To Chief Ajibola Ogunsola at 80 [OPINION]

Former PUNCH Chairman, Chief Ajibola Ogunsola, is going to be 80 on Sunday. As someone who has worked under his management, it is fitting to take out this week to celebrate a man I have come to regard as one of my “destiny helpers.” Every story has multiple beginnings, and I will nail the start of this one down to sometime around 2008 when I joined PUNCH as a postgraduate student. I did not set out to be in journalism; it was the hand of fate that nudged me towards applying for their job when they were recruiting fresh graduates (which I was not). At the time, I had a novel titled “Under the Brown Rusted Roofs” in the works, and I thought I had my life mapped out.

I gave a copy of the published book to my then editor, Mr Steve Ayorinde, who asked me to send another to the company chairman, a proud Ibadan son. I did, and I did not think about it any further. Shortly after, Mr Ayorinde came to the newsroom to inform me that the chairman wanted to see me. My head swirled. If there is something I always try to avoid, it is attention. Depending on what is at stake, it is a good and bad habit which I do not know if I should shake off or retain. Anyway, they scheduled a time and up the stairs to his office I went with trepidation.

Anyone who has worked in PUNCH knows how much the man was feared and revered. He is a no-nonsense man with high professional standards. He brooked no sloppiness and approached any slack in quality with the sternness of a colonial-era village headmaster. In those days, he would scan a newspaper piece written by a journalist, make corrections with a red pen, put the copy in a white envelope, and address it to the writer. Even without further words, receiving that envelope would feel like your soul had been weighed and found wanting.

That day, I walked into his office with my fingers cold from the apprehension of approaching the throne of judgment, but what I met was a genial man. The first question he asked me was, “That character (in the book), was that your father?” It was an icebreaker, and from there we talked about everything else. He put me at ease, and what he did next, I can never forget. He offered to buy 100 copies of my book. It was a grand gesture.

When publishers print the first print run of your book—usually 1,000 copies—they dump a chunk with you and expect you to do part of the marketing. So, his offering to buy that many copies was a literal weight lifted off the corner of my one-bedroom apartment. But he did not stop there. He sent out those copies to people at home and abroad—prominent Ibadan people, journalists, professors, professionals and so on—whom he thought should read the book. For years afterwards, I encountered people who would tell me, “I read your book. Your chairman sent it to me.” But it still did not end there.

Months later, he sent another message asking the editor to make me (and another lady) a columnist. I thought things were going too far. If you had asked me then to list 12 things I could possibly do in this life, writing a column would not have made number 121. I had several favourite columnists, but joining their league never crossed my mind. Besides, I was new at PUNCH. Becoming a columnist would change my professional relationship with people around me.

I thought I should tell him that he had gotten things all wrong. The fact that I wrote a book he liked does not mean I could write a column. That was a different skill set (and discipline) that I simply did not have time to muster because I was already working towards graduate school abroad at the time. I would return from work late at night, start studying for the GRE examination, and leave home to pursue work again. Where was the time?

I asked to see him, and they scheduled an appointment. When I met him, I was so flustered that I botched my carefully rehearsed speech. His response was kind. When I left his office that day, it was with the resolve that I would live up to his expectations of me. Choosing someone as young and inexperienced as me was, no doubt, an “unmerited favour.” I know the term has now been bastardised, but the idea of “unmerited favour” was not that you were miscast for a role but that you represent a bankable promise. It is your responsibility to prove yourself worthy of the faith invested in you.

Starting the column was a rough ride worsened by the paralysing fear that Chief Ogunsola was somewhere upstairs, looking down and waiting to judge me. And for years, I wrote for an audience of one. The fear of letting down someone who believed I would rise to the challenge was petrifying. I waited, but the white envelope with the red pen markings never came. Good or bad, I never heard from him and that was hard.

Learning on the go meant part of your mistakes would have been published. You would learn, but you would also cringe. I did my best, supported by then editor and sister, Ayo Adesola-aderele (and later, Joel Nwokeoma). A couple of years later, the new editor, Mr Joseph Adeyeye, moved the column from the inside pages to the back page. I still wonder what he was thinking when he did that because I expected to be let go, but I was promoted instead.

After the first column was published, I received an unexpected call from Chief Ogunsola. He first congratulated me, and then brought me up to speed on the complexities of the world I was about to enter. If he had not taken that initiative, maybe my feet would have stumbled somewhere. I should also add that he sent me some money to buy a dictionary and thesaurus.

Years ago, he was in Austin, Texas, for his friend’s daughter’s graduation ceremony. During our lunch together, he happened to mention that one of the people who took over from him in one of the companies he managed told him how fearful they were that he, Chief Ogunsola, was always judging their managerial competence against his record. I stared as he explained that he understood that everyone’s tenure would be different. Then I finally confessed that I also lived with a similar fear of letting him down. ‘No, no, no,’ he said. Then he went on to tell me how proud he was of how far I had come, and that he wished me nothing but well. To think all the while, what I saw in my mind’s eye was a magistrate. It was a liberating moment for me.

Being a columnist has brought me a long way personally and professionally. I am thankful for the foresightedness of a man who thought of me beyond myself, and the guidance he supplied along the way. I have unlearned and relearned, and I am grateful for the education. If I have ever been wrong on this journey, it was with the same sincerity with which I have been right. I made mistakes, but I regret nothing. I said what I said, and I will repeat most of it. Pushing the borders of what can be said was consistent with my belief in human freedom. Yes, freedom is not freedom unless someone uses it. I have no apologies. Also, and not to be self-righteous, I do not have the sin of gluttony for “likes” or “loves.” I do not want to be loved or hated; I just want to understand and be understood.

So, to the man whose managerial acumen contributed to making me, and who supported me as I charted the path of self-discovery, I say a happy 80th birthday.

Culled from The Punch