Lere Paimo Beats Death Rumor #3, Turns 86 Next Week
Friday night, the entire country went to a funeral that never happened.
The message landed like a bomb: “Veteran actor Chief Lere Paimo (Eda Onile Ola) is dead at 86.”
Trending Now!!:
Screenshots flew. Influencers dropped crying emojis. A popular aggregator account posted the purple-agbada photo with the black ribbon. Within minutes, #RIPLerePaimo was the number one trending topic in Nigeria.
Pastors preached about legacy. Upcoming actors posted throwback clips from Ogbori Elemosho. Someone even started a GoFundMe “for the family.”
Meanwhile, in a quiet sitting room in Ogbomosho, the man everyone was burying was fast asleep in his favourite armchair, mouth slightly open, television remote still in hand. His wife picked the first panicked call at 9:47 p.m.
“Is Baba truly gone?”
She looked at the snoring legend, shook her head, and laughed. “Gone where? He’s right here sleeping. He ate pepper soup, watched news, and dozed off.”
By 10:30 p.m., the Association of Nigerian Theatre Arts Practitioners (ANTP) had to release an emergency statement: “Chief Lere Paimo is alive, hale and hearty. He was only asleep. Please disregard the malicious rumor.”
His personal assistant added the knockout punch: “This is the third time in five years. Next time we will just livestream Baba snoring so una go rest.” But the damage—and the comedy—was already done.
Born Olalere Osunpaimo in 1939 to a yam farmer who chaired the Ogbomosho Cooperative Society, young Lere left the classroom in Ghana’s Gold Coast to chase the stage lights under the legendary Duro Ladipo.
He became the heartbeat of the National Theatre troupe, managed it after Ladipo’s death in ’78, then birthed Eda Films Ltd.—the little production house that shot classics on 16mm before Nollywood even had a name.
Agogo Eewo. Moremi Ajasoro. Sango. Taxi Driver. The list is longer than most actors’ entire careers. In 2005, President Obasanjo draped the national honour—MFR—around his neck.
In villages where generators cough to life only for football, old women still quote his lines word for word. Gospel singer Dele Paimo, one of his children, carries the name forward in music. The man built an empire on truth, herbs, and thunderous Yoruba proverbs. Yet every few years, Nigeria kills him.
2020: “Died of brief illness.”
2022: “Slumped on movie set.”
2025: “Just a nap.”
Each time he wakes up, reads the tributes, and reportedly says the same thing: “Èmi ò tíì kú, mo ṣì í ṣe ọmọdé.” (I’m not dead yet, and I’m still a child.)
Next week he clocks 86. Plans are already underway for a quiet celebration in Ogbomosho—no red carpet, just family, old troupe members, plenty of palm wine, and prayers that the internet will let the old king sleep in peace.
On social media last night, someone summed it up perfectly:
“We no dey fear death for this country, na the people wey dey quick bury person we dey fear.”
Lere Paimo has now outlived three fake obituaries, countless younger colleagues, and the entire rumor mill.
Death came knocking.
Eda Onile Ola told it to wait outside—he’s still sleeping.
