By Stanley Ajileye
There are birthdays, and then there are moments that gather history, memory, laughter, and meaning into one unforgettable night. The 60th birthday celebration of Babajide Kolade-Otitoju was one of such moments. What was ordinarily meant to mark his 60th birthday, which came two days earlier, and to present his book “My Life and the Journalist Hangout,” became something far deeper, a rich reunion of childhood friends, schoolmates, professional colleagues, and fellow travellers in the demanding journey of journalism.
The gathering at the gala night was, in every sense, a convergence of lives. For me, it was more than anything else a reunion with old colleagues at the Independent Communications Network Limited, ICNL, publishers of TheNews, Tempo, PM News, and AM News. It was a wonderful moment to reflect on our days together, on who we have all become and who we refuse to become. We have Babajide Kolade-Otitoju to thank for the great reconnection, and for the thrilling dance steps that added colour and character to the night.
The ICNL itself was not an ordinary organisation, it was built by a courageous band of professionals, Bayo Onanuga, Dapo Olorunyomi, Kunle Ajibade, Babafemi Ojudu, Idowu Obasa, Seye Kehinde, and one Kabir, a name I must confess I am not sure I ever had the privilege of meeting. They were men of uncommon courage, who stood firm in turbulent times and laid the foundation for the legacy we celebrate today.
Then came the dance. BKO’s steps were not random, they followed a trajectory, deliberate and cultural, reminiscent of what his home town people of Ekinrin-Adde call “agbaluku” or “guluso,” the antlion. His native attire complemented the dance, though he is not personally used to such elaborate dressing. I suspect he was compelled to wear it. He did not appear in it during the book launch, we only saw the agbada on him as he danced into the gala night, and in a manner that amused many, he flung it off almost immediately after settling into his seat.
That BKO is a good dancer came as a surprise to many, but not to some of us who have seen him, on several occasions in the village, sweat it out on the dance floor. Yet, something else stood out. His wife and children dance very well too. Their movements were so coordinated, hands and legs rising and falling in the same rhythmic sequence, that one could easily assume it was choreographed. It leaves one wondering how many weeks of rehearsal might have gone into perfecting such stylish harmony.
Beyond the dance and the spectacle, the evening unfolded into a reunion of men and women who paid the price for the democracy we now enjoy. Familiar faces lit up the atmosphere. Our boss, Dapo Olorunyomi, that we fondly call Dapsy, was visibly excited seeing all of us. A wonderful boss who related like a friend, he remains as passionate and assertive as ever, now leading Premium Times. Time seems to have treated him kindly, if anything has changed, it is his accent, now Americanized, understandably shaped by his years in exile. Bayo Onanuga, now Special Adviser on Information and Strategy to President Bola Ahmed Tinubu, was at the book launch but could not make the dinner, while Idowu Obasa, the General Manager of the ICNL group, was a delightful face at the gala night, looking fresh, lighter, and genuinely happy at the reunion.
Former Minister of State for Youths and Sports, Sunday Dare, was quick to notice that my cracky voice has not changed. He probably knows me more than any of the other colleagues, we were classmates at the Department of Political Science, Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria, before fate brought us together again at TheNews Magazine.
Looking into the eyes of Dapsy, I began to reflect on the great sacrifices he and other founders of ICNL endured in the days of Abacha. I remembered vividly an assignment in the mid 1990s, covering the arrival of Nigerian pilgrims involved in an accident in Israel. I left Murtala Mohammed International Airport at about 1.00 am on foot to our office at 26, Ijaiye Road. It was an odd time when the ever busy Lagos roads were quietly alone to themselves, aiding the sound of my footsteps to travel kilometers effortlessly. It was a night I became terror to fear itself. I was overwhelmed by the scoops of the news I had in my hand, and I had already started writing it in my mind. I was young and unmarried.
I got to the office only to find no one waiting. I walked to the underground computer centre on the next street, still no one. Disappointed, I began my journey home through Ojodu night market. Then I heard my name, “Stanley.” Fear gripped me immediately. In those days, stories of spirits in night markets were common. The call came again. When I turned, it was Dapo Olorunyomi, my boss, who had sneaked out around 2.30 am to eat kose and dankali. He had been away from home for months, as the Abacha regime had placed our organisation under intense scrutiny over a story authored by BKO on the trial of the phantom coup allegations. I sat with him, treated myself to some balls of kose, not minding if it was fried by spirit or human, and I completed my report. He collected it and left shortly after 3.00 am. That was the kind of men that trained us.
The following morning, AM News was the only publication that reported the arrival story. It made me proud among fellow airport correspondents and reinforced the belief that reporters in our organisation were not ordinary humans. Yet, behind such moments were real sacrifices. Weeks later, I was arrested alongside our Admin Officer and a photographer by Abacha’s men in Shangisha, Lagos. We were detained and later released on personal recognition. Others were not so fortunate. Kunle Ajibade was arrested, tried, and sentenced to life imprisonment, while many of our leaders, including Dapsy, were forced into exile.
Watching their lives in those years cast momentary fears on some of us. We wondered if that was the kind of life we would have to live, especially as some of us were preparing for marriage. Yet today, reflecting on those years of guerrilla journalism, it seems those experiences gave us something unusual.
Standing at the gala night, one could not ignore a curious reality, many of us appeared to be getting younger. Lara Owoeye-Wise now looks ten years younger. When she stood before me and introduced herself, I thought she meant the daughter of Lara. I was almost about to ask how she knew me and how her mother was doing. Her appearance, complemented by a pinafore gown, added even more youthful charm. This seeming reverse ageing was not limited to her. Musbau Rasak also belongs to that growing circle of young looking veterans I saw that day.
Idowu Obasa expressed his amazement when he asked, “Stanley, you mean all of you are still in touch after all these years?” Before I could respond, another colleague behind me said, “Sir, at ICNL you did not raise workers, you raised a family.” Nothing could be truer.
Obasa has not lost his sense of humour. When Gbenga Solomon Ibileye, the Vice Chancellor, Federal University Lokoja, came to greet him and Dapo Olorunyomi, I asked if they still remembered him from his brief time with TheNews during a prolonged ASUU strike. Obasa humorously replied, “Probably before I joined the organisation.”
There were many other colleagues I could no longer recognise, some of whom must have joined after I left in 1997. Yet, only a few individuals can bring people together across decades the way Babajide Kolade-Otitoju did that night.
He is a naturally good person, sincere and down to earth. He has paid his dues in Nigerian journalism and deserves every honour accorded him. Encomiums were poured upon encomiums, praises upon praises. The impact of Journalists Hangout, driven by the boldness and sincerity he infused into it, remains unprecedented.
He did not become an investigative journalist overnight. During our days at the School of Basic Studies, Kwara College of Technology, we were together in the campus press club, where his boldness first took root. Because of some of his writings, I remember the school authorities once sent him away from the hostel. He joined TheNews a few months before me, he was in Kano while I worked at the airport in Lagos. Even then, his reports almost always made the lead.
At 60, Babajide Kolade-Otitoju stands not just as a celebrated journalist, but as a symbol of resilience, courage, and consistency. That night was not just about marking a birthday, it was about honouring a journey, reliving a shared past, and celebrating a legacy that continues to shape the Nigerian media space.
– Stanley Ajileye writes from Lokoja.
