Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, March 7, 1991 TAG: 9104240439
SECTION: THE METRO TOURNAMENT PAGE: 8 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Scott Blanchard / Sportswriter
DATELINE: BLACKSBURG LENGTH: Long
Not his, however.
"People want to know [my background]," said the 6-foot-8 Nigerian, a little-used center on Tech's basketball team who didn't leave Africa until he was 18. "But they try to make of a joke out of it. [They say] `You have tigers and lions.' because they see all the safari stuff. These are college students, students supposed to have knowledge. They surprise me, they're just so ignorant. I tell them I want them to be there too someday in their lives."
"There" is Lagos, capital of a nation whose more than 100 million citizens place it among the world's largest countries, according to the world atlas. Oladotun said there's not much room for people, much less for animals, in his hometown, with a population of more than 3.5 million.
To be sure, Oladotun is a tribesman - but his customs don't include poison arrows or loincloths. The Yoruba tribe, he said, numbers between 30 million and 40 million in Nigeria and among other things encourages dressing well - as in, young, upwardly-mobile Nigerians. Oladotun, somehow fittingly, wants to be a stockbroker.
The tribe's homogeneity is fading, at least with its most well-known export to Blacksburg.
"Every tribe has a historical background, like where they originated," Oladotun said in his bass voice and accent that, to a listening American, stresses odd syllables and makes English a more melodic language. "But I don't really believe in that. I believe God created everything, and we're just living."
For four years, Oladotun has lived in the United States. He hasn't been home - or to see his sister and mother in London or a brother in Paris - since leaving Lagos for Wagner (N.Y.) college, from which he transfered after one year to Pensacola (Fla.) Junior Colllege, where he spent one year before transferring to Tech. None of his immediate family members has visited him in the United States.
It's getting old, he said.
"When people are coming [back to school] from their house, I would stay here, just the same thing over and over for four years," he said. "I have no motivation."
Summer travel, Oladotun said, has been zapped for three reasons: money, summer school and his desire to work on his basketball in the offseason so he can get more playing time. The latter effort has been for naught. After averaging 3.4 points and 3.5 rebounds in 31 games last year, Oladotun has sat out 12 of 27 games this year and has played only three minutes per game.
Oladotun was billed as a strong rebounder and defender and a shot-blocking specialist. His manic stlye of defense drew occasional offensive fouls, but he fouled too often and had awkward offensive moves.
Tech's coaches say if Oladotun, who began playing organized basketball only four years ago, had been able to redshirt last year, he might have contributed more to Tech. But the Hokies needed inside play last year, so he played right away. He didn't produce as expected, and, when this year came, Hokies coach Frankie Allen said it was time to use younger players such as Jimmy Carruth and better players such as Erik Wilson.
That has frustrated the front-row fans at Cassell Coliseum, their chants of "Toooon!" and their plans for an "Ebrew's Crew" T-shirt, using Oladotun's nickname, a shortened version of his first name. But Allen's decision apparently hasn't warped the 'Toon himself.
"Personally, I'm nobody, nobody knows me, I'm not from here, I'm just a survivor," Oladotun said. "I like to live within myself. I'm not really worrying about how I'm sitting on the bench."
Oladotun says his academic progress soothes his athletic obscurity; he notes matter-of-factly that he had the team's best grade-point average last semester, a 2.9. He said he will graduate with a degree in financial management, probably in December.
When he leaves Tech - no matter if he plays another minute - the remarkably enthusiastic Oladotun probably will have left more memories than points or rebounds:
There was the time during an on-the-road shoot-around that Oladotun was practicing his free throws. After each miss, he would grab the ball with two hands and repeatedly whack it on his head.
There was the time in last year's Memphis State game at Cassell Coliseum when Oladotun, psyched after being fouled, leaped triumphantly, tucked his legs under him and forgot to untuck them, landing on his rear.
There was the time against Georgetown that he ran downcourt jabbering at a bemused Dikembe Mutombo, who is from Zaire in Africa.
There was the time, assistant coach Jim Baker said, when he watched a film from last year's game at Tulane. "Bimbo [Coles] was going one-on-one, and Ebrew was supposed to step above the block [in case Coles needed an outlet for a pass]," Baker said. "By the time Bimbo scored, Ebrew was outside the 3-point line. He was jumping up and down like a baby at Christmas."
There was the time, during an airport layover, when Oladotun was told the following season might not require so many flights. Oladotun said he would rather take the bus. Asked why, he said at least the passengers can yell at the bus driver if he's driving poorly. To this day, Allen said, Oladotun peeks in the cockpit when he boards a plane just to check on the pilot.
And there was this classic story, told by Baker, that exposes a side of Oladotun that would surprise many. The scene was Baker's residence around 1 a.m. the night he moved in after getting the job at Tech last year. Oladotun was the only player Baker could roust to help him move in.
"I'm upstairs," said Baker, whose mother also was helping. "All of a sudden running up the steps is my Mom - Ebrew has her under his arm, running upstairs. He's shouting, `Me no work with dogs.' There was a guy walking his dog outside. It scared them both, because Ebrew was yelling. I had to get some cake and soda in him. For about a half-hour, I couldn't get any work out of him.
Oladotun's fear of dogs has roots, however. Shortly after arriving in the United States, he said, he was en route home from a grocery store in Staten Island, N.Y., when a "big black dog" chased him and bit him on the ankle. He called an ambulance and was treated at a hospital, he said.
"Being from a foreign country, you feel unsafe because you're nobody, don't have a family," he said. "Anything that threatens your health seems to be a threat to your life. So I just stayed away from [dogs].
Mind you, Oladotun was no callow teen-ager when he left Nigeria. Fluent in French, Arabic and English, he was a boxer from age 9 to age 17 - he was 5-0 as a light heavyweight until the same cut over his right eye ended his last two fights. When he graduates from Tech, he said, he hopes to play basketball in Europe so he can travel for a few years before hitting Wall Street or its international equivalents.
Basketball hasn't provided Oladotun a spotlight in the United States - and he admits his senior basketball year has been a waste - but the dividend of his U.S. experience still was healthy.
"I can't say, `Oh man, I regret playing basketball,' " he said. "I've been a lot of places I probably never would have been without basketball.
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