The painful exit of Akpo Esajere

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 for three times, he finally picked my call, as it is 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 will leave Akoka Campus on weekends especially Saturdays to go into the interior of Onike-Iwaya Walter side and paint neighboring Onike-Iwaya and environ red and blue, and return quietly back to school.

After graduation this inseparable bond continued in the defunct Daily Times. Where we all thought 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 reach to get exclusive stories that sells the newspaper meant nothing to them. Akpo’s junior 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.
It was at this point he told me, how feed up he was with what was happening in the Daily Times then. I can still recollect him say in a derogatory voice, ‘ethnicity is strange to good journalism practice, this is exactly what is happening in the Daily Times now. I honestly don’t want to be part of this shit. I got to leave for my own sanity my brother. After a long drag from his glass of cooled beer, he asked me my brother, did you know how I can reach the Managing Director of the Guardian Newspaper, I mean Mr. Laide Bonuola? You are already in the Guardian, can you book an appointment for me to see him. I told him, like every other newsrooms in the world the Guardian had it own internal dynamics, sadly, I was not among the favoured boys who can pull string’s, I can’t assure him, that I’ll be able to get the appointment he wants with Mr. Bonuola who sadly carry on like a demy God in the Guardian Newspaper of yoo. I however promised to do my ground work and reach him as soon as it was possible, to tell him how he can have one on one discussions with Mr. Bonuola.

Exactly two weeks after my encounter with Akpo, I went to Bonuola’s office in the belly of Ruthmam House, to check whether my weekly claims were signed and ready, that was when Mr. Bonuola was assuring a man he was exscoting 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, I still found a way of getting a message across to Akpo. I sent him a note with all the details, It was at that 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, I asked him, to ignore them, that his works will soon silent them, and separate the men from the boys. This eventually happened. As 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 copping in these difficult times? He replied ‘What can I do, I am here, waiting for whatever God throw’s at my feet’s. 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 bearly surviving now. Any day I see good food to eat  I will  thank my God. In this our job no pension no gratuities, once you are out of office, people who hitherto patronised you will forget all about you. You call some of them, whom you thought were closed enough they’ll fake not recognising your voice again on phone. When there is nothing I remain here. You know how bad, rotten and toxic, the  Nigerian media industry had falling. The young men and women at the helmet of affairs now, in most of these media houses are very toxic in nature, they are rude and very unreliable, unlike in the past when we use to be our brothers and sisters keepers and help one and other. 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 cracked and obviously broken and I was all in tears.
There was this prolonged silence on 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 ways to study and practice  journalism did not get it right. What did we do wrongly? Why is it,  we were unable to make as much money as the interlopers and Rabbo rousers who invaded journalism practice not for genuine practice but self angradisement.  They have today 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 short comings. On a 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 practicing journalists.