In a nation where life expectancy is between 50 to 54 years, it will be out of place to say that my erudite friend and mentor, a writer and satirist extraordinaire, could have yet lived a little bit longer. But that could have been my heart’s desire, though.
Now you can understand why I was very shocked and pained at the news of the death of Dan Agbese at 81, earlier today. He was a good man, a detribalised Nigerian. I got introduced to him through his articles in Newswatch Magazine at a very early age. In 1989, in my petulant inquisition, I wrote him a letter via the Post office telling him that I want to be a good writer and journalist like him.
Before then, my brother, Nicholas Enegbuma and I have become addicted to his Columns in Newswatch, especially his usually philosophical “Preface to Cover” such that we maintain an archive of his writings at home.
He responded regularly to my letters encouraging me to go to school so that, in his words, “you can adequately judge other people’s writings and appreciate your own contributions”. I visited him first at his office at Oluwole bus stop, Oregun road, Ikeja in 1989. That was when our friendship began, a one-sided fatherly friendship where he remained the exclusive benefactor.
Prior to this time, I have been writing the famous “Letters to the Editor” and getting published. This, too, fuels my love for Newswatch Magazine and for Dan Agbese in particular. In 1990 at the establishment of The Mail Newspaper, published by the late Obarisi Clarkson Majomi, Dan Agbese sent for me from Kano via a mail where I reside.
I came to Lagos, a day’s journey by road to Orile-Iganmu to meet with Miss Dotun Sotonwa, Dan’s secretary at Newswatch. I got a clerical Job with the new media outfit without protocol courtesy of Dan Agbese. It was an exhilarating experience. Dan said he did this to prepare me to go to school just as I have always desired.
It was at “The Mail” I got introduced to the life in the newsroom by proxy. Though I was officially attached to the Advert Department, I got myself psychologically attached to the newsroom, running unofficial errands for great writers and journalists in our stable at the time.
Dan Agbese gave my young mind a focus and direction. He encouraged my talents and insist I must go to school. He it was that paid my first school fees at Auchi Polytechnic, in 1991 where I read Mass Communication. Though I was not a regular visitor to his home at Isaac John’s Street, Ikeja GRA, Lagos, I was a constant visitor to his Billings way office.
Dan Agbese was a detribalised Nigerian, a mentor and encourager. He was a good listener and always recaps every conversation no matter how long the discussion was. He has a way of giving you more than what you want even if you make your figure known to him.
I grew up to become that way, too, whenever I can and without offence to modesty, I’m equally a proud mentor of a first class graduate a few years back, who took advantage of me just as I did of Dan Agbese decades ago. I learned how to welcome aspiring “strangers” and young people into my life regardless of their ethnicity, from my experience with Dan Agbese.
Dan Agbese was a father figure, a mentor and a great journalistic inspiration to me as a young adult. I knew him when he was in his mid 40s, two decades of age apart and more between us. Yet, his friendliness and warmness dwarf the gap.
His towering human frame reflects his towering love for ambitious young people like me those years. He was a strong breed and conscience of the less privileged. I will always remember him. Adieu Sir!
