_For 25 years, he fed, schooled and funded the mother, brother and sister of the man Nigeria branded a traitor — and told no one.
Until she spoke on December 27, 2001, no one knew.
For almost three decades, one of Nigeria’s most feared, most outspoken and most principled activists carried a secret that would have shocked even his closest friends. Tai Solarin, the atheist, the socialist, the man who built Mayflower School in Ikenne with his own hands and dared to speak truth to every military regime, had quietly become the son, the father and the provider for the family of Major Chukwuma Kaduna Nzeogwu — the man who led Nigeria’s first coup in 1966.
He never announced it. He never wrote about it. He never used it to burnish his legend. It was only seven years after Solarin’s death in 1994 that the family he saved decided the world should know.
“He Was Very Good To My Children”
It was Madam Elizabeth Nzeogwu, mother of Chukwuma, who broke the silence in an interview with _Daily Trust_.
Sitting in Okpanam, Delta State, the elderly woman who had lost a son to the war and to history, called Tai Solarin simply “my son.”
“Oh my son. He was very good to my children,” she said.
“After the war, he came and took two of my children, Philomena and Peter, and put them in his school. He trained the two of them. When he was alive, he opened an account for me in Asaba. I was withdrawing money regularly from the account until he died.”
It was a stunning revelation. Nzeogwu, killed in 1967 during the civil war, had become a polarizing figure — hero to some, villain to others. After the war, his family was left in the shadows of that history, largely abandoned in Okpanam. But Solarin came.
A Friendship Born After The Coup
Nzeogwu’s younger sister, Theresa, corroborated her mother’s account, adding the details of how the unlikely bond began.
“Tai Solarin was a friend of Chukwuma. They became friends after the 1966 coup,” Theresa explained. “So, after the war, he came to Okpanam and took Philomena and Peter and trained them at his school, Mayflower, at Ikenne (Ogun State).”
Solarin did not just pay fees. He took them in as his own. Philomena and Peter lived under his care at Mayflower — the famous free, self-reliant school he founded in 1956 with his wife Sheila, where students built their own dormitories and farmed their own food.
“When Tai Solarin was alive, he used to visit us regularly. He opened a bank account for mama in Asaba. He was paying money into the account until he died,” Theresa said.
By the time of that 2001 interview, the investment had blossomed. Peter, the last child of the Nzeogwu family, had become a Professor at the University of Missouri in the United States of America — a life made possible because a man from Ikenne refused to let the children of a “coup plotter” rot in post-war neglect.
He Did Not Believe In God, But…
Perhaps the most powerful line of the entire interview came from Theresa, and it has since become the defining summary of Solarin’s life:
“He did not believe in God but we have not seen a believer in God that one can compare with him.”
Tai Solarin was a declared humanist and atheist. He was jailed by Gowon, harassed by Buhari and Babangida, and famous for his weekly column “State of the Nation” where he attacked corruption, tribalism and military rule without fear. Yet his private life revealed a morality that transcended religion, ethnicity and politics.
While Nigeria was busy debating whether Nzeogwu was a patriot or a murderer, Solarin was busy doing what he believed mattered: educating his children and feeding his mother.
He did not care that Nzeogwu was Igbo and he was Yoruba. He did not care that associating with the family of a coup leader in the 1970s and 80s could attract the suspicion of the military state. He only saw a widow and two children who needed school and a monthly stipend.
And he kept it secret till he left this world.
In an age of performative charity and social media philanthropy, the story of Tai Solarin and the Nzeogwus remains a haunting reminder of what true humanity looks like — quiet, consistent, and without expectation of applause.
He paid, he trained, he visited, and he never told a soul.
That is the king in every man.
