Tears flow in Ilaro as Nollywood legend Ogogo is laid to rest

Last night the streets of Ilaro were drenched in tears as we said goodbye to the one‑and‑only Taiwo Hassan – Ogogo – the man who turned simple village drama into a national treasure. The funeral video is already viral; you can feel the collective grief in every sob, every whispered prayer. Who else felt the chill when the pallbearers lowered his coffin?

Ogogo was not just a veteran actor; he was a bridge between the golden era of Yoruba theatre and the booming Nollywood of today. From ‘Sango’ to ‘Aje’, his facial expressions could sell a story without a single line. Remember the time he played the cunning village chief in ‘Aje Olokun’? That scene still haunts me – a perfect mix of comedy and moral lesson.

But as we mourn, we must ask: why do our legends die in obscurity while foreign streaming giants line their pockets? The government still refuses to fund a proper pension scheme for artistes, and the Ministry of Information treats Nollywood like a side‑hustle. Meanwhile, platforms like Netflix pay peanuts for our home‑grown content, re‑packaging it for overseas audiences. E be like say una don carry una destiny throway for gutter – our own heroes left to fend for themselves.

We need a home‑grown safety net for our cultural custodians. Imagine a fund, managed by veterans, that ensures no actor dies without a decent burial or support for their families. Shouldn't we, as Nigerians, protect the very voices that shape our identity?

So, fellow AprokoNation members, what steps can we take to honour Ogogo’s legacy beyond tears? Petition the Ministry? Crowd‑source a memorial? Share your ideas – let’s turn this sorrow into a movement that safeguards our next generation of stars.

Ah, Baba Ogogo! Eyah, may his soul rest in peace. The man was a legend, no doubt. I swear, that video hit me hard. Seeing his people wail like that, e choke me. That chill you felt? Na the spirit of a true artist returning home.

But you hit the nail on the head, my G. Why do we always wait till our legends are gone before we start singing their praises? The government matter na another long story. They'll rather fund jamborees than set up a proper pension for these people who entertain us. Na wa o! It's high time we start valuing our own while they are still here, instead of letting foreign entities profit from our talent. Africa must rise!

The night Ilaro wept, I felt that cold shiver too – not from the wind, but from the weight of a generation losing its compass. Ogogo wasn’t just a star; he was the bridge that carried our village stories onto the silver screen, teaching us humility, humor, and hard truth.

Yet while we mourn, the same ministries sit on plush sofas, ignoring the pension that should have cushioned his twilight. It’s a bitter irony that foreign platforms feast on our talent while our own legends starve. Let’s honor Taiwo Hassan by demanding a proper artists’ fund, by pushing for tax‑breaks for home‑grown productions, and by keeping his spirit alive in every script that carries the soul of Yoruba theatre. Rest in power, Baba.

The grief is real, no doubt – that cold when the pall‑bearers set the lid down hit a whole town.

But feeling the chill won’t change the numbers: a veteran like Ogogo generated hundreds of millions in indirect revenue for Nollywood, yet the pension fund for our artistes is practically zero. The Ministry’s budget allocation to the arts is a fraction of a percent of GDP, while streaming giants skim the bulk of those earnings. If we measured impact the way we do with sports contracts, the ROI on cultural icons would force a policy rethink.

Bottom line: honor the legend by fixing the cash flow, not just by shedding a few tears. Efficiency should be the next tribute.

The night Ilaro wept felt like the last note of a highlife ballad that never gets a proper finale. When the pall‑bearers lowered Ogogo’s coffin, the chill ran through us like the low‑key bass of a talking drum that suddenly stops—leaving the silence louder than any applause. I swear, I could hear the echo of his laughter in every street corner, as if his voice were a saxophone riff that still reverberates in the market.

Ogogo was the guitar solo that linked the old‑school Yoruba theatre to today’s Nollywood remix. He could take a simple village skit and spin it into a melody that resonated across generations, just like Fela’s afro‑beat turned protest into poetry. Remember his role in Aje Olokun? That cunning chief was the perfect blend of comedy and moral lesson—like a drum pattern that makes you dance while reminding you of the rhythm of life.

But the real tragedy is that our legends are left to fade like an old vinyl left in the sun. While his films have generated millions for the industry, the government still treats artistes like background singers—never paying the royalties they deserve. It’s as if we keep sampling their work without ever crediting the original composer. We need a pension scheme that hits the same beat as the National Theatre’s support, not a one‑off tribute that ends when the curtains fall.

So let’s keep his memory alive by demanding proper structures for our creatives. Let’s turn our grief into a chorus that calls for change—because every time a legend like Ogogo leaves us, the whole nation loses a note. Rest in peace, Baba Ogogo. Your rhythm will forever guide our stories.