A guest post by Dr Chikwe Ihekweazu
On 30 October 2025, news broke out of the blue that Akin “Shuga” Tofowomo had passed away suddenly while undergoing surgery in Canada. From the shock, followed by tears and a slow journey to acceptance. As he was laid to rest on 29 November, many of us are still coming to terms with a world without him. Yet the light he brought into so many lives will not dim. Although he contracted polio at early age, he was never defined not by the disease but by the joy he spread through his music. For those of us who shared six incredible years with him at Federal Government College, Enugu it was not the polio or even the music that stood out, but the friendship and brotherhood that come from living closely together during those formative years.
It was September 1983, when we all met for the first time in the dormitories of Federal Government College Enugu, a motley crowd of children leaving home for the first time. We came from every corner of the country. There were many “Emekas” as expected, given that the school was in Enugu, but also Banji, Mbang, Musa, Titi and many more others, a true relection of Nigeria’s diversity. These were the glory days of “Unity Schools”, Federal Government funded institutions that admitted students from across the country.
Among us was Akinloye Tofowomo, young for his age, walking with one hand on his knee, one leg very thin and the other more muscular, visible because shorts were part of our school uniform. Akin was in Independence House while I was in Peace House, both in the same building, and we quickly formed a strong community of classmates. Together, we navigated the constant struggle surviving seniors, managing hunger and trying to excel in school. Akin was at the heart of everything for the class of ’89.
Akin “Shuga” Tofowomo contracted polio in early childhood and lived with flaccid paralysis in one leg. Thanks to support of his parents, and the relatively stable and modest life available to many middle-class public servants in 1980s Nigeria, Akin enjoyed the opportunities that came with that era. At Federal Government College, Enugu, he worked hard and played hard, giving as much as he got. His disability was never an issue. Although it was clear he had to make an extra effort, you dared not assume it slowed him down as we all navigated the demands of communal living with limited resources.
Whether in the classroom, on the playground or one of the sports field, Akin was at the heart of our set, and we spent some of the most remarkable years of our lives, together. He neither expected special treatment, nor did he receive much of it, as we fetched water from the tank, washed our clothes, raced to the refectory for meals, or wandered leisurely around the school grounds on weekends, sharing stories of our childhoods and our hopes for the future. At the time, we fully believed the dominant narrative about us, that we were preparing for the glorious future Nigeria had promised.
After completing secondary school, we dispersed to universities across the country and eventually pursued different careers. Most of us followed conventional paths, but Akin chose music, a rather distinct trajectory from our contemporaries. Life had already taught him not to be afraid and taught us to support one other. We all faced the uncertainties of early adulthood, and slowly, most of us found our way.
Akin’s fame grew in Lagos as his light continued to shine, with the “Shuga Band” becoming the toast of events in the city. In 2001, I was the best man at a wedding in Lagos, and there was Akin on centre stage, performing with his band in the early days of his remarkable career. We hugged and traded stories about our efforts and our dreams. I knew instinctively that even greater things lay ahead for him. But, as often happens, we lost touch again as we entered the turbulence of our twenties, focused on building careers and families.
As social media began to open new possibilities for connection, many of us reconnected with our classmates and rediscovered the wonderful, shared history that had almost faded in contemporary Nigeria. We had grown more confident in the paths we had chosen, and we instinctively took it upon ourselves to support one another. The six years we spent together had forged a powerful bond, shaped by countless shared experiences and moments of vulnerability. We also committed ourselves to supporting the school that had brought us together.
The fight against polio had become a central part of my own work, and at some point I found the courage to speak with Akin about his childhood experience with the disease. I never wanted our relationship to be defined by anything other than the friendship we had always shared. He told me about his early years and how long it took him to find his voice in speaking publicly about the illness he had lived with since childhood. By then, he fully recognised his responsibility to use his platform to advocate for the eradication of polio, one of the few infectious diseases for which we already have the tools to make history.
Akin spoke openly, supported others who were not as fortunate, advocated for engagement and consistently put his time and resources where his heart was. He founded the “Shuga Limb Foundation”, through which he made a long-term commitment to the cause, mobilising fans and friends to empower people with physical challenges. It was a testament to his belief that no one should be limited by circumstance.
Akin pushed all of us, in different ways, to do what we can with the life we have. For you, Akin, we will not drop the ball on polio. We will keep pushing. We are nearly there. We have everything it takes to finish the job. Now, it is about the will.
Rest in peace, my brother.
