Adieu, Prof. Alfred Bandele Kasunmu, SAN; The Mentor Who Became a Father
My first encounter with Prof. was during my internship, before I even entered law school. He was cool and calm to a fault. He would call me to his office and say, “Tayo, jòó́ ka appellant’s brief yìí fún mi” meaning, “Tayo, please read the appellant’s brief to me.” I would read, and almost effortlessly, he would ask me to prepare his response, often following it with incisive legal arguments and judicial authorities.
What a man. What a rare breed.
I was privileged to spend close to a decade with him, and in those years, I witnessed an extraordinary lawyer at work. I watched him appear in court, cross-examine witnesses, make submissions and arguments, and navigate complex legal issues with an intellectual depth and recall that were truly remarkable.
But Prof.’s greatness was not confined to the courtroom. His was a life of remarkable breadth and achievement. He was a lecturer at Obafemi Awolowo University, an institution where I would later have the privilege of obtaining my first degree. He subsequently became a lecturer and Dean at the University of Lagos, where I also later obtained my second degree. In many ways, I found myself walking through institutions and milestones that Prof. had himself helped to shape.
He went on to serve as Attorney-General of Lagos State, leaving his mark on public service and the development of the law. He was involved in landmark cases that helped shape legal principles and discourse. He wrote books, published scholarly articles and contributed immensely to legal scholarship and the training of generations of lawyers. His intellectual contribution to the profession was enormous.
Yet, despite all these accomplishments, he never carried himself with the weight of his achievements.
At the time, I was the youngest lawyer in the chambers, and that afforded me the extraordinary privilege of working closely with Prof. on almost every brief on which he was lead counsel. We worked long hours, sometimes through weekends, poring over briefs, discussing arguments and preparing for court. Those were invaluable years of learning, not only about the law, but about the discipline, rigour and ethics of the profession.
One of the things that fascinated me most was his ability to teach law. Prof. could take the most complicated legal principle and explain it as though he were telling a story. He had an extraordinary gift for making the law accessible. You did not have to be a lawyer to understand him. He could reduce complex legal issues to simple, relatable narratives without losing their intellectual substance.
He was, simply put, a genius.
Beyond the work, we would sometimes dine together, and those moments offered a glimpse of the warm, generous and deeply human side of Prof.
It was perhaps no surprise, then, that at some point, the clerks and staff of the Court of Appeal began referring to me as “Oyinbo Kasunmu”, meaning “the fair one from Kasunmu.” The name always amused me, but it also captured how closely my professional journey had become associated with Prof. I was, quite literally, the young lawyer almost always by his side.
Prof. was never merely my boss. He was invested in my growth and in my life.
He walked with me from internship to externship, through law school and graduation, and was there as I got married, pursued my master’s degree and eventually relocated. His concern was practical and deeply personal.
“Tayo, you need to move closer to the office. Let me know how much that would take,” he would say. On another occasion: “You need a car? I will support you.” When I mentioned my master’s degree, he took a genuine interest in the journey.
At some point, I also ran a small fashion outfit as a side hustle. Even that did not escape Prof.’s attention. He was genuinely interested in its growth and would encourage and support me. Sometimes, I would make clothes as gifts, and he would still insist on supporting the venture; generosity at its peak. He did not only encourage the career he thought I should pursue; he supported the young man I was, with all his interests, ambitions and experiments.
Somewhere along the way, the relationship transcended that of principal and associate. I became an adopted son; he became, in many ways, a father.
I remember, on November 21, 2021, sitting with him in his home office for almost two hours, recording a conversation in which he reflected on his life, his background, why he chose law, his journey into academia, and the remarkable path that led him to become an Attorney-General and one of the giants of the legal profession. That recording, which I have carefully preserved, will be donated to his library so that his own voice and recollections may remain part of the legacy he leaves behind. Listening to him that day, I was struck not only by the magnitude of his achievements, but by the humility with which he carried them.
Prof. was also wonderfully human.He was a passionate Manchester United supporter, and our conversations were not always about law. We would banter about football, and he could analyse a match with the same precision with which he analysed a legal argument. It was one of the many things that made him such a dynamic character.
His faith was equally evident.At the time, we worshipped together at Hoares Memorial Methodist Church in Yaba, and I remember the Monday mornings when he would ask, “Tayo, I didn’t see you in church yesterday.” It was a simple question, but it revealed a man whose love for God was genuine and whose faith was woven into his everyday life. His devotion was not performative. It was simply part of who he was.
Prof. was blessed, and the more he had, the more he gave to family, friends, colleagues, students and young lawyers. He gave of his knowledge. He gave of his time. He gave of his resources. He gave opportunities. He gave encouragement. I never knew him to complain or grumble. He rarely raised his voice. Everyone who worked with him was treated as family.
From Prof., I learnt humility, meekness, kindness, hard work and generosity. I learnt that brilliance does not require arrogance, and that greatness can coexist with gentleness. I learnt that the measure of a person is not only in what he achieves, but in what he gives to others along the way.
Looking back, I realise that I did not simply work with Prof. for a decade. I grew under his watch.
He met me as an intern and walked with me through some of the most defining seasons of my life ; my externship, law school, graduation, marriage, master’s degree and eventual relocation. He was present in ways that went beyond professional obligation. He cared about my work, my education, my ambitions, my welfare and, ultimately, the man I was becoming. That is perhaps the greatest gift a mentor can give.
1786334395763
Prof. has gone ahead, but his legacy lives on in the law he practised, the students he taught, the books he wrote, the articles he published, the landmark cases in which he made his mark, the institutions he served, and, most importantly, in the lives he touched.For me, however, his greatest legacy will always be personal.
I will remember the lawyer whose brilliance could illuminate the most complex legal issue. I will remember the teacher who could make law sound like a storybook. I will remember the Manchester United supporter with whom I could banter about football. I will remember the man who would ask on a Monday morning whether I had been to church. I will remember the mentor who cared about my career, my education, my marriage, my relocation and even my little fashion business. But above all, I will remember the man who saw potential in me long before I fully understood it myself.
For me, he will always be my boss, my mentor, my teacher, my benefactor and, in many ways, my father. A decade is a long time to walk alongside someone. I remain deeply grateful that my path crossed his.
Adieu, Prof.
Thank you for everything.
Temitayo Adeniyi, a dual qualified lawyer, writes from Manitoba, Canada
