By Tunde Odesola
‘Money na water’ is a Gen Z slang echoing the whistling kettle on the stove of materialism. The slang is the hat on the head of the husky mannequin with a toothless smile. Viewed from the lens of today’s young generation, ‘money na water’ epitomises the vibe, ginger and swagger that adore avarice. But is money really water? No. The illogic in the slang gapes into the valley of shallowness. Money is not water. Can never be. Money is morning.
What then is water? Water is humanity, limitless and illimitable. That is why some thoughtful African ancestors say in Yoruba, “Omi ni eniyan.” “Omi ni eniyan” means human beings are like water, ever flowing, into confluences, and tributaries, cascading, flowing, floating, flooding. Water has no hands, yet sweeps. It has no legs, yet runs. Water no get enemy.
There is a new book that speaks to the universality of humanity. It is a steaming biography going on public presentation tomorrow, Saturday, May 9, 2026. Its protagonist is a man of enduring legacy. The book is about the life of a personality who personifies water far beyond the physical properties of the transparent, colourless, tasteless, odourless liquid substance called H₂O. It is the story of a man who started out in life on unsure feet, but armed with focus, determination and belief, his water oozed out of the earth like a puddle, then it became a pool, then a brook, which turned into a rivulet, and later a creek, then a stream, which became a tributary. With more hard work and prayer, the tributary became a river before turning into a lake, then a lagoon, and later a gulf, before becoming a sea, and ultimately, it turned into an ocean – òkun alagbalúbú, ọba omi.
The book is written by none other than the renowned man of letters, Dr Lasisi Olagunju, the editor of Saturday Tribune. Its title is “Man of Many Frontiers: The Life, Faith, and Influence of Asiwaju Khamis Olatunde Badmus (The first Asiwaju Musulumi of Yorubaland).” The title is heavy, the book is heavier.
Asiwaju, as Badmus is popularly referred to, is the silent water that runs deep. Khamis is the gentle brook that flows with milk and honey for all and sundry. Many daily throng to Asiwaju’s shoreline to eat and drink. When some have eaten bellyfuls, they turn around and spit into the river, but Olatunde will not utter a word of anger, for he possesses a large heart that forgives and a thick skin that tolerates. His water is self-cleansing and satisfying.
There is a thread in the tapestry of Asiwaju’s sterling achievements that binds the awesomeness of mankind with integrity, selflessness, kindness, love, passion, dedication, industry, and belief. Unlike the story of two brothers, which you are about to read, who did not know they were related until Olagunju connected them, Badmus relates to people each day as if they were blood. He does unto others what he wants done to him. The story of the two brothers I am about to narrate illustrates the commonality, equality and oneness of humanity, which the life of Asiwaju Badmus preaches.
As an adult, I set foot on Osun soil for the first time in 2003. I knew I was from Igbajo, the citadel of the brave, but I knew almost no kith or kin in Osun and Igbajo. I was on transfer from Lagos to Osogbo as the Osun State correspondent for PUNCH newspapers. Coming from fast-paced Lagos life, Osogbo life was a tale by moonlight told in slow motion. But soon and very soon, my spirit aligned with the serenity of Oroki, the land where the taxi would park and wait for you to finish a tête-à-tête with family members by the roadside. Though kinless, my heart felt a keenness to explore Osogbo, while getting to discover Igbajo.
It was in my very first week in Osogbo that one average height, slim-built, moustachioed young black man walked into the PUNCH office at Ogo-Oluwa, and pulled up a chair roughly. He didn’t greet. I looked at him with the ‘is-this-one-sick’ suspicious gaze, but I kept a straight face, bottling my anger. “Good morning,” I said, a plastic smile on my face. No response. “I want to place five full pages of colour adverts…,” his voice shot out.
My visitor was still talking when the telephone on my desk rang. I picked the call. It was death. “How many people died? Where?” I asked. “They are plenty o!” the voice on the other end said. “Ok, I’m on the way!”
