting the public to glean more insights into public service broadcasting akin to Ben Egbuna’s effort in A DESTINY FULFILLED. And also to acknowledge the help he rendered to me in 1980 when I applied for admission to Fordham University for a Master’s degree In Public Communication. He had taken a look at my statement of purpose and helped me to tighten it and enhance its appeal.
May the heavens accept his jovial soul. Requiscat in pace, beloved friend and brother.
—Lanre Idowu
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