Opinion
By Valentine Obienyem
MANY things are agitating my mind. In 2005, when St. Pope John Paul II died, I wrote an article titled “Gloria Mundi.” “Sic transit gloria mundi” translates to thus passes the glory of the world. This phrase was traditionally spoken to newly ordained popes as a reflection on the fleeting nature of earthly glory. Everything ends with death.
Because I loved and admired John Paul II, I wrote about how I prayed for his death. This was informed by my desire not to see the one I loved suffer. This is also my prayer as Pope Francis endures the agony of illness. At 88, what else does history ask of him?
Wait a minute. The question from critics will be: Why would Christ allow His earthly vicar to suffer the indignities of ill health? Have they forgotten that God even allowed His Son to die for humanity?
With these thoughts, I entered the church today. The sermon by Fr. Maximus Okonkwo was, as usual, to the point. The subject was love and forgiveness. Fr. Maximus based his teaching more on the Old Testament than the New. By the time the New Testament was written, Christ had already given the new law (“Mandatum novum do vobis”). His central message was love and forgiveness. But in the Old Testament, as Fr. Maximus explained, the principle of revenge prevailed.
This principle of revenge has persisted throughout the history of law: it appears in the Lex Talionis – or Law of Retaliation – embodied in Roman Law; it plays a significant role in the Code of Hammurabi and in the “Mosaic” command of “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth”; and it continues to influence many legal punishments even today.
In that fevered period of retaliation, David had the opportunity to take revenge and kill Saul, who was seeking his life, when he caught him off guard. Yet, he showed compassion and forgiveness, merely taking his spear, climbing to a secure elevation, and calling him out. Fr. Maximus said David’s action was deeply moving because, at a time when the law of retaliation prevailed, he chose to forgive Saul rather than kill him. He called on us to do the same – to live and forgive, even our mortal enemies.
As we returned from Mass, my mind flashed back to “Magnus Magister Latinus” (the great Latin master). My senior colleague, Mr. Chuks Ilozue, responding to my last piece on the day he was buried, noted that my consistent writings about Chief Domnic Igwemmar showed he must have been an exceptional teacher. Yes, he was. A combination of many factors made anyone who passed through him never forget him.
This reminded me of our other teachers. When Bishop Albert Obiefuna (later an Archbishop) established the seminaries for the Awka Diocese, he rallied his old friends to help make them centres of learning. That was how we had men like Sir Patrick Udunni, Sir Nathaniel Onwughalu, Sir Martin Iloghalu, Sir Jacob Abboh, Sir Mba, Sir Samuel Oruchalu, Sir Bernadi Ebunilo, Sir Okoro (English), and Sir Okoro (Physics), among others – retired principals and lecturers from higher institutions.
Interestingly, Igwemmar was the only one who was not a “Sir.” Knowing him well, he might have regarded knighthood as something beneath him.
These men were paid little or nothing; their service was an offering to God through their dedication to educating His people. By the time most of them passed away, we had not yet found our feet and could not provide them with the befitting assistance they deserved, either in life or in death. As far as I am concerned, we should make time to visit the wives of those who are still alive. These men played a pivotal role in shaping our lives and training.
As I pondered on them and their great sacrifices, I remembered Emperor Aurangzeb’s reply to his former teacher who sought his assistance. Aurangzeb sternly rebuked him, rejecting his request for a position and privileges at court. He argued that a child owes as much to a good teacher as to a parent, but lamented that his own education had been deeply flawed. Instead of being taught useful knowledge, he had been fed false geography, an inflated sense of Mughal superiority, and a philosophy full of empty, impractical ideas.
He criticised his teacher for wasting years on abstract debates and meaningless speculation, which neither sharpened his reasoning nor prepared him for governance. Instead of instilling a philosophy that strengthened the mind, taught resilience in the face of fortune, and encouraged wisdom in ruling, he had been burdened with obscure, convoluted theories that offered no real value. He regretted not being taught history, military strategy, or the duties of a sovereign – knowledge essential for a future ruler. He also dismissed the excessive focus on Arabic grammar, arguing that a king’s time was too precious to be spent mastering a language he could do without.
In conclusion, he expressed his frustration, stating that his real education had come from others, not from his teacher. He dismissed him coldly, telling him to return to his village and let no one know who he was.
But ours were different. These men taught us with devotion. I remember, for example, how, while teaching human geography and discussing Lake Michigan, Sir. Abboh went beyond textbooks, reminding us that he had visited the lake several times. We nicknamed Sir. Iloghalu “Kanen-Borneo” because he spoke as if he had lived during the height of that empire. His devotion to duty consumed him. I cannot recall a time when he – like most of his contemporaries – arrived late for classes.
Sir Udunni, finical in his dressing, was so good that, rather than a priest teaching CRK in the seminary, he was given the task. He once taught in the same school with my father at Nimo and he continued to ask after men till he died.
As part of his pedagogic style, he called a spade a spade. When explaining “rose up to play” in Exodus 32:6, he insisted: “Ka anyi kpoo kwa okwu afa!” To escape getting an “A” in CRK, Udunni considered it a failure. Sir. Oruchalu himself was the secretary to Ogbalu in the Society for Promoting Igbo Language, and Culture. He always had a mystique about him that we could not demystify. He beautifully combined his lectureship at the College of Education with teaching us Igbo.
To show the calibre of Sir Okoro of physics, once, Ikenna Ufoegbunam pointed out a problem he had tried solving in the newly published Senior Secondary Physics by P. N. Okeke, a book that eventually replaced Abbott’s Physics. The teacher solved it once and got a different answer from Okeke’s. He solved it again and noted the question, saying he would inform P. N. Okeke that he had made a mistake – Confidence borne out of his deep mastery of the subject.
Physics was his life; in giving examples, he used real-life occurrences around us. When teaching projectiles, he amusingly used the act of holding one’s stream during urination as an example, making complex concepts relatable and easy to grasp. Once he talked about machines in the terms of the geometry of their construction.
Now, I deeply regret not keeping in touch with some of these great teachers after encountering them in school. They were far better than Aurangzeb’s teacher and deserve to be appreciated.
May I take this opportunity to call on all of us who benefitted from the selfless service of these great teachers to think of how we can emulate them if we get the opportunity. Ostende and I once mooted the idea of assisting in Peter University or St. John Bosco Seminary. May we all reflect along those lines.
A.I
Feb. 24, 2025
Tags: Valentine Obienyem
