By FUNMI SALOME JOHNSON
Some news reach you and leave you speechless. Some news break and break something inside of you.
For me, the news of the passing of Dotun Oladipo is one of those.
I was going through my phone when I saw the news of your passing in the FrontPage (frontpageng.com), an online newspaper owned by our former Deputy Editor of the Nigerian Compass on Sunday, Sakibu Olokojobi.
I stared at the news for a moment. I could hardly process what I was reading. Dotun Oladipo is gone?
The news of his death suddenly brought back memories of a time in my life that feels like yesterday, even though it has been so many years.
I worked with Adedotun at the Nigerian Compass Newspapers some years back where he was our Editor, Sunday. Those were important years in my career, and when I look back today, I realise just how much of who I became as a journalist was shaped by that man.
Big Dot as we fondly call him was not just an editor who sat behind a desk and corrected stories.
He was a teacher.
He was a disciplinarian.
He was a mentor.
He was a motivator.
He was a people’s person.
And, in his own very unique way, he was a man who genuinely cared about the people who worked with him.
He taught me journalism in a way that went far beyond putting words on paper.
He taught me that a journalist must not become comfortable in one place. He believed you needed to move, explore, see the world, meet people, and understand different communities and report beyond what was familiar to you.
I remember how he would send me to other states to report—not only my regular beats but sometimes completely different beats.
Sometimes, you wondered why this man would not just allow you to sit down and do your work!
But that was Big Dot.
He was preparing us for the world.
He wanted us to become journalists who could go anywhere, report anything and find a story wherever we were.
And he did not just tell us to go.
There were times when the company was not ready to provide the money needed for those trips. Dotun would dip his hand into his pocket, give you money and tell you to go and do your job.
He would later go after the company for the money. That was the kind of leader he was.
He was strict. Very strict.
And when it came to the newspaper, there were no excuses.
If an error appeared in the paper, you could almost hear him say:
“Who do we kill for this mistake?”
And you knew trouble had arrived!
He had that famous, almost frightening notebook on his desk. Whenever something went wrong, he would consult that notebook and, in his own funny but serious way, say something about saving money for the company.
Before you knew it, your salary had been deducted!
At the time, you would be angry.
You would wonder, “This man has taken my money again!”
But that was only one side of the story. Because somehow, before the end of that same month, Dotun could meet you somewhere on neutral ground and quietly give you money that was sometimes more than what had been deducted from your salary.
He could be tough on you and still care deeply about you.
He believed in accountability, but he also understood compassion.
He believed that mistakes should have consequences, but he also believed in helping the people who worked with him.
That balance was rare.
And then there was the softer side of him—the side that perhaps many people outside our newsroom never got to see.
Dotun remembered everything about his team, including their birthdays!
He would ask everyone for their dates of birth.
And if you were the kind of person who forgot your own birthday, don’t worry—Dotun would remember it for you because he actually set reminders for them.
He would call.
He would reach out.
He would celebrate you.
That may sound like something small, but it wasn’t.
It showed that beneath the strict editor, beneath the man who demanded perfection, there was a man who paid attention to people.
A man who cared.
A man who remembered.
And that is the Dotun I choose to remember.
It has been many years since I left the shore. Life happened. Distance happened. Time happened.
And sadly, we had not spoken in years. That is perhaps one of the things that hurts me the most.
Because you always believe there will be another opportunity.
Another phone call.
Another conversation.
Another “Hello, Sir.”
Another chance to say, “Thank you for everything you did for me.”
I never imagined that I would have to say those words after your death.
I wish I had spoken to you again.
I wish I could have told you how much those years meant to me.
I wish I could have reminded you of all those trips, all those assignments, all those corrections, all those newsroom moments, all those times you pushed us beyond our limits.
I wish I could have told you that. Many years gone and thousands of miles away, I still remember the lessons you taught me.
And now, I am writing about you because I saw the news of your demise in the online newspaper of a man who once worked alongside us—our former Deputy Editor, Sakibu Olokojobi, that I fondly call Daddy Miii!
Life can be painfully ironic.
The people we once saw every day become memories.
The voices we heard across the newsroom become silent.
The people we thought we would speak to again become people we can only speak about.
Adedotun, I am deeply, deeply sorry that I did not get another chance to speak with you.
But I want you to know that you mattered.
You mattered to me.
You mattered to the journalists you trained.
You mattered to the people whose lives you touched.
And you mattered to Nigerian journalism.
From Nigerian Compass, you went on to establish The Eagle Online, continuing to contribute to the profession you loved and believed in.
Your legacy is not simply the positions you held or the publications you worked for.
Your legacy is in the people you trained.
Your legacy is in the journalists you pushed.
Your legacy is in the people you helped.
Your legacy is in the stories that were told because you insisted that someone travelled and reported them.
Your legacy is in the lives you touched without necessarily knowing how deeply you touched them.
For me, you are that Editor who taught me not to be afraid to leave my comfort zone.
That boss who could make you tremble when the paper carried an error.
That man whose famous “Whom do we kill for this mistake?” could make the entire newsroom nervous.
That man with the mysterious notebook who believed the company had to be protected.
That same man who could put his hand into his own pocket when the company failed to provide funds, simply so that a journalist could travel and do the job properly.
And that same man who remembered everyone’s little details and made people feel seen.
What a man.
What a life.
What a legacy.
Adedotun, you were not perfect—and you never pretended to be.
But you were real.
You were passionate.
You were firm.
You were funny.
You were generous.
You were demanding.
And you cared.
Today, I mourn you from far away, with a heart that is heavy with memories and regret that time and distance kept us from speaking again.
But I am also grateful.
Grateful that our paths crossed.
Grateful that I worked with you.
Grateful that you taught me.
Grateful that you pushed me.
Grateful that you believed I could do more.
Grateful that you were part of my journey.
You may have left this world, but you did not leave without leaving something behind.
You left people.
You left memories.
You left lessons.
You left journalists.
You left a legacy.
And for those of us who were privileged to work with you, a little part of you will always remain with us.
Keep resting Big Dot.
My editor.
My teacher.
My mentor.
My former boss.
My friend.
A man I may not have spoken to in years, but a man whose impact on my life time and distance could never erase.
Until we meet again at resurrection, Sir…
“Whom do we kill for this mistake?”
This time, Sir, there is no correction to make.
No notebook to open.
No story to rewrite.
No reporter to send on an assignment.
You have filed your final story.
And this time, there is no coming back to the newsroom.
Keep resting Sir.
You will be greatly missed.
You will never be forgotten.
Adieu, my boss, my mentor, my friend!
READ ALSO:
Troops intensify pressure on ISWAP, nab 15 suspects, kill many
The grim reaper snatched Dotun Oladipo
Dotun Oladipo’s death, a great loss to the media, Nigeria -NRC MD
Africa’s investment future’ll be won or lost in its cities –Sanwo-Olu
Still on FCCPC and the cement monsters…, By Bolanle Bolawole
From Abuja to Hangzhou (2): Thrills, frills and the Chinese ‘Smart Life’
NDLEA intercepts N6.2bn worth of ‘Jihadi drug’ in soap, opioids
Ajaokuta: Minister identifies causes of Nigeria’s lack of steel devt
