By Anthony Kila
The book we unveil today is the story of a man who refused to bend. It is the story of an activist, a citizen, a lawyer, a teacher, and a politician who became an icon. There are men who occupy offices, and there are men who occupy history. There are lawyers who master the law, and there are lawyers who become arguments in themselves. There are politicians who seek power, and there are patriots who seek justice even when power refuses to invite them. Tunji Braithwaite belonged to that rarer company.
The book before us is not merely a biography of a notable Nigerian. It is the story of a temperament, a creed, a family inheritance, and a national possibility too often deferred. It is a book about a man, yes—but also about the values that shaped him: courage, discipline, intellect, faith, loyalty, and the stubborn refusal to surrender conscience to convenience.
From the opening pages, the author, Muyiwa Akintunde, wisely begins where all serious stories do: origins. “The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn,” the book quotes Emerson before introducing the child born on Wednesday, 13 September 1933, who would become simply Tunji Braithwaite. It is a fitting metaphor. Great men rarely arrive fully formed; they are acorns nurtured by home, hardship, memory, and moral example.
We encounter a boy marked early by loss. Speaking of his father’s death, Dr Braithwaite recalled: “I was only about eight years then. I remember very well.” Such sentences matter. They remind us that public resolve often begins in private sorrow. Yet the book does not indulge in tragedy. Instead, it shows how family discipline and maternal strength transformed adversity into formation.
In this book, Dr Braithwaite’s mother emerges as one of the quiet giants of the narrative. We are told that her life was “prayer, prayer and more prayer.”
Nigeria has produced many celebrated men whose first institutions were mothers of uncommon force. Tunji Braithwaite was clearly one of them.
The chapters on CMS Grammar School are among the most revealing in the volume, as schools often explain nations more than parliaments do. Of his school years, the book notes: “The grammar school of Tunji Braithwaite’s time was set up to deliberately mould the students’ minds to be independent and non-conformist.” What a sentence. That sentence tells us why certain generations produced men difficult to intimidate. They were educated not merely to pass examinations, but to stand upright. And stand upright, TunjiBraithwaite did.
The biography traces his journey to London, his legal training, his marriage, and his professional ascent with admirable detail. We must praise Muyiwa Akintunde for this attention to detail.
Yet even in the romantic passages, character peeks through. On meeting the woman who would become his wife, he did not dither. He asked directly, as he said, “you are so beautiful and I would like to be your friend.” Confidence, candour, decisiveness: qualities useful in both love and litigation.
The marriage itself appears to be a partnership of uncommon seriousness. His wife observed: “We had a dream or goal about where we were headed in life, both as a couple and as individuals.” Those of us living today, in an age when many drift into relationships, must not miss the lesson: this couple chose a direction. It is no surprise that they built a formidable family.
But the true centre of the book is neither domesticity nor pedigree. It is principle.
The line that perhaps best summarises the public Tunji Braithwaite is this: “Nigeria—and the rest of the world that subscribes to justice for the underprivileged—would later know about the dogged fighter for good causes: Tunji Braithwaite.” Dogged is the correct word. In Nigeria, where many talented people negotiate with wrong, Braithwaite confronted it.
He was one of those rare citizens who made authority uncomfortable simply by being morally awake. That is why he mattered.
Permit me here a personal note that the book brings home to me and compels me to share.
I knew Dr Tunji Braithwaite not as an abstract national figure, but as a mentor and fatherly friend. I was a regular diner at Dr and Mrs Braithwaite’s kitchen. “Let’s do lunch, son,” was his way of summoning me to his house once he knew I was in the country. Olumide Braithwaite is now the true embodiment of that tone of voice.
There are elders who demand reverence but give little wisdom. He was not one of them. He was generous with time, sharp with insight, warm in private company, and elegant in bearing.
He had that increasingly endangered quality: seriousness without pomposity.
To younger minds, he offered encouragement. To public affairs, he offered clarity. To Nigeria, he offered the example of a citizen who could have chosen comfort but chose contest.
In a country where many older men fear younger talent, Tunji encouraged it. In a society where too many public figures speak downwards, he engaged across generations. In this, he was not merely admirable; he was useful.
Many biographies become catalogues of dates, titles, and ceremonies. This one succeeds because it humanises greatness without diminishing it.
Consider this reflection after the death of his mother: “It taught me that there is only one step between life and death.” Such lines reveal a reflective man, one who learned from suffering rather than merely surviving it.
Or this affectionate testimony from his wife: “He believes in God. He doesn’t play with his God.” One senses here the inner architecture of the man. Many spoke loudly in public life; few possessed spiritual grounding deep enough to sustain opposition, disappointment, and persistence.
Then there is the family motto, beautifully simple: “Togetherness.” Nations collapse when families collapse; families endure when such words are lived rather than framed.
This book does us a favour, as the life of Dr Tunji Braithwaite does: Nigeria and indeed the world today suffers not only from economic strain and political fatigue but also from a shortage of examples. Too many young people know celebrities but not citizens. Too many know wealth but not worth.
Books like this restore proportion.
This book and its subject remind us that a successful life is not merely one that accumulates, but one that resists, builds, mentors, and leaves behind standards.
Tunji Braithwaite’s life asks uncomfortable questions of us:
• What do we stand for when standing is costly?
• What institutions are we building at home?
• What truths are we too timid to say?
• What country might exist if more of us refused to bend?
This is an important and timely book. It is affectionate without becoming blind, respectful without becoming dull, and detailed without becoming tedious. Above all, it preserves for a new generation the memory of a Nigerian who regarded principle not as decoration but as duty.
Let us be clear: Tunji Braithwaite was not perfect; no serious man is. But he was substantial. And in an age of surfaces, substance deserves biography. To read this book is to meet a man who stood tall without needing office, spoke boldly without needing permission, and mentored generously without needing applause.
Nigeria needs such men in life. It certainly needs to remember them in print.
Mr Chairman, distinguished ladies and gentlemen, I present to you “Tunji Braithwaite: fearless, compassionate and selfless”, and I wish you happy reading.
