Olusegun Obasanjo's Memoir: A Journey Through His Life

To get the full picture of Olusegun Obasanjo, a national figure, you need to read his autobiography.

“During his watch, a watchman has no sleep and no respite.” **, Olusegun Obasanjo, My Watch**

There’s a line in Chinua Achebe’s classic, Things Fall Apart: “Looking at the king’s mouth, one would think he never sucked at his mother’s breast.” This came to mind while reading Obasanjo’s early life story. Few memoirs by such important figures start in such a simple way.

The book begins with his birth, told by his mother: “You were born on Ifo Market day. I had put my wares together for the market when I suddenly went into labour. It meant that I could not go to the market that day. But before those who went to the market returned to the village, you were already born.”

In those days, there were no birth certificates. An event had to serve as a birthdate. Baba had to figure out which Ifo Market day his mother meant. He decided on 5 March 1937. What could be a dull detail turns into a glimpse of a world where time was marked by markets, not calendars.

His short history of the Owu lineage does the same thing. It gives just enough background to explain his boldness without slowing the pace of the story. This is one of the book’s strengths. Baba writes like a historian, diving into the wars of Ogun State and the founding of Kaduna, as well as his own memories. This personal view brings life to what school textbooks often miss. There are deeper stories behind the stories, and only someone who knows and has recorded them can show their true meaning. His narrative also shows how connected Nigerians are. Despite our different tribes and languages, we share many similarities in culture and tradition.

The voice in the book is just as striking. Obasanjo writes plainly, without fluff. His straightforwardness gives him authority. He shares a long life story in a way that feels personal, like he’s talking to a younger family member. He mixes humor, history, and honest self-reflection. The book’s structure helps too. Chapters flip between personal memories and public history, so national events always connect back to a real person. The reader sees the soldier, the farmer, the prisoner, and the statesman as one complete individual instead of four separate roles.

The opening quote sets the tone for the entire book. A watchman has no sleep and no rest. The memoir reads like a record of a man who has witnessed coups, a civil war, prison, and the presidency. This image is fitting. It shows Obasanjo as an active player in Nigeria’s history rather than just a bystander.

His upbringing is described with warmth. He was one of only two surviving children from his mother’s nine and his father’s twelve. He was not spoiled. His parents were strict. But his mother, tough as she was, would urge him to eat when he refused food over what he thought was unfair treatment. This small detail shows the memoir’s strength: Baba’s thankfulness to his parents does not turn into sentimentality. He allows himself to be seen as a stubborn child. The same openness appears in his description of his father’s relaxed view on religion. His father let him attend Islamic school until he was beaten enough to leave, showing the Yoruba culture of allowing Christians and Muslims to coexist peacefully.

Olusegun Obasanjo’s My Watch tells a story of rising from humble beginnings. He was not born with a silver spoon. His father was a farmer. When his father’s fortunes fell, he took odd jobs while his mother focused on his education. The best chapters take place at the crossroads in Ibadan, where he had to choose between an entrance exam for the University of Ibadan, a UN scholarship to study in the United States, and a cadetship exam for the Nigerian Army.

“The lure of the adventure of the military was strong,” he writes, and he chose to join the army. Obasanjo is most convincing in these parts. He presents his choice not as fate but as a decision made under pressure, showing a young man unwilling to let others dictate his path.

His early years in the army come with a sense of nostalgia, giving the book depth. After excelling in training in Ghana, he went to the UK and began his career in Kaduna. There, he met officers who would later shape Nigeria’s history. He laments the Kaduna that lost its beauty to ethnic conflicts. He praises the unity, discipline, and commitment of Nigerian troops in the Congo, wishing politics hadn’t destroyed those values. His reflection is more than just sadness; it argues what institutions lose when politics corrupt them.

Baba also knows how to tell a good story. While on a survey course in Newbury, he invited his girlfriend, Oluremi Akinlawon, to join him in the UK. But only after her dowry was paid and the rites were completed. At their simple wedding in London, her brother, who was supposed to be her witness, was missing. Baba stepped outside and asked a West Indian stranger passing by to fill in. I laughed out loud. This scene shows a person who adapts well and invites the reader to share in his laughter.

