GANIYU OLOWU
When Otunba Kunle Akinyele, a respected hotelier in Lagos, slumped and died at his wife’s 60th birthday thanksgiving, the nation gasped in disbelief. One moment, he was celebrating life and love; the next, he lay lifeless at the altar of joy*. The video is haunting — *a man gesturing, gasping, reaching for help in a sacred space, surrounded by those he loved but alone in his final battle.
This was not just a death. It was a metaphor of silent suffering, buried exhaustion, and what men have come to normalise in the name of strength.
Akinyele’s case is not isolated. It is one of many chilling examples of how Nigerian men, particularly in their mid- to late years, are collapsing under the weight of responsibilities, unspoken pain, and undiagnosed illnesses.
According to the World Health Organisation, men in sub-Saharan Africa, including Nigeria, are 2.4 times more likely to die prematurely from preventable causes than women. This alarming disparity is fuelled by cultural and behavioural factors: men are less likely to seek medical help, more likely to suppress emotional turmoil, and often glorify suffering in silence. In Nigeria, cardiovascular diseases, hypertension, and untreated mental health conditions are among the leading causes of sudden deaths in men.
So This Happened (215) Reviews Death Of Lagos…
In 2019, Pastor Taiwo Odukoya—admired for his strength and spiritual leadership—passed away quietly after years of enduring deep emotional losses and reportedly ongoing health complications. His resilience was legendary, but it masked what many now see as untreated grief, intense stress, and likely silent medical conditions.
Then came the sudden death of veteran broadcaster Ayo Oduleye, better known as MC Loyo, who slumped while compering an event in Ibadan. His charm and humour lit up stages, but in the blink of an eye, the microphone fell silent. Just like that.
Similarly, the passing of Mr Ibu (John Okafor) in early 2024, after months of battling illness, reminded the country of how many male entertainers struggle financially and physically behind the scenes, putting on a show while their bodies deteriorate.
Masculinity, when warped, can become a silent weapon—not just against others, but against oneself.
Globally, the story remains the same. In 2014, beloved comedian Robin Williams died by suicide, a victim of masked depression. And in 2022, cricket legend Shane Warne died suddenly of a heart attack, a casualty of silent coronary disease and an overstretched lifestyle.
Yet while statistics shock and headlines haunt, the everyday grind of the average Nigerian man tells an even sadder tale.
Take Lagos, Nigeria’s commercial capital—the city that never sleeps, and where many men now barely do. A significant number of working-class men reside on the mainland or in Ogun border towns like Mowe, Ikorodu, Sango Ota, or Ibafo but must commute to the Island for work—a journey that often begins by 4:00 a.m. and ends by 9:00 p.m. on return.
This is no exaggeration. Studies from the Lagos Metropolitan Area Transport Authority reveal that Lagosians spend an average of four to six hours daily in traffic—with many men doing these five to six times a week. That is over 1,400 hours a year lost in gridlock—time stolen from rest, from family, from reflection.
For these men, the day begins before the rooster crows. They rush into overcrowded buses, endure fumes of frustration, only to return home when their children are already asleep. There is no room for hobbies, hardly any time for checkups, no outlet for pain. Sleep is a luxury. Rest is a myth. And joy is rationed, like fuel in a scarcity season.
This modern man is constantly running on empty—physically present but emotionally absent, financially committed but spiritually depleted. And society applauds his hustle, without asking at what cost.
The idiom says, “Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” but what if the crown is invisible, made not of gold but of expectations, bills, unspoken grief, and sacrificial silence?
Men are praised for providing, for showing up, for being “rocks”. But even rocks erode—silently, slowly, and then all at once. The greatest tragedy is not that they die, but that they are dying unseen.
Consider the tragic case of a 42 year old engineer in Port Harcourt who collapsed at his workstation after weeks of working overtime to meet project deadlines. His colleagues described him as “dedicated to a fault”, but his sudden death revealed the dangers of ignoring signs of burnout and hypertension.
Another heartbreaking example is the story of a young entrepreneur in Enugu who passed away in his sleep after complaining of chest pains for weeks. Despite his family’s pleas, he refused to visit a doctor, citing his busy schedule and financial obligations. His autopsy later revealed undiagnosed cardiovascular disease—a silent killer that could have been managed with timely intervention.
One unforgettable story is that of Samuel Okwaraji, the gifted footballer and patriot who gave everything to his country on the football pitch. In 1989, during a World Cup qualifier against Angola in Lagos, Okwaraji collapsed and tragically died of congestive heart failure at just 25 years old. His life, so full of promises, was cut short under the intense demands of national expectation. The harsh conditions of the game that day, combined with the immense physical and psychological pressures he faced, ultimately proved too much.
These stories compel us to ask: What are we doing to ourselves in the name of strength? Why does the world celebrate silent suffering but frown upon seeking help?
Dr Salawu Abiola, a psychiatrist at the Federal Neuro Psychiatric Hospital in Yaba, offers critical advice for men navigating these pressures. He emphasises the importance of prioritising rest, adequate sleep, and regular health checkups. “If you work and die today, someone will replace you at the workplace, but no one replaces you in the family,” he warns.
Abiola advocates setting realistic goals, managing time effectively, and creating moments of joy and relaxation amid life’s challenges. He also highlights the need for men to engage in positive activities, such as exercise, hobbies, and socialising with supportive people, to release built-up tension and foster mental well-being.
Check your vitals before you check your wallet. Monthly profit means nothing if your heart gives out unexpectedly. Your strength is not in how much you carry but in how well you manage your load. Therapy is not weakness. It is a repair. Just like a car needs servicing, your mind and soul need realignment.
Build relationships where you are more than a provider—where you are allowed to cry, collapse, confess. A good name is better than riches, but good health is the foundation of both.
As Chinua Achebe once said, “When the drumbeat changes, the dance must also change.” The drumbeat of life today is faster, louder, and less forgiving. Men must adjust their rhythm. Health is the new wealth. Silence is no longer golden; it is dangerous.
*Ganiyu Olowu, a public affairs analyst, writes from Lagos*.