By Lanre Alfred

There are men who pass through life like a breeze — felt briefly, forgotten swiftly. And then, there is Bashorun Dele Momodu, whose presence crackles like thunder and his kindness runs as a river.

Clothed in a timeless ensemble of benevolence, patriotism, and service, Momodu towers like an iroko on the landscape of the Nigerian story – unmoved by storms, unmuzzled by fear, and unmatched in generosity. He is Bob Dee, the chronicler of kings and commoners alike, the man whose pen has lit up continents, and whose touch has lifted destinies.

He is not just a man. He is a movement.

At sixty-five, some men grow quiet with age, their voices dimming into the hush of retreat. But not Bob Dee. At sixty-five, he strides like a lion into his legacy — radiant, regal, and resoundingly relevant. He is the grand griot of our age, the man whose name has become synonymous with goodwill, whose shoulders lift others into prominence, whose words weave the fabric of both nation and narrative.

This is no ordinary man that I celebrate, and this is no ordinary age. Sixty-five is the crown of seasoned suns, a time when the journey behind is long enough to inspire awe and the path ahead is still kissed by purpose. Bashorun Dele Momodu has earned that crown many times over, in kindness and sacrifice. He is the pen’s patriarch and the people’s prince, and as Nigeria stands to toast his life, I rise — personally and profoundly — to pay homage to a man who has been more than a mentor to me. He has been a brother.

I have travelled with him and I have enjoyed his hospitality and bonhomie and benefitted immensely from his well of wisdom. When he gives, he spends himself with it, honestly

To recount my story with Bashorun Dele Momodu is to draw water from a reservoir that never runs dry; a well of kindness, humility, and astonishing generosity. As I prepared to host the South West Games 2025 — a vision carved from faith, sweat, and sleepless nights — Bob Dee was among the first to throw his weight behind me. He did not wait for the spotlight to shine; he arrived bearing torches.

And despite a schedule tighter than a noose, he made himself available for the grand finale. There he was, in all his signature elegance, his presence anchoring the atmosphere like royalty. It was a picture of sweet delight to see Bob Dee receiving his honorary award with grace and handing out trophies like a proud father at a school graduation. It was not just his presence that elevated the event, it was his essence.

While many of his billionaire peers may conduct themselves with airs and aloofness, Bob Dee subsists as the outlier, ever reachable, ever reliable. I have known him in moments of urgency, in hours of need, and in the thick of doubt. And always, always, he is there, responding, encouraging, connecting, supporting. I am not the only one who has tasted this blessing. He has been this way to many, to multitudes.

Momodu’s life is an endless cascade of compassion, a man who gives as though his soul were stitched with surplus. To him, helping others is not a gesture; it is his reflex. He wears empathy like a second skin. He lifts without lording. He serves without seeking applause. He remembers names, dreams, and birthdays. He listens when others are too busy posturing. He affirms when the world chooses to ignore.

This is the enduring essence of Bashorun Dele Momodu. He doesn’t just support; he sustains. But to speak of Bob Dee and not speak of Ovation is to light a lamp and hide it beneath a bushel. The empire he built through that luminous magazine has become both mirror and megaphone for the African story. Ovation International has immortalised glamour, captured greatness, and chronicled history with a lens both intimate and grand. It is the continent’s coffee-table diary, our social scripture.

In the golden pages of Ovation lie the hopes, homes, and high points of African excellence. Yet, beyond the glamour lies grit, the audacity of a man who defied exile and silence, who turned rejection into revolution, who rose from the ashes of adversity to become the toast of presidents, queens, and commoners alike. From the palaces of Accra to the ballrooms of London, from the corridors of Aso Rock to the streets of Lagos, his camera has clicked with purpose, and his pen has poured with precision.

His politics is the persuasion of the heart, not anchored in bitterness or tribal arithmetic, but in vision, values, and voice. A statesman in temperament, a patriot in calling, he is one of the very few public intellectuals who has successfully married media, morality, and nation-building.

Even when not on the ballot, his columns are campaigns for conscience. He speaks truth to power, yet never loses his dignity. He criticises with clarity but without cruelty. He belongs to the rare breed of men who can befriend kings yet kneel beside paupers with equal honour.

It is impossible to mention the name Dele Momodu without hearing echoes of gratitude from all corners. There are media entrepreneurs whose first bylines were blessed by his edits. There are photographers who bought their first cameras from his largesse. There are widows and orphans whose tears he dried silently, without a press release or a photo op.

To his friends, he is faithful. To his staff, he is fatherly. To his juniors, he is a bridge. To strangers, he is surprisingly accessible. He does not hoard his success; he scatters it like seeds. Indeed, I have watched him give — his time, his network, his counsel, his soul — until you wonder if he leaves anything for himself. And yet, each time he gives, he grows richer. Such is the mystery of magnanimity.

He has fought to protect the dignity of the press even in his darkest days. He has modelled what it means to be fearless, yet not reckless. Bold, yet never brash. His name is a currency of credibility in a world increasingly bankrupt of integrity.

Let no headline forget him. Let no hall of fame omit him. Let every newsroom whisper his name in reverence. And let every young journalist know that it is possible to soar without selling out, to build without betraying, to write with both fire and feeling.

As I write this, I do not write as a detached observer. I write as one who has been a beneficiary of his grace, one among thousands. I write as one who has sat under his counsel, who has walked in the light of his mentorship, who has seen firsthand what it means to lead with love.

Bashorun Dele Momodu has lived a life far beyond mere existence; he has lifted others with every step, raising dreams, opening doors, and steadying trembling hands often with quiet grace. His success has never been a solitary triumph, it has always been shared and offered freely, like sunlight spilling over a darkened path.

Some men walk through life, leaving footprints that fade in the wind. But a rare few blaze across the sky like constellations, their brilliance undimmed by time, their presence a guiding light for generations. Momodu is one such luminary, a man whose every step has carved pathways for others to follow. At 65, he stands tall in years and towers in spirit. Time has not dimmed his shine; it has only enriched its glow, adding depth to his compassion and strength to his convictions.

So today, I do not just honour a man; I celebrate a movement. A living symbol of generosity. A sage who speaks with both pen and presence. A sentinel of truth, standing watch over decency in an often cruel world.

Happy birthday, Bob Dee.

May your days be long, your joy unshaken, and your tribe forever flourish.