When discussing the coups, he writes calmly. A close friend of Chukwuma Kaduna Nzeogwu, he was abroad during the first coup but was later investigated. He praises the fairness of the panel that cleared him. In the next coup, his Squadron Sergeant Major came to his door at night, asking to kill Igbo officers in their unit. Baba said no. His thoughts on the situation form the book’s moral core: “We all have different identities, but I use the identity of tribe or language only when it is absolutely necessary. The commonest and most important identity for me is Nigerian.”

This passage shows why reading an autobiography matters. We watch a principle tested at a critical moment, with lives hanging in the balance.

His views on the civil war, where he led troops, are equally important. The war is a conflict any true lover of Nigeria wishes had never happened, and the country has not fully healed from it. Obasanjo treats it seriously, offering not prizes but twelve lessons, with peace, security, and stability as the top priorities. Since he already covered the war's horrors in My Command, he wisely avoids repeating himself. This restraint keeps the memoir focused on its own purpose.

His sharp eye for satire shines during his time as commissioner for works. When he told the permanent secretary he didn’t need a tea girl, he was asked to put it in writing. A committee was formed, and its report suggested keeping the role since Baba might not need a tea girl, but his successor might. This story sums up bureaucratic waste well and shows our issues did not start today.

After his time as military Head of State, he went back to farming, and Ota Farm became his base. He started the African Leadership Forum to connect current African leaders with the next generation. His role in the Commonwealth Eminent Persons Group on South Africa solidified his Pan-Africanist beliefs. The memoir shows his actions: using a whites-only toilet and walking on a whites-only beach to make a statement, writing to Margaret Thatcher to push for sanctions. Even his unsuccessful bid to become UN Secretary-General is shared openly. The continent could not agree on a candidate, and his lesson, that Africa can achieve its goals only if it is united, stays with you longer than the defeat. These moments illustrate a pattern: Obasanjo’s politics shine when they involve personal risk rather than public speeches.

The most engaging chapters focus on the Abacha era. After elder statesmen visited his farm in 1994, the formation of the National Unity Organization of Nigeria started his troubles. His speech at Arewa House in Kaduna was the last straw. What surprised me was his boldness. Warned in Copenhagen that Abacha wanted to arrest him, and offered asylum by the American ambassador, Walter Carrington, he chose to return home. He believed he had done nothing wrong and didn’t need to run away.

He wrote: “Death comes by only once. At some point in life, decisions have to be taken that, if they turn out right, may prove heroic and if they turn out wrong may be regarded as foolish and foolhardy. Whichever way it would turn out, I took the decision to return home” (p. 416).

This decision worked out for him, but not for his friend Shehu Yar’Adua, who didn’t survive to tell his story. The prison chapters are sobering but show his humanity. In Jos, he asked to see the facility and talked to condemned prisoners. Most striking are the condolence letters he wrote to Abacha when his son died, and to Abacha’s family when the general passed away. When I asked him why, he shared four life lessons, three of which I remember: forgiveness, gratitude, and relationships. The memoir gains its strength in these moments, because they cost its author the easy role of a victim.

Yet, despite its honesty and charm, My Watch has some flaws. At 1,572 pages across three volumes, it requires a stamina few readers can manage. It might benefit from tighter editing.

Still, with its flaws, My Watch is an essential read. It is a rare and generous account by a man who has been present at almost every major event in modern Nigerian history. He writes with humor when he could have chosen bitterness. He treats forgiveness as a strength, not a weakness. He offers the nation twelve tough lessons from its worst war and shows that patriotism is a daily effort, not just a slogan.

This book serves as a soldier’s story, a statesman’s record, a farmer’s thoughts, and a father’s legacy to a nation he refused to leave behind, even when given the chance for asylum. It will be read, debated, and learned from long after the arguments it sparked have faded.

Following Baba from the market day of his birth to his time in Yola and the power seat in Abuja helps us see that Nigeria’s story cannot be told without him. It shows that the story is richer and more honest about our differences because he took the time to share it. Beyond its pages, its greatest gift is an invitation to every Nigerian reader, regardless of tribe or faith, to see themselves in one united national story.

I appreciate the sleepless watchman’s account and look forward to Not My Will. To truly understand Olusegun Obasanjo, you must read and value his unforgettable autobiography.