Unprepossessing of figure. Slight of build, though of medium height. At times hesistant in speech. A little stammer?
May seem to think and speak at the same time, in an earnest manner, as if agitated by the ideas being expressed.
Ascetic of appearance. Often, perhaps always, in a nondescript French suit.
His entire bearing, in relation to his work, suggesting a priest of learning, a spartan dedicate, living his vision totally.
It was the 1987-88 session at the University of Benin, the third year of my degree in English and Literature at that university.
We had been informed that a professor from another university would be taking the Modern African Novel course as part of his sabbatical in the department.
Who could he be? We might not have had more than two professors at the time. Amidst this rarity of professors within the prestige of the professorship, the highest academic rank, and the novelty of having a new teacher, we were strikingly expectant, particularly as the name of the new professor was not forthcoming.
As we sat in class before the course began, a slightly built figure in an unremarkable suit, cut at the sleeves in the French style, walked onto the podium and started talking.
From that day on the class was always full. People who might not have been particularly motivated to attend class all the time made sure they were there, even though no attendance was taken.
That was our introduction to Daniel Izevbaye, one of the luminaries of African literary studies.
It was his style of delivery. Smooth, well informed, scholarly yet acceessible, that hooked us.
Should the central goal of education not be cultivating the love of learning, rather than the development of particular knowledge and skills?
That love becomes like a roaring flame, devouring everything in it's path, a progression in which new vistas daily unfold, in an endless process of self renewal.
Inspiring encounters with knowledge are indispensable in cultivating this love.
I met Izevbaye again 30 years later, in 2017, during the Abiola Irele memorial at the University of Ibadan.
I mentioned his sabbatical year at the University of Benin. He politely responded that it was a long time ago.
I smiled to myself.
A long time ago to you, but not to me.
I can still visualise you striding onto the podium on that fateful day, a memory forever imprinted as an icon of encounter with learning as delivered from one person to another, at it's best.
That was my dialogue within myself at that meeting.
I don't recall anything particularly that Izevbaye said in those classes, no specific point of knowledge from the course, except a couple of books the course introduced me which remain inspiring for me.
What remains imprinted in me is the impression of encountering a master teacher, a person who embodied the cognitive flame, the mind sparking force, of his discipline.
Whatever one is doing, one should do it well, ideally do one's best.
You never know the impact you could have on others.
It's possible Izevbaye does not know my name, talk less knowing who I am and might not recall that University of Benin sabbatical, out of the various sabbaticals he has had, with any particular vividness.
But to a person just entering adulthood in that class he taught, and who would also read his writings in various scholarly books, the name "Izevbaye" will always conjure impressions of an ideal at the intersection of cognitive quest and transmission of knowledge, amidst the echoes of the legendary historical status of the University of Ibadan, Izevbaye's university, the reverberations from which university may be seen as having constituted much of what is known today as Nigerian academia, as well as being central to shaping African Studies globally.
Live on brother, in flesh and in spirit, your influence radiating forever more.
"You will bear fruit in the lives of people you will never know"- Thomas Merton, The Seven Story Mountain.