It has been a glorious week for journalism in Nigeria and for a scandal-fatigued nation by extension. There can be nothing more morally satisfying than watching good people finish first. In the ethical free trade zone that is Nigeria, this is immensely gratifying and a cause to be grateful to almighty. Allah de indeed.
Watching the great man soak up all the accolades and encomiums , all the ringing ovations and rousing oratory at the Yoruba Tennis club last Monday, was like watching a king in autumnal splendour. It is the dean’s November. And all the men of timber and calibre came to pay their respects to the doyen.
It was like an occult gathering of bi-centennial egunguns. The entire hall reeked of camphor cubes, organdi lace and other ancestral textiles. There were one or two double partings reminiscent of Edwardian dandies. Victorian Lagos came alive again.
It was a Veterans’ Day, and as the reviewer of the collection, Dan Agbese, noted, it was perhaps the greatest collection of aging journalists that the nation has witnessed. Perhaps not since they founded Yaba Old People’s Home, snooper must caution. It was 17 years since snooper himself had a memorable breakfast of steaming Oturkpo yam porridge with Dan in company of the impossible Colonel Dickson Ovie-Itete. In the intervening years, the great Newswatch trailblazer himself has taken on a sage otherworldly hue.
The man of the moment took it all in his stride. Not for once did the calm, impassive and Roman noble exterior betray any emotion. Like an all-seeing, all-knowing traditional deity, Allah De wore his usual mask of Olympian reticence. Only my master knew what my master was thinking about. Alhaji Alade Idowu Odunewu took in all the hype and hoopla with a regal forbearance that suggested good breeding and cultivated restraint. There is a stoic equanimity about the man that communicated deep wisdom and even deeper faith. When shall we see his like again?
When Winston Churchill was told that Clement Atlee, his great rival and ultimate electoral conqueror, was a modest man, Churchill noted with caustic severity that Atlee had everything to be modest about. In our own Alade Odunewu we have a man who has everything not to be modest about but who has chosen the path of modesty and rectitude. There is something ultimately forbidding about Allah De’s simplicity and lack of airs. There is something about his casual, self-effacing mien that is a subtle indictment of the pompous self-importance of many of our contemporary rulers. Allah De is a different proposition altogether.
There are great writers who are squalid human beings. There are great people who are squalid writers. There are people who are squalid human beings and squalid writers to the bargain. To be a great writer and a great person is a rare combination indeed. Alade Odunewu, by right and reputation, belongs to this special breed. Nigeria has produced greater writers and perhaps greater people in the realm of politics and entrepreneurial daring. But Allah De is in a class of his own as a great person and a great columnist.
In their epic duel which was to earn Allah De the sobriquet of the dean of satirical journalism in Nigeria, Zik of Africa cautioned Odunewu about deploying major artillery to fight minor skirmishes. How about some preliminary skirmishes before the main tournament, Zik famously asked of his antagonist, trying to lure the wily journalist into a fatal clinch. Allah De did not decline. The result is a classic slugfest that has since become a benchmark for civilised discourse in post-colonial Nigeria.
Zik, the apostle of Fabian socialism, the ardent disciple of Fabius Cunctator, the great Roman strategist of attrition, was drawing Allah De’s attention to one of the fabled tenets of delayed engagement and graduated violence as learnt from the master himself. Preliminary skirmishes must not be fought with major artillery. But the great Zik could have saved his breath. Allah De was never one to rush into political hostilities.
In the end, it boils down to a question of style for great man and great columnist. The great riddle of Allah De’s life as a man and a prose stylist has to do with the complexity of simplicity. More often than not, it is not simple to be simple. Although Allah De’s style evinces a powerful simplicity, it is a simplicity that has been worked over several times by a profound and complex mind. It is not the simplicity of the Fleet Street journeyman, or the simplicity of the zealot of the American night school of journalism and ersatz fast food communication. It is a simplicity under-girded by a potent imagination.
This is the point Dan Agbese seems to miss in his otherwise refreshing review. While praising Allah De for the simplicity and elegance of his writing, Agbese also betrays the mindset of the fundamentalist of the old school of journalism with its war cry of clarity and lucidity. By so doing, Agbese manages to skirt round the issue thus resurrecting an old stylistic ghost which dogged Newswatch at its inception and which provoked a memorable defence of stylistic complexity by one of its star columnists.
It is true that the classical canons of modern mass communication are anchored on lucidity and simplicity of style. But such lucidity and simplicity of expression are often in collusion and complicity with ruling class agenda. They are tools of mass deception. The simplistic mind often hides under the mantra of simplicity to obscure and obfuscate complex issues.
In the tortured and tormented labyrinth of the post-colonial state, with its state assisted crimes and ruling class delinquency, this kind of simplicity is going to be a tall order indeed. In a post-modernist world where writing about adventure is also the adventure of writing itself, this is like a relapse into stone- age verbal exchanges among hunter-gatherers of primitive information.
At any rate, less is just less. Anybody who has something memorable to say must find a memorable way to say it, if they are to register with posterity. Poor Dan Agbese, journalism is too serious a business to be left to professional journalists. It is not by coincidence that the most remarkable journalists that Nigeria has produced are people who bring the fertile resources of other professions to bear on the trade.
We are talking about the great Zik with his polyvalent potency, Awo with his classical erudition, Anthony Enahoro with his powerful intellect, Aiyekoto with his urbane and cosmopolitan swashbuckling, Allah De with his world-weary wisdom and superlative imagination, Sad Sam with his cynical perspicacity, Gbolabo Ogunsanwo with his polysyllabic virtuosity, Dele Giwa with his elaborate literary conceits, Stanley Macebuh with his mandarin ruminations and our own Olatunji Dare with the clinical clarity of an absconding scientist.
While most of these men often return to their primary trade, while some of them would take a French leave from journalism, Allah De remains the quintessential journalist. Again, it is a question of style and taste. Allah De does not mix journalism with partisan politics. But this is not say that he was ever indifferent to the political fortunes of his beloved country. When affronted, Allah De roiled with quiet tempest. But he was wise and worldly enough to leave political rascality to the professional rascals. In such moments of sublime impotence, the great man would probably sigh: Allah De.
The result is a body of writing that is at once penetratingly critical but also ruler-friendly. This is the man the entire nation celebrated last week. Since everybody seems to have an Allah De story, snooper might as well end with his own. Once upon a long time ago, Allah De missed his way in the jungle of primeval beauty that was one of the nation’s finest universities.
Snooper snooping around as usual in the dense jungle recognised the great man and helped him on his way. The doyen was full of urbane gratitude. It turned out that in characteristic humility and fatherly affection the great man had come all the way from Lagos to thank one of his daughter’s teachers for his diligence and devotion.
Last week the nation returned the full compliment to one of its most illustrious and noble sons. It was a moveable feast. Here is wishing the great dean many happy returns of the day, sir.
