My personal June 12 story, By Biodun Durojaiye
The humid air of Lagos in the early 1980s was thick with a burgeoning spirit of youth and change, and it was into this atmosphere that I stepped as a pioneer student at Lagos State University (LASU) in 1984. My initial academic path lay within the Science Faculty, a world of formulas and experiments. Yet, the campus, still finding its footing, offered little in the way of established student societies. It fell to us, the inaugural class, to lay the groundwork for those who would follow. Among the many aspirations that brewed in those formative years, a campus magazine took root in my mind and in the minds of a few kindred spirits, notably Segun Ajiboye. It was this involvement in campus magazines that, quite unexpectedly, ultimately led to my career in journalism.
Our ambition, however, was met with an unexpected bureaucratic inertia. The university authorities seemed hesitant to register our proposed press club. While other clubs, applying later, gained swift approval, ours lingered in a state of administrative limbo. The reason for this delay remained a mystery until a chance encounter with a discerning lecturer responsible for screening applications. Her question, laced with a hint of suspicion, finally illuminated the path: “What do you people mean by being pragmatic students? You want to start organising riots here, abi?” The phrase, innocuously included in our application, had evidently stirred unease. My swift denials and assurances of peaceful intent must have appeased her, for not long after, our club was registered, and SEARCHLIGHT magazine was born.
In an era predating sophisticated printing presses, SEARCHLIGHT emerged as multiple sheets of cyclostyled A4 paper, its content a blend of campus news and earnest, socialist-leaning write-ups. We weren’t alone in this endeavor; other campus publications, like Olabode Garbadeen’s Sacred Python and Miakpo Emiaso’s Prime magazine, vied for student attention. For our launch, we extended an invitation to O’Seun Ogunseitan, a journalist then making waves at The Guardian. Ogunseitan was the undisputed authority on the toxic waste dumping scandal in Koko, Delta State, and his presence lent considerable gravitas to our nascent venture. He was, to our astonishment, deeply impressed by SEARCHLIGHT’s content, so much so that he extended a blank cheque of opportunity, inviting us to seek him out after our Youth Service for potential entry into The Guardian.
My journey with SEARCHLIGHT eventually diverged. I joined forces with the late Keji Adegbite, a secondary school classmate and my campus roommate, to create Whims on Friday. I held the pen, shaping the words and editing the content, while Keji, with his infectious energy, handled publicity and marketing. It was a period of creative freedom and youthful exuberance, though it nearly culminated in my expulsion just months before graduation. That had to do with a serving Minister’s daughter being in a love triangle. Another story I ran about lesbians on campus triggered a furious backlash, forcing me to disappear from campus for weeks, a ghost in my own academic life.
Upon graduation and the completion of Youth Service, I reconnected with Ogunseitan, who, to my surprise, had left The Guardian to establish an environmental NGO. It was there that I first encountered Akin Ogunrinde, a connection that would prove instrumental in my entry into the world of mainstream journalism at National Concord. Before that, however, I found myself at African Concord Limited. Ogunseitan, in his boundless ambition, had convinced Chief MKO Abiola, the publishing magnate behind both Concord newspapers and magazines, of the need for a science magazine. Thus, African Science Monitor was birthed, with O’Seun Ogunseitan at its helm as Editor, and I, his personal assistant and correspondent.
Our offices were nestled within the same Old BEREC Industry compound in Isolo, Lagos, sharing space with the formidable African Concord magazine. That magazine, under the editorship of Bayo Onanuga, with Bosah Iwobi as Deputy Editor, and Dapo Olorunyomi, Babafemi Ojudu, Seyi Olu-Awofeso, and Seye Kehinde as Assistant Editors, was a powerhouse of investigative journalism.
One seemingly ordinary day, while at African Science Monitor, I paid a visit to an older friend, Regis Onuoha, at UAC’s head office in the heart of CMS on Lagos Island. UAC, then Nigeria’s pre-eminent private sector company, was a bustling hub, and Regis was one of two managers in their Public Relations and Public Affairs unit. Our acquaintance had blossomed during my earlier, quixotic attempt to launch a magazine that would circulate across all Nigerian university campuses. Finding Regis a bit occupied, I sought permission to use the company’s library to pass the time. It was there that I stumbled upon a report in the Financial Times concerning the Babangida administration. This was an era devoid of internet or satellite television; foreign newspapers were a rarity, often reaching Nigeria days, even weeks, after publication. Recognizing the significance of the report, I took the initiative, seeking Regis’s help to make photocopies. Knowing that our science magazine couldn’t utilize such a political scoop, I approached Dapo Olorunyomi, arguably the most approachable of African Concord’s senior editorial team, and handed him the photocopies.
