By Ayeni Adekunle
I’ve been trying to resume this column for some time now. I’ve promised and failed myself; promised and failed readers. And our editorial board chairman Chris Ihidero has not helped matters. Instead of encouraging me with the expected ‘I trust you Ayeni, you can do it‘. Come on, you’ve done this before, you sure can do it again if you put your mind to it’; all he has done is make fun of my laziness and dare me to start. In fact, he threatened that the editors would not debut this column unless I submit materials for at least eight editions.
Ihidero always delivers his very popular column every week, whether he’s in India, Ikorodu, or somewhere in between. And I plan to match his consistency – even do better.
But it’s a shame, a big shame that I’m starting on this very sad and sober note. I was rounding up my vacation, planning to return home last week, when, on Wednesday night, I got a message from Osagie Alonge, our chief correspondent, that Amadi Ogbonna, the entertainment editor of Vanguard newspapers, may have passed away. I was actually having drinks with a new acquaintance in a pub opposite the Bayswater station in London. A former banker who has now set up his own business, he wanted advice on how to position his service to the public, while I shared our 10 year plan for NET with him. We spoke about the value of sacrifice, about the principle of sowing and reaping, and the role time plays in all of this. He’s going to be forty in a few days. Those who know me know how close or far to 40 I am.
As we spoke passionately about our dreams and desires, planning for tomorrow (10 years in my case), I got the message that Amadi, the lively and bubbly Amadi, who himself, was planning for tomorrow; hoping to retire from Vanguard later this year, and set up on his own, had moved to the other side, after suffering ‘a massive asthma attack’.
Amadi? How does a man like that die? What happens to the 27 years he spent working at The Vanguard? His wife and three kids? What happens to his new business? What happens to his dozens of protégés? What happens to those of us, many I’m sure, with whom he had ‘issues’ before he passed? How does a fit man, who understood his health challenges and managed them well, suddenly die at such a young age? What happens to all his dreams and desires? What happens now?
When he took ill, and was hospitalized some two years ago, I visited him with two of my friends, Dele Okusanya and Nike Fagbule. While there, we had a touching conversation about the vanities of life, and how, because only death was sure, and its timing uncertain, we should take life easy, forgive easily, and be good to all. Amadi told me he thought that that illness would take his life. Having survived, he became ‘born again’, promising to take things easier. Amadi who would usually ‘fight’ you if you missed his calls, or failed to deliver on a promise; who would cause a scene if he sensed what he considered disrespect; or if he thought things were not going his way, now became gentle and cool. I saw a new Amadi after he left the hospital. And his friends and colleagues discussed this transformation behind his back. Unfortunately, that Amadi did not last long. He was back to his usual self in a matter of months. The real Amadi takes no nonsense; the real Amadi will bully and harass you to get what he wants/needs/thinks he deserves. The real Amadi fears no one; and is not afraid to ‘deal’ with anyone – subordinate, artiste, actor, PR exec or friend – who ‘misbehaves’.
But if you were in his good books (And I was lucky to be, for many years, until he decided I had gotten too comfortable and yanked me off) you would know that the real Amadi was also a great gentleman, a giver who would do anything for a friend. At BHM, the PR Company I chair, Amadi was one of our biggest supporters for many years. There were many weeks when his Saturday Vanguard pages could have been renamed BHM News, and it would be appropriate, because almost everything there were our clients’ content. I called him egbon (Yoruba word, used to refer fondly to someone you consider a ‘big brother’) and he called me Aburo (meaning kid brother).
His Yoruba was very good, and he would often say to me over the phone ‘Aburo, se o ti ri story e (meaning, have you seen your story?), to which I would thank him profusely and we’d move on to other topics – usually him educating me on the history of Nigerian music, advising me on sundry issues, or complaining about Lolade Sowoolu (then his right hand reporter), or about an artiste that had been ‘rude’ to him (I remember vividly the D’Banj episode and how upset he was), or even me (he so hated it when I don’t immediately pick his calls; a particularly bad habit of mine that finally led to our fight).
He was very upset he couldn’t see me when he paid an unscheduled visit to the BHM office one busy Monday morning. He called Nike to register his displeasure and I called him immediately. He did not pick up. He went on to ‘blacklist’ us, telling Nike ‘don’t send me any of your press releases again…’ For someone I thought BHM shared a special relationship with, and to whom I had promised our full support for his upcoming project, I was shocked and surprised, and thought he had overreacted. But instead of going to look for him and resolving the issue, I did the stupidest thing: I called his bluff. We never spoke again.
I know there are many of us who weren’t speaking with him, for whatever reasons. Amadi was not a perfect man. He had his faults, like you and I. But he was not an evil man. Amadi was a good man.
Now that he has shockingly passed at 49, leaving behind a young family and many dependants, I hope those of us he touched one way or the other will come together and show all the support we can. His first son, Jude, 19, is due to resume at FUTO soon; his other kids will return to school in September. He was about to set up a business for his wife before he passed on, and apart from the business project he was working on, I hear he had other projects that were nearing completion, including the home he was building for his family. A good time to support would be today. Not tomorrow.
One more important thing: I hope those of us still living will learn a thing or two from his very untimely passing. I have learnt my own lessons.
See you next week (God willing).
5 comments
Nice article ,you have really Xray the real Amadi,Iwas in his house on Sunday,26, August with my wife and kids,we gisted for almost an hour,on Teusday ,we met at LTV, only to be told that he died on Wednesday, 29, August 2012. ‘Iku doro’,but i believe God knows best.
Very touched with the article. I was at work when I came across it, glued to it until I read it to the end. WELL DONE
Its so sad. This is where life assurance comes handy, at least d family would have something to fall back on. May his soul rest in peace.
I can relate to this article. So true about Ogbonna Amadi. Makes me smile to confirm what I feel about him is felt by many.
An amazing character who when I was in doubt about anything, would reassure, “Ogee go for it! U can do it”
Uncle Dusty, I wish I cud share with u all d nice things I have been reading and hearing about u since your demise.
But I know you are in heaven, smiling and pleased urself , at such an impact u have made.
Your last few words to me were, “stay in touch…with ur good ol’ uncle Dusty” to which I simply replied, “I will” 10days later, Bisi called me and started by saying, “I have got a bit of bad news”. I can’t get over it.
Wish I got one last chance to tell you how much you are appreciated. You were a great mentor and full of knowledge. Always full of beans and gave a helping hand whenever required. Happy-go-lucky, hard working approachable guy.
We had played catch-up recently and mid way, he would tell me off yet again for never getting in touch. He was very good at telling me off and yes, he would moan
if I missed or didn’t return his calls or reply his texts on time. I hated falling out with him.
Earlier this year, after a very long break in communication, he had excitedly filled me in on some juicy gists and excitedly told me about Jude’s going into higher instituition.
He was excited yet anxious. He proudly filled me in on recent positive developments.
I pray the Lord grants your family the fortitude to the bear the loss. I for one, will NEVER FORGET you. RIP my Uncle Dust!! x o x o x
Ayeni welcome back!!
Shame you had to return on such a sour note.
Amadi may not have been as proficient as FAJ (whose throne you have inherited) but he sure did pay his dues and the history of entertainment journalism will never be complete without him.
My thoughts and condolences are with his family at this time.
On a final note, i hope Chris remains hard on you,for the good of entertainment journalism.