By DEJI SODEINDE
Egbon Yemi Ojo started as my senior colleague back in Nigeria. And as we all know, when someone is your senior in Nigerian journalism, you do not just call him by name. You call him Egbon, Uncle, Sir, Baba, everything, just to be safe.
Egbon Yemi began his career as a reporter at the New Nigerian Newspapers in 1978. He had a stint at the Punch Newspapers in the late 80s, and later at Tribune and Concord Newspapers, rising through the ranks before becoming the Deputy Editor of Sporting Champions in the early 90s.
He came back again to Tribune Newspapers as the Sports Editor, from where he travelled to the USA in 1999.
Our paths crossed in the early to mid 90s. Though I worked briefly as an intern and freelance sports reporter for The Punch in the mid 80s, we never met then. He had also left New Nigerian Newspapers long before I joined in 1997. But as colleagues, we usually came across each other during sporting events, especially when I fully came back as a sports reporter in the early 1990s.
Unlike many sports editors of his time who liked to “form Big Man”, Egbon was very close to many of us who were his juniors. He would gist with you, laugh with you, and still correct you like a senior.
He actually became more of a family friend and colleague when we both migrated to the USA in 1999.
One event which actually shaped our relationship began in Nigeria. After about seven of us got accredited to cover the 1999 Women’s World Cup hosted by the United States. There was a big disagreement between him and another colleague who worked with him at the Nigerian Tribune over who was going to use the free complimentary ticket issued by KLM Airlines to Tribune Newspapers.
One ticket. Two journalists. Wahala.
The younger colleague complained bitterly to me about the complimentary ticket. I counselled him to work with Egbon Yemi Ojo so that both would have a common ground on how to represent their organisation in the USA. But the younger colleague would not have it that way. He wanted a winner-takes-all outcome. None of my counselling could deter him.
So, he started to work with some other top folks in Tribune to sabotage Egbon Yemi. As someone who had suffered a similar sabotage the previous year due to some underground schemes that robbed me of the opportunity to travel to France in 1998 to cover the World Cup finals, I couldn’t watch a similar fate befall someone who, though I wasn’t very close to, I felt obligated to tip him off about the evil plan.
My brother danced like the DJ owed him money. He danced and danced until the whole club was watching him.
I told him to move faster, and before the sabotage plan could be hatched, he was already flight-bound to the USA. KLM ticket don go. Plan don scatter.
The younger colleague also made it to the US and everyone was happy. However, this single tip was probably why we became so close when we arrived in the US.
We later lived together in a townhouse at 1313 Sugarwood Circle, Baltimore, Maryland alongside Taye Akinola and Omooba Charlton Akran, the first son of the Akran of Badagry. That is where the family bond was established. Four Nigerian men, one townhouse, plenty gist, plenty food, plenty wahala, but plenty love.
The family bond flourished years later after I met his late first wife and his children in 2005 and thereafter in Lagos, and that meeting struck more bond with his and my family. It was no longer just a colleague relationship. We became family.
There was never a joke I could not share with Egbon. I guess that’s why I didn’t know how to address him. Sometimes I would call him Uncle, Pastor, Mr Egbon Yemi Ojo, or at times Baba Kenya, and his response was always: “Waa wa alright,” meaning “you’ll be okay.” That was his signature. No matter what you called him, his answer was the same. You will be okay.
How did he become Baba Kenya?
Yes, we were all human. He got the nickname from an incident that happened when we stormed a Kenyan nightclub in Baltimore in 1999. We all danced, but Egbon over-danced after too much merriment.
My brother danced like the DJ owed him money. He danced and danced until the whole club was watching him. Kenyans were clapping, we were laughing, and Egbon was still going. From that night onward, he was no longer just Egbon Yemi Ojo. He became our Baba Kenya. And like everything else about him, he took the joke with grace, laughed with us, and wore the name proudly.
I remember our last conversation last week. After the usual banter, I jokingly asked him when he would be starting his own retirement, like another senior colleague who is planning to spend his retirement in Nigeria.
I remember asking him, “Egbon, se e fe duro s’Amerika until I retire ni?” Meaning, are you going to wait until I retire to Nigeria before you start to plan your own retirement?
His response, as usual, was: “Waa wa alright.” You’ll be okay.
I never realized that would be our last conversation, until Taye Akinola called me around 7 a.m. on Saturday and told me, “Egbon Yemi ti lo o.” Egbon Yemi has gone. I thought Taye, who was always joking with everything, was in his crazy moments. The message didn’t sink in.
Less than ten minutes later, Egbon Yemi’s daughter, Toluwanimi, called me to confirm what I thought was a crazy joke. That is when I lost it. I didn’t know what to say. I just kept silent on the phone and when I finally recovered myself, I thought driving, which sometimes is my own way of calming down, was going to help. But guess what, when I got inside my car, out of confusion, I nearly knocked off my engine. I drove my car on a down-shifted gear for more than 20 minutes, going nowhere in particular. It was every alert that started to beep on my dashboard, signaling overheating, that jolted me into reality.
I have never had such a painful experience, not until I lost my mom in 2002 and my half brother, Muideen, about 16 years ago.
My greatest fear now is how his mom, who is in her 90s, would handle this. Less than three weeks ago, Egbon Yemi’s older sister from the same mom and dad passed away in Nigeria. Now this. I pray God gives Mama strength, comfort, and peace that passes understanding at this difficult time.
I also pray for all his children, his widow, and all the other families he left behind. May God comfort them, strengthen them, and give them the grace to bear this great loss. May they find peace in the beautiful memories he left with us, and may God provide for them and keep them together in love.
Egbon was more than a colleague. He was a mentor and a thorough professional who paved the way for many younger journalists who came after him. His dedication to sports journalism, his calm leadership, and his love for sports writing left a lasting mark on all who worked with him.
Egbon, thank you for the guidance, the lessons, the gist, the laughter, and the brotherhood. You will be deeply missed.
Rest in perfect peace, Baba Kenya. Waa wa alright, but we will miss you.
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