THIS tribute to the late Primate of the Nigerian Anglican Communion, Papa Archbishop Abiodun Adetiloye is coming rather late by all conventional wisdom. But for a spiritual leader who touched so many lives and was active during some of the most critical periods in the life of this nation, no tribute can be regarded as too late.
This tribute does not cover the totality of my relationship with the Primate who I first met in 1970 in Ibadan. This tribute is just to allow people a peep into some episodes of public interest.
Foreign Ministers by their assignment spend more time in foreign hotel rooms than in their own bedroom. I was no exception. The few days in a month that I spent in Nigeria were usually devoted to clearing the files on my desk. To achieve this, I usually set aside a day that was visitors-free every week. My front office foreign service officer (who is now an Ambassador) kept strictly to that rule. You can then imagine my consternation when the intercom buzzed and she said I had a visitor. I flew into a rage without even allowing her to finish to ask whether she knew what the rule was. She said she was aware of the rule but she thought there was something about the visitor that intrigued her. She said he announced himself as Abiodun. Nothing prepared me for what I saw when I glanced at the CCTV monitor that linked my office with the receptionist at the entrance to the Ministry. It was, you guessed it. I screamed “O my God, it is the Archbishop.” I yelled that he should be brought up right away using the lift reserved for the Minister and the Permanent Secretary. In the meantime, I flew out of my office using the private door. The look of consternation on the faces of my usually reserved officers who were used to proceeding at a royal dignified pace as they saw their Minister running down the corridor with his sleeves rolled up and shirt open at the neck is better imagined. They must have thought that the South Africans had invaded my office. The only other time that I can remember such excitement bordering on an uproar was when Fela in the company of Beko came to visit me at the Ministry. On leaving, Fela gave me a present, which I took to be a Cuban cigar. Mark you; I had never seen a Cuban cigar that big before. When I asked Fela as to how he knew I smoked Cuban cigars at that time, it was Beko who roared with laughter. Anyway… back to the Archbishop’s visit.
Having seated His Grace on a settee, I asked him why he was dressed that way (he wore only a simple brown French suit without the cross worn by Bishops), and why he did not send for me since the Ministry was only three or four houses from the Cathedral. To the first question as to why he was not wearing the cross or the Bishop’s purple surplice, he replied that he did not want to draw any attention to himself and as to why he did not send for me, he replied, “you cannot move without security and it was by far easier for me to come without fuss.” I replied that I could also just walk down to the Cathedral without anyone with me. To which Papa replied that if anything happened to me how would he explain that he was responsible. To which I replied that nothing could or would happen to me on my way to see an Archbishop. He simply laughed and the issue was rested as he was already seated in my office anyway.
Papa said that two things had brought him to see me. The first question was: “Hon. Minister, could you honestly assure me that our membership of the OIC was not motivated by religion?” To buy time, I took issue with his calling me “Hon. Minister.” “Papa, you have always known me as Bolaji. So please call me Bolaji. Don’t forget you are my Archbishop”. I thought hard about the question the Archbishop posed especially with the way he emphasized the word “honestly”. My mind flew to that epic confrontation between Jesus and Pontius Pilate when backed into the corner, Pilate was forced to confront his own conscience and asked “And what is the truth?” I have often felt that what has always been portrayed as the trial of Jesus before Pilate was in actual fact the trial of Pilate before Christ. And that was precisely my answer to the Archbishop to the effect that his question reminded me of that biblical scene. Papa looked at me for a very long time and asked, “if Papa (my father) were alive and asked me the same question, would I have given him the same answer?” I replied that my dad would have asked me as a father and not as a Shepherd of the Nigerian Anglican communion. I then added, “besides, I did not give your Grace an answer.” We dropped the issue.
The other issue the Archbishop came to discuss was the status of St. Saviour’s Church. As usual, the Archbishop threw an elliptical question. “Do you know the status of your church? (I had been attending St. Saviour’s Church since 1975). Now in 1987, I was being asked if I knew the status of the Church. I knew there was something to that question but since I did not know where the Archbishop was headed, I merely shrugged my shoulder.
“Do you know that your church is a colonial church?”, the Archbishop asked. I smelt a rat. Why did he keep referring to St. Saviour’s Church as “your church”? After all, he was the Archbishop. When a husband says to his wife “your son”, that usually spells trouble. My reply was “Yes sir. I know that it was set up for the British Colonial Governor-General and his colonial officers.” He smiled. “Yes. But it is still under the Archbishop of Canterbury.” I sat bolt upright. I knew the vicar, The Revd Canon J. H. Payne, was British but that fact did not even register on me since he was the chaplain when I was a student at Igbobi College in the 50s. Still playing for time, I said, “Your Grace, does it matter”. His reply really floored me. “You have a reputation as a nationalist and you are asking me whether it matters.”
To be concluded.
• Prof. Akinyemi, CFR, FNIIA is a former Minister of External Affairs.