LEGACY
By EMMA GOGWIM KAYI
It never occurred to me that a day would come when I would say that an 81-year-old died too early. But that is how I have felt since social media broke the news of the demise of author and veteran journalist, Dan Agbese. The media great died too early because I had an ‘unfinished business’ with him.
Since his passing, commentators have accorded him the reverence that his peerless professional standing and accomplishments deserved. Luminous star, journalism idol, icon, giant, legend, mass communication guru, king of prose are among the phrases used to celebrate the man who, more than anyone else of his generation, made weaving written words into art forms of compelling attraction. So masterly was his output that his style and standard became the measure by which others were assessed, with many saying he was unrivalled.
Indeed, I am yet to come across someone who, after ‘encountering’ Dan Agbese in writing, said reading him was not a delightful experience. Thousands would testify that it is usually an experience to savour, even by those who are the objects of his rebuke.
To his credit, Dan Agbese was also very generous in accommodating those who looked up to him for guidance and mentorship. His hands were always ready to lift others up the ladder of life, even if it meant they shared in his space and limelight. I am more than a witness; I am a beneficiary of this blessing that Agbese showered on others.
When I concluded work on WITHOUT A NAME in 2023, my thoughts went to Dan Agbese as the man I hoped would write the Foreword to the book. But how to go about getting him to grant me that wish was a problem, because I had never met him before.
Never meeting the legend
As acknowledged elsewhere, somehow Dan Agbese was the only Editor of THE NIGERIA STANDARD whom I never met in person. I had visited the newspaper’s first Editor, Senator Iliya Audu, in Wukari, Taraba State, in the company of Barr. Danjuma Adamu (another veteran journalist and a pillar to me); I had been to the Bukuru residence of Senator George Hoomkwap, the second editor, on several occasions. I knew, met, or worked with all the editors who succeeded the first two, from Gideon Barde, Joel Pwol, Richard Umaru, Sale Iliya, Jonathan Ishaku, to Sylvanus Namang, whom I succeeded. But, unfortunately, I never met Dan Agbese.
Being a media great, I knew Agbese even before I joined the newspaper. One of my earliest ‘encounters’ with him was the article he wrote for publication in THE NIGERIA STANDARD HUMOUR DIGEST, a publication some of us were commissioned to produce in 1989 as part of a diversification programme for the company. His article, Looking Back, was a powerful reminder of the master craftsman who once held sway at the newspaper. Dan Agbese could not make it to the presentation of the publication, to the disappointment of some of us.
Years later, each time I entered the editor’s office to take my seat, I could hardly miss seeing photographs of past occupants of the office on a board fixed to the wall. Somehow, the seating arrangement had the board and its photographs behind it, creating the sense of one’s worthy predecessors providing cover and keeping watch over one during one’s own watch! Among them was Dan Agbese, a man I kept hoping to meet. It never happened until I left the newspaper for other duty posts.
Faced with the dilemma of how to ‘connect’ with Agbese, it was Matthew Kuju, another STANDARD man of substance, who came to my rescue. He encouraged me to reach out to the great man and share with him my wish. I did so. I reached out to him on WhatsApp, telling him the favour I wanted. I eventually sent the Introduction to the book to his WhatsApp page, and the rest through a link, given its size. What was not ready was the part dealing with the Acknowledgements.
That same day, I got this response from Dan Agbese: “I have just read the Introduction. Very touching.” When he couldn’t access the whole book, he sent word to me that same night: “I am unable to access the book with the link you sent. Could you please resend it ASAP. Thanks.”
That I was very excited by his response is to state the obvious. For Dan Agbese to find the five-page Introduction “very touching,” and for him to ask that I resend the whole book as soon as possible for him to write the Foreword, was the icing on the cake.
Eventually, he sent a five-page Foreword to the 438-page book, which was so generous to me that I couldn’t help but wonder if my puny effort had made that impression on the media icon. “It bears repeating. You cannot afford not to read this book. Take it from me,” were Dan Agbese’s concluding words. If I was humbled that he granted me a wish, I was more than honoured by his assessment of the book.
The acknowledgements in the book, which I wrote on receipt of the Foreword, were proof of his special standing. “That The Nigeria Standard was special in the 1970s and 1980s, and a must-read, was due largely to the brilliance, boldness and sacrifices of professionals like Agbese. Those of us who inherited their very big shoes had great exemplars in them and a legacy to sustain, the best way we could. It is doubtful if we made a huge success of our efforts.” That was my opinion of him.
A lasting connection
WITHOUT A NAME connected me to Dan Agbese in a profound way. He told me he found the title most intriguing and sought to scrutinise the book to establish its basis and purpose. He also confided in me that, since I sat on the THE NIGERIA STANDARD Editor’s chair he vacated in the 1970s, he felt an affinity with me.
Thus began periodic calls and conversations on sundry issues. He told me that I honoured the former Military Governor of Benue-Plateau State, the late Commissioner of Police, J. D. Gomwalk, through what I wrote on the felled leader of the Middle Belt people in my book. He recounted his first meeting with Governor Gomwalk, an interview session during which the leader told him of his intention to establish a newspaper, hoping he (Agbese) would join its staff.