Two or three weeks later, African Concord published a scathing cover story derived from that very Financial Times report. The fallout was immediate and brutal. Babangida, incensed by the exposé, promptly shut down African Concord, and by extension, our African Science Monitor, given our shared premises and publisher. It was this closure of the African Concord premises, and by extension African Science Monitor, that ultimately led me to National Concord. Abiola, in a frantic attempt to appease his friend, General Babangida, sought the reopening of African Concord. The condition was clear: his editors must apologize. But Onanuga and his team, fiercely independent, refused. They left African Concord. Some, like Olorunyomi and Kehinde, found refuge at African Guardian. Months later, Bayo Onanuga, in a testament to his unwavering spirit, launched TheNews magazine, gathering around him Dapo Olorunyomi, Babafemi Ojudu, Kunle Ajibade, Seye Kehinde, and an accountant, Mr. Obasa.
I joined National Concord in late 1991, as a Senior Correspondent on the Rewrite Desk, a move facilitated by Akin Ogunrinde, who was then slated to become News Editor as Niyi Obaremi departed. Concord Press Nigeria Limited was, by any measure, one of the best private companies in Nigeria. Everything was meticulously organized and functioned with remarkable smoothness. We were provided with meal tickets for subsidized lunches, reporters received generous travel allowances, and there were excellent healthcare arrangements and a substantial leave bonus. Chief Abiola himself was well known to most of us journalists in Concord. He frequently stopped by the Newsroom whenever he had cause to come into the premises, and being a jovial person, would shake hands with everyone around. The Concord NUJ Chapel Chairman, Goke Odeyinka, who happened to be our Correspondent for the Communications beat, where one of Abiola’s companies was a major player, would slide his arm around the millionaire, call him ‘my personal friend’ and hail him as “Bashorun of Africa”. To this, Abiola would laugh and say in Yoruba ‘Ma tan mi’ (Don’t deceive me).
In those early days at National Concord, an encounter with the Editor, Nsikak Essien, cemented a pivotal relationship. It was just after noon, and as someone on the Rewrite Desk, I was expected to report directly to the office. The newsroom was largely empty, save for myself and perhaps one of the newsroom typists. The News Editor had yet to resume. Essien handed me a signed press statement, to craft a news story from. Such statements were still delivered by hand, by organizations, individuals, and PR companies. Then, State Correspondents filed their reports over microwave radio signals, and the newspaper maintained a “radio room” staffed by individuals who took dictated reports from across Nigeria. Fax machines were only just beginning to gain relevance.
I diligently wrote the news story and submitted it to the Editor in his expansive office, located along a corridor that also housed offices of the Chairman, Managing Director/Editor-in-Chief, Editorial Board, Sunday Concord, and Deputy Editor. Essien, it seemed, was impressed. From that day forward, I enjoyed a unique rapport with him, even visiting his home on a couple of occasions and meeting his family. Like any large organization, Concord Press had its share of internal politics, its various “camps.” By design or by accident, I found myself firmly within the Editor’s.
My direct interaction with Chief MKO Abiola himself was minimal before or during the SDP primaries or the electioneering campaign. Yet, on the pivotal day of the June 12, 1993, presidential election, I was the reporter assigned to his residence, following him to the polling booth where he cast his historic ballot.
I vividly recall the day Abiola formally declared his intention to run for President. This was after the passing of his first wife and our Vice Chairman, Alhaja Simbiat Abiola. At that time, a pervasive cynicism gripped the nation; most Nigerians were convinced that Babangida harbored ambitions of being a life president, with no genuine intention of relinquishing power. Having already decreed two parties, SDP and NRC, into existence, Babangida had recently annulled the primaries of both parties, which had produced Shehu Musa Yar’Adua and Adamu Ciroma as presidential candidates respectively, banning them from future participation. It was against this backdrop of skepticism and political maneuvering that Abiola boldly threw his hat into the ring.
That night, as we finished production and headed home, a group of us who lived along the same axis as the News Editor, Akin Ogunrinde, crammed into either his personal Skoda or the official newsroom’s Peugeot 504. As we left the Airport Road premises heading towards Agege, the debate raged: was the Chairman’s decision to join the race a wise one? In the car that night was Victor Ifijeh, an Assistant News Editor on the Politics Desk, which boasted Tunji Bello as Editor, Sam Omatseye as Deputy Editor, and Jonas Agwu and Louis Odion as key members. Victor made a comment that night that resonated with me for years. He mused that he could imagine Babangida and his wife, Maryam, watching the news that night, seeing Abiola’s presidential aspirations, and bursting into laughter. He, like many, harbored deep doubts about Babangida’s sincerity.
