One-on-One with Olusegun Obasanjo -By Zayd Ibn Isah

I was introduced to one of his close associates through a colleague. After a brief exchange, he asked why I wanted to see the former President. I explained that it was about a book project I was working on and that I wanted him to write the foreword. He requested to see the manuscript first to ensure that the book was worthy of Baba Obasanjo’s time.

I took the manuscript to him, and we had an extensive conversation about it. He admitted that he might not be able to read the entire book but would go through parts of it—which he did. Later, he called to commend me while making a few observations. He also informed me that he had spoken to Baba about the book. However, since Baba was out of the country at the time, I would have to wait until he returned to Abuja before an appointment could be arranged.

After days of waiting, I finally received word that Baba was in town and that I should meet him at Transcorp Hilton at a specific time. I was at a loss for words. I didn’t even know what to wear. I mean, how does one dress to meet an enigmatic personality like Baba Obasanjo?

I dressed carefully and arrived at Transcorp Hilton well ahead of the appointed time. I have the African habit of not always keeping to time—a habit I am trying hard to break. But as the legal principle states, “In every general rule, there is an exception.” On this occasion, I made an exception. Keeping Baba Obasanjo waiting would have been an embarrassment I couldn’t afford.

As I walked through the grand entrance of the magnificent Transcorp Hilton Hotel, a mix of excitement and nervousness washed over me. I approached a well-dressed security officer in the hallway and asked for directions to the room number my contact had given me. He directed me to the reception desk.

At the reception, I provided the room number, and the receptionist put a call through. It rang, but no one answered. She tried again. Still, no response. My heart pounded. A thousand thoughts raced through my mind. “Had Baba changed his mind about meeting me?”

“Are you sure this is the correct room number?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “I am here to see former President Olusegun Obasanjo.”

“Then call him,” she said.

“Call him?” I thought. “How do I call someone I have never met—a former President, no less?”

Realizing I was in a fix, I quickly called my contact and explained the situation. He sent me the phone number of one of Baba’s security aides and told me to mention his name. I dialed the number and introduced myself, explaining who had directed me to him.

“Please wait a little while,” the security aide responded.

Just as I was settling in to wait, the unexpected happened—Baba himself walked through the entrance with his entourage. The entire place seemed to pause. I watched in admiration as he moved swiftly, unaided, toward the VIP lift. A deep sigh of relief escaped me.

A few minutes later, the receptionist called me over. “You can go up now,” she said.

I thanked her and followed the same path Baba had taken. I met serious-looking security men at the entrance to Baba’s hotel room, which looked presidential. I was ushered in without any issues—it seemed they had already been informed that a young man was coming to see the former President. I was taken to a waiting room while Baba settled down. Of course, I was not the only one there to see him.

As I sat in the waiting room, I reflected on the moment. Here I was, about to meet a man whose life and career had shaped Nigeria in ways few could match. “What would I say? How would he react? Would he have the time to listen to a young man like me?”

Then, just as my thoughts were running wild, someone signaled that it was time. I took a deep breath, adjusted my outfit, and walked toward the room where one of Africa’s most iconic leaders awaited.

The moment I stepped into the living room where Baba sat with one of his close aides, I removed my slippers. I knelt to greet him, avoiding eye contact out of respect. He beckoned me to sit on a chair, but I opted for the floor instead. First time meeting Baba Obasanjo, and I had already disobeyed a General’s direct order. Thank God we were not in a war zone.

He requested to see my manuscript. I carefully removed it from the brown envelope and handed it to him with both hands. I sat silently, watching and praying as he flipped through its pages. Then he nodded satisfactorily, and the words that followed sent me soaring.

“You are young and a prolific writer,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” I responded, bowing slightly in appreciation. His words of praise made my big head even bigger.

He asked about my discipline. I told him I studied law and was currently in law school. He asked how old I was, I said I was 31. Baba was surprised that I could still be in law school at my age. He said I was like him, who finished his PhD at the age of 70 or seventy-something—I can’t remember the exact age he mentioned—unlike his children, who earned their PhDs in their early twenties. Baba Obasanjo’s sense of humour is top-notch.

But what I forgot to tell him was that I obtained my law degree from the Nigerian Police Academy as a Cadet ASP in 2019 and that I am now a Deputy Superintendent of Police. I was in law school to obtain my BL after four years of delayed approval from the Council of Legal Education. Maybe when next we meet, I will inform him, God willing.

“What do you want me to do for you again?” he asked.

“A foreword for the book, Your Excellency,” I replied.

“Okay, I will assist you,” he said.

At that moment, I wanted to “dobale” (As the Yorubas would say) completely for Baba. It was a dream come true, one I never imagined would happen.

Baba Obasanjo further demonstrated his true spirit of nationalism while perusing my manuscript. He came across an article I wrote three years ago titled “The Trouble with Nigerians”, where I argued that the trouble with us is not only a failure of leadership but also a failure of followership. In the article, I referenced a young man from Kano who voluntarily returned a backlog of salaries paid into his late father’s account by the Kano State Government. According to him, some people called him a fool for doing that.

Dr. Olusegun Obasanjo was deeply impressed by the young man’s rare act of honesty and patriotism. He told me to get his full details, stating that he would love to recommend him for a national honour. People like him should be encouraged, he said.

Meeting Baba OBJ was one of the best things that ever happened to me. What I expected to be a formal meeting turned into an inspiring session that lasted almost an hour. The highlight was when Baba handed me his phone and asked me to enter my number. I could hardly believe my eyes as I held his phone, typed in my number, and saved it with my name. When I handed it back, he pronounced my name in my presence to make sure he was correct and he did pronounced it correctly to my surprise. He called me immediately to ensure I had his number before I left. The screenshot of that missed call is still on my phone to this day—I might even print it out and keep it in my personal museum. *Smiles.*

Later, I began receiving WhatsApp calls from Baba. Sometimes, he called just to check on me after receiving my prayer messages. But how could someone so big and accomplished be so humble?

I left Transcorp Hilton filled with joy and gratitude. Before I departed, Baba in his usual sense of humour reminded me that he, too, is a writer—a prolific one at that—having authored over 25 books. His passion for writing remains undiminished.

To call Baba OBJ a living legend is an understatement. His wealth of experience, intellect, and sharp wit are unmatched.

As I left Transcorp Hilton that evening, I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in my mind. Here was a man who had led Nigeria twice, shaped its political landscape, and remained a towering figure in global affairs, yet he took the time to engage with a young writer like me.

That meeting wasn’t just about securing a foreword for my book—it was a lesson in leadership, humility, and the responsibility that comes with influence.

And most importantly, it was proof that sometimes, dreams do come true.

Zayd Ibn Isah can be reached at lawcadet1@gmail.com