Akpo Esajere

Gabriel Omonhinmi

My friend and brother Akpo Esajere has gone to rest with the Lord. Some months back I had this innate urge to call Akpo and find out how he was doing health-wise, I therefore wasted no time and called his number.  After calling his number repeatedly three times, he finally picked up my call. As it was my habit over the years I hailed him ‘Oshare Gaga, an Urohbo word for a strong man. Although a very proud Isoko man, Akpo always accepted my hailing him as Oshare Gaga even when we were students at the University of Lagos. I recall with nostalgia how we would leave Akoka Campus on weekends especially Saturdays to go and paint neighbouring Onike-Iwaya red and blue, and return quietly to school.

After graduation, this inseparable bond continued in the defunct Daily Times where we all thought we were doing fine until a new management came. At some point, it became very glaring that the new management was not interested in taking advantage of the huge experience some people already had on the job, their competence and their reach to get exclusive stories that sell the newspaper. These meant nothing to them. Akpo’s juniors were sadly promoted over and above him. One evening, he was downcast. When I walked into the newsroom in Agidingbi, we met, he asked that we move over to the place called Whitehouse opposite the Daily Times premises in Agbidingbi. There we were romancing a cooled bottle or two bottles of beer.

Akpo Esajere

It was at this point he told me, how fed up he was with what was happening in the Daily Times, I can still recollect him saying in a derogatory voice, ‘Ethnicity is strange to good journalism practice, this is exactly what is happening in the Daily Times. I honestly don’t want to be part of this shit. I got to leave for my sanity, my brother.’ After a long drag from his glass of cold beer, he asked me ‘My brother, do you know how I can reach the Managing Director of the Guardian Newspaper, I mean Mr. Lade Bonuola? You are already in The Guardian, can you book an appointment for me to see him?’ I told him that, like every other newsroom in the world The Guardian had its internal dynamics. Sadly, I was not among the favoured boys who could pull strings, and I couldn’t assure him, that I’d be able to get the appointment he wanted with Mr. Bonuola who sadly carried on like a demi-god in The Guardian Newspaper of those days. I however promised to do my groundwork and reach him as soon as it was possible, to tell him how he could have one-on-one discussions with the man.

Exactly two weeks after my encounter with Akpo, I went to Bonuola’s office at Ruthmam House, to check whether my weekly claims were signed and ready, that was when Mr Bonuola was assuring a man he escorted out of his office who came to visit him, that he was going to be physically present at a book launch at the Nigeria Institute of International Affairs (NIIA) in Victoria Island. Armed with the date and time for the book launch, we had no mobile telephone then, but I still found a way of getting a message across to Akpo. I sent him a note with all the details. It was at this venue in V.I. Akpo struck a deal with Mr. Bonuola that brought him to the Guardian Political Desk. On the very first day, he assumed duty in the Guardian, he met with fierce resistance from some guys who never wanted him near the political desk. He complained to me, and I asked him, to ignore them, that his works would soon silence them, and separate the men from the boys. This eventually happened. The hostile colleagues immediately found their levels with time, while Akpo settled down to work.

On this particular day, that I called him, I simply asked Oshare Gaga, ; What has been happening to you health-wise and how have you been coping in these difficult times?’

He replied, ‘What can I do, ‘I am here, waiting for whatever God throws at my feet. When my wife Silvia, God bless her soul richly, who was my rock and confidant died, that was when I lost everything. My brother, I am barely surviving now. Any day I see good food to eat  I will thank my God, in this job no pension no gratuities, once you are out of office, people who were hitherto patronising you will forget all about you, you call some of them, whom you thought were close they’ll fake not recognising your voice again on phone. If nothing I remain here. You know how bad, rotten and toxic, the  Nigerian media industry has fallen. The young men and women at the helm of affairs now, in most of these media houses are very toxic, they are rude and very unreliable, unlike in the past when we used to be our brothers and sisters’ keepers and help one another. I mean ourselves. Now it is every man for him or herself. I am not ready for any young man to ridicule me, I’ll rather go into my grave with my integrity intact.’ At this point of discussion, his voice was broken and I was all in tears.

There was this prolonged silence on the phone between us until he gathered himself to say ‘Hello are you still there my man Gabby my brother?

The whole of that day, I was downcast, not knowing what to do to help my friend. I cried and cried to no end.

I continually asked myself where did my type get it wrong? Why is it, that some of us who deliberately planned and went out of our way to study and practice journalism, did wrong, why we did not make as much money as the interlopers and rabble-rousers who invaded journalism practice and ended up amassing stupendous wealth? We the core professionals were too ethic conscious. Sadly, I ended up blaming the inimitable Neville Okoli the former Editor of The Defunct Nigerian Observer who happens to be my mentor and role model for all my shortcomings. On second thought Mr. Okoli and Tom Boha were not rich, what’s then is the problem or matter with genuine journalism practitioners in Nigeria? This is food for thought for all practising journalists.

*Gabriel Omonhinmi, a veteran journalist, shared this on FB