I buzzed our advert executive, Mr Lawrence Olootu, telling him an advertiser was with me in my office. Before Olootu came in with our telecommunications and logistics officer, Mr Busola Ogundare, my visitor had started to reintroduce himself. “Well, Mr Odesola, I am not an advertiser. My name is Prince Adeolu Adeyemo, the Osun State correspondent of The Nigerian Tribune newspaper. I learnt a new correspondent had been transferred to PUNCH, and I only wanted to drop by and say hi. Please, where did people die? And how many people died?”
That was the moment I became serious. So, I said, “I don’t know you, sir; you look more like an advertiser than a journalist.” Then he said, “Olootu and Ogundare know me. You will see when they come. Let’s go to the assignment together.” Within minutes, Olootu and Ogundare came in, greeting Deolu familiarly. “You see? ” Deolu said, beaming, “I told you we are all one.” My face crumpled into a feigned frown. “No ooo!” I declared, “You won’t enter my car if you don’t produce the five pages of adverts!” We both laughed and headed to the Federal Road Safety Commission headquarters along the Gbongan-Osogbo Road in my car.
Deolu hails from the land where a red elephant once ran riot before it was conquered. The victory over the elephant gave the town its current name, Eripa, where frightened townspeople asked the hunters who went after the elephant: ‘Se e ri pa?” – Did you kill it? I am from Igbajo, the city set above the hills. If my forefathers lived in Eripa, I’m sure the crazy elephant wouldn’t have been the yearly terror it became. Anyway, Deolu is from Eripa. I am from Igbajo. That was what we thought. Until one day in 2024, when my father died, and Olagunju attended my father’s burial alongside his intellectual soulmate, Dr Festus Adedayo, another wizard of words. It was at my father’s burial that Olagunju saw my family’s panegyrics in the burial booklet. Interestingly, Deolu and Olagunju are first cousins from the same elephant-terrorised land of Eripa.
Days after the burial, Olagunju called me and said, “Tunde, do you know you and Deolu have the same oriki (panegyrics). It’s the same. Deolu’s father, Prince Baderinwa Adeyemo, PhD, wrote a book, “Eripa Oke Alaafia: One Town, Three Histories,” and your family’s oriki is in it. Tell him to get you a copy.”
Weeks later, I told Deolu about his father’s book. He promised to get me one. Deolu fulfilled his promise. When I got the book, I flipped through it to see the panegyrics. I could only see about four or five lines that rhyme with my own panegyrics. Maybe it was sleep. Maybe it was a distraction. I read the lines and tossed the book on my bedside drawer.
I placed the book where I can see it every day. About a week ago, my mind went back to the book. I picked it up and opened it. Suddenly, my paternal grandmother leapt out of the pages. I saw her vividly. She sat at the dining table, with a fluffy loaf of bread in her left hand, and a bowl of rich tea sitting before her. In her manner, she tears the loaf, dips it into the bowl, and airlifts it. There is a plate of fried eggs beside the bowl. I was barely 10. She draws the food towards me. “Mu ti,” ọkọ mi. Drink some tea, my husband. Then, her face lights up with joy, and she begins, “Ọmọ Alááye. Ọmọ iṣé owo. Ọmọ gbàágbè. Ọmọ ati Ẹ̀fọ̀n wa ṣoogun. Ọmọ ajagijigi…” The lines flowed like water, limitless. Oh, my granny is back to life! Tears well up in my eyes. She loved me to death.
The panegyrics say our forebears, who were great medicine men, left Efọ̀n-Alaaye for Ọ̀yọ́, on invitation to treat the ailing children of the Alaafin. And that when they were richly blessed on their peregrination, they never went back to the House of Ahun in Efon-Alaaye. Today, it’s obvious that life’s ups and downs saw some of them migrate to Igbajo, Eripa, etc.
This article is not a review of Asiwaju’s biography. An orator cum literatus, Dr Reuben Abati, a whale in the Nigerian media waters and a powerful voice in Nigeria’s political ecosystem, will review the book.