Despite the pervasive skepticism, Abiola pressed on, ultimately securing the SDP ticket. Another incident during the campaign period remains etched in my memory. Abiola commissioned an opinion poll to assess public perception of him against his opponent, Bashir Tofa, across various metrics. When the report landed on the Editor Nsikak Essien’s desk, he saw an opportunity to further project our publisher in a positive light. He handed the report to Tunde Odediran, one of my colleagues on the Rewrite Desk, who had joined National Concord from The Guardian, instructing him to craft a news story from it. Tunde, a skilled writer, produced a beautiful piece that received the approval of both the News Editor and the Editor before its publication.
The following day, pandemonium erupted. The rival “camps” within Concord Press, always attuned to the pulse of Abiola’s household, were abuzz with news of the Chairman’s fury. Whispers circulated: “Nsikak is gone,” meaning his removal was imminent. True to the rumors, Abiola summoned all title Editors, their Deputies, the Politics Editor, and members of the Editorial Board to his residence off Toyin Street in Ikeja that afternoon. Nsikak Essien, bewildered and unaware of his transgression, had already penned his resignation letter, taking it with him to the meeting.
The reason for Abiola’s rage eventually came to light: integrity. While the poll results gave Tofa a dismal rating in terms of integrity, a significant portion of respondents, if memory serves, about 35 percent, felt Abiola also lacked in that area. The published story, in its attempt to highlight Abiola’s strengths, had inadvertently glossed over this crucial detail, painting a picture of near-perfect integrity. The News Editor, Tunde, and I were gripped by apprehension. We, considered close to the Editor and part of his “camp,” feared the looming changes, should he be forced to resign or be sacked. I never learned the exact details of that meeting, but miraculously, the Editor survived. His resignation letter remained unsubmitted, and his position secure.
On election day, June 12, 1993, I was present at Abiola’s residence and his polling booth, witnessing the democratic process unfold. The initial euphoria that swept the nation quickly gave way to a chilling sense of dread as the results, overwhelmingly in Abiola’s favor, were progressively annulled by the Babangida regime. After the annulment of the election, and as the newspapers in the stable—National Concord, Sunday Concord, Weekend Concord, and Business Concord—aligned with opposition elements in their editorial policy, we suffered severe harassments and repeated closures by the regimes of both General Ibrahim Babangida and General Sani Abacha. The company, once a beacon of efficiency and employee welfare, fell on incredibly hard times, especially after Abiola himself was clamped into detention. We lost some of our own, notably Keji Dawodu, who tragically died during this period.
Concord Press was closed and reopened a few times during the June 12 saga. After one of these reopenings, Nsikak was removed as Editor and made General Manager in charge of Marketing. Dele Alake then became Editor of National Concord, while Tunji Bello became Sunday Concord Editor. He took his team from the Politics Desk of National Concord with him, and Olusegun Adeniyi also became a member of his team. It was during this period that ‘Radio Kudirat’ was floated by those in the opposition in the Diaspora. I took it upon myself to become the reporter covering broadcasts by this clandestine station. I would listen to it at night after returning from the office, write a news story from its transmissions, and submit it. This continued until the Editor, with a subtle hint, indicated it was time we moved on from that particular line of reporting.
The day Abiola died remains a blur of disbelief and sorrow. I was in the newsroom, then an Assistant News Editor, assisting my boss in producing the next day’s edition. Our Foreign Editor, Waheed Odusile, walked in, his face etched with confusion. He couldn’t comprehend what CNN was reporting, but it had something to do with “the Chairman,” Abiola. Akin Ogunrinde, the News Editor, sprang from his chair, switching the giant television in the newsroom from a local channel to CNN. And then, the news hit us like a physical blow: Abiola was dead.
It was by some miracle that we managed to put the paper to bed that night. We worked in a trance, struggling to find the right words to report the death of the man we knew as our publisher, but whom a greater majority of Nigerians considered their last hope for a better future. At closing, around 9 pm, John Osadolor, our Aviation/Airport Correspondent, and I joined Ogunrinde in his Skoda, as we often did, for a ride to bus stops near our residences. Apprehension hung heavy in the air. We knew pandemonium had erupted in almost all parts of Nigeria. Knowing how quickly such situations could deteriorate, I became afraid for my life, silently praying. Where John and I disembarked, the popular Pen Cinema area in Agege, turned out to be an epicenter of the riot. Reaching the gate of the estate where I lived with my parents, a mere 40 meters away, nearly cost me my life, and definitely every valuable I possessed. The annulment of June 12, 1993, was not just a historical event; it was a personal saga, a testament to the fragile dance between hope and despair in the turbulent landscape of a nation yearning for change.
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