He also told me that, at the point of joining THE NIGERIA STANDARD, he had offers from two other organisations—one of them a global entity based in Lagos—but he had the presence of mind to remember the commitment he had made to the Governor of his state. He joined the newspaper.
According to him, J. D. Gomwalk was one of the most misunderstood and misrepresented leaders of post-independence Nigeria. He said the man became a victim and was cruelly sacrificed.
During one such engagement, I wondered aloud why he hadn’t been visiting Jos as he should, given his connections to the city. He told me that, at a point, he even gave serious thought to building a retirement home in the Tin City, which did not come to pass. He then asked if I was unaware that Lagos has a way of ‘arresting’ and ‘detaining’ the unwary indefinitely, implying he also fell victim to the allures of that city and forgot the Jos plan.
I told him that if he had been frequenting Plateau, our paths could have crossed. I disclosed that of the ‘triumvirate’ of Chief David Attah (General Manager of the company publishing THE NIGERIA STANDARD Titles), Chief George Ohemu (Editor-in-Chief of the Titles), and himself—all of them of the Idoma ethnic group—I got to meet or know the other two fairly well. I told him I even spent a weekend at Orokam, Ohemu’s ancestral hometown, when he was conferred with a chieftaincy title. I told him of the feature article I wrote on that trip, titled, ‘Trip To Another ‘Country”, which he said was intriguing.
I also told him I met Chief Attah a couple of times, one of which was at a Guild of Editors Conference in Port Harcourt in the 1990s. At that time, the former PPC helmsman was Gen. Sani Abacha’s media chief. To this narrative, he said our meeting was yet to be sanctioned by the scheduling angels and gods.
One conversation that triggered laughter from both ends centred on his height and my size. The talk had drifted to the point where I asked him to tell me how tall he was, since I was yet to see him. The man laughed for a while and told me he was about 5’11”. He then asked if I was that tall, but quickly reminded himself of how I described myself in my book. He told me he remembered my grandmother’s concern over my slight and sparse frame during the routine inspections she undertook of my body during holidays from school, and her giving up hope I could ever be like her first son, Njim Maikato, or even his evangelist younger brother, my father. Agbese said he could make a good guess about me from the book. I conceded readily that I would fail any body-size tests where people like him were in contention.
At a point, hackers disrupted our engagements. I had sent a WhatsApp message to him, and the reply I got was concerning. It said, “I need a little favour from you at the moment,” accompanied by an emoji I found odd. The language was not one I could readily associate with the master. Moreover, what would Chief Agbese ask me to do that would amount to a favour to him, and not a duty to be undertaken heartily by me? I sensed foul play. A counterfeit Agbese was on the prowl, I feared.
I reached out to Kuju, who told me our Oga’s number had been hacked. The great man later forwarded his daughter’s numbers for use, until we restored connection.
As the November 9, 2024, public presentation of my book approached, Chief Dan Agbese told me he would not make it, much as he wished to use the event to see Jos after a long while. He hinted at a health challenge and the rigours of travel—even by air—and sought my understanding of the situation. He also told me he would have happily performed the role of Reviewer of the book if the trip was possible.
In reply, I told him I appreciated his situation and that I was more than indebted for the role he had already played. But I reminded him that he was postponing my unfinished business—that of me setting my eyes on him—a “reminder” he laughed heartily at. The witty man assured me I would see him when I see him.
The presentation of the book held on the scheduled day, and that night I called Chief Agbese to thank him. He listened carefully as I gave a brief on what transpired at the event. I didn’t forget to mention that the Chairman of the occasion, the Rt. Hon. Yakubu Dogara, Speaker of the 9th House of Representatives, made a strong case for revitalising the reading culture. I assured him that the event ended well.
My benefactor had a surprise for me in his response. “Emma, welcome to the club of authors,” he said. Believe me, the title of author just didn’t sit well with me. Surely, it belongs to the Dan Agbeses of this world. I couldn’t deceive myself that I had “arrived”. I still do not. With the Dan Agbeses to look up to as reference points, “arriving” is a life-long endeavour, not a destination that is reachable by all.
This may explain why, since then, I sometimes felt the need to share with him articles that I wrote which got published. “Cheers or Jeers for IBB?” and “My Tyoden ‘Diary’” are the two I remember sending the soft copies to the media icon this year. Last year, I sent birthday wishes to him. I also extended Christmas greetings to the guru. Somehow, I failed to send best wishes to him on his birthday this year. Then the man died!
Legacy beyond a lifetime
You can see why, for me, Chief Dan Agbese died too early. Too early that I never got to meet him. If there is one consolation that I have, it is in the fact that I have more than enough of him to read in the priceless books and articles he crafted, and the memory of the engagements he honoured me with. They will last me a lifetime and more.
Rest well, Dan Agbese, author and journalist, as you taught me to refer to you. Rest well, my Master—the Master whom I never met, because you died too early.
Kayi, twice-editor of THE NIGERIA STANDARD, retired from the Plateau State Civil Service as Permanent Secretary, Deputy Governor’s Office, in 2022