For Olatunde Badmus, all roads will lead to Osogbo as the nation’s Vice President, Senator Kashim Shettima, who is expected to represent President Bola Tinubu, and chair the occasion, will lead dignitaries to honour Khamis, whose 80th year birthday anniversary and book launch will also witness the inauguration of a mosque built by Badmus. Other who-is-who expected at the occasion are former President Olusegun Obasanjo (Father of the Day), Osun State Governor, Senator Ademola Adeleke (Chief Host), Sultan of Sokoto, Alhaji Muhammadu Abubakar (Royal Father of the Day), Ooni of Ife, Oba Adeyeye Ogunwusi (Royal Father of the Day, world’s wealthiest black person, Alhaji Aliko Dangote (Guest of Honour), Alhaji Abdulsamad Rabiu (Special Guest of Honour), and Minister of Marine and Blue Economy, Alhaji Gboyega Oyetola (Special Guest of Honour), founder, Afe Babalola University, Aare Afe Babalola, among others within and outside Nigeria.
Born in the town of Akim Oda in Ghana on Thursday, May 9, 1946, Asiwaju Badmus was named Khamis because he was born on the fifth day of the week, Thursday. Alhaji Gbadamosi Odekilekun is the father of Khamis. Odekilekun’s forebears migrated from Oye-Ile to settle in Osogbo after the fall of the Oyo Empire. In Osogbo, the Odekilekun ancestry settled in the Isale Osun area and founded the Ile Ayogunmoru compound.
According to “Man of Many Frontiers”, Ayogunmoru, which is shortened to Ayogun, means “those who go to war without losing weight” or “those who delight in and engage in war, and remain strong and undiminished”.
If he were born on any other day than Thursday, he wouldn’t have been named Khamis. His birth had a meaning. So is his life. Asiwaju has led a fulfilled life of exemplary service, leadership and worship. He is the proverbial cat with nine lives whose back will never hit the ground, no matter the vicissitudes of life.
A geographical fact says Mount Everest is the tallest mountain in the world. But technically, it is not. Mauna Kea Mountain, a dormant volcano in Hawaii, is technically taller than Mount Everest when measured from its underwater base to its summit. While Everest has the highest elevation above sea level, Mauna Kea is over 10,000 meters (33,500 feet) tall from base to peak, compared to Everest’s 8.849 meters (29.032 feet).
Khamis is the Mauna Kea Mountain. A part of his persona is distilled in still waters; deep, quiet, wise and taciturn. This is the part that sees, hears and looks away. It is the part that gives to Lagbaja without telling Tamedo. It is in this water-deep part that the hands behind the crowns reside. The other part of the Mauna Kea Mountain in the sun is the glamorous side of Olatunde, whose palatial residence in Osogbo shares a fence with the Osun State Government House. This sunny side reveals the Chairman, Tuns International Holdings Limited, as a man of means, who sits on massive wealth, yet remains humble and down-to-earth. This is the side that reveals his abiding love for golf.
The life of Asiwaju Badmus is a giant billboard beaming courage and consistency. He fledged out as a police detective before joining the WNTV/WNBC, distinguishing himself as a young man with a mission. He left journalism to start his own business in Lagos. Then he had a bigger dream. That bigger dream morphed into Tuns International Holdings Limited, with subsidiary interests in farming, manufacturing and food processing.
I’m sure that when King Sunny Ade mounts the stage in Osogbo for Badmus, he will sing his thanksgiving evergreen ‘Appreciation’. I’m also sure that King Wasiu Ayinde Marshall will sing “Olorun O Jo Yin” when he mounts the stage after KSA. Alhaji Besco Azeez of Ilorin will relive the voice of the late Dr Sikiru Ayinde Barrister.
Happy birthday, Asiwaju.
Email: tundeodes2003@yahoo.com
Facebook: @Tunde Odesola
X: @Tunde_Odesola
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