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1992. I sauntered into the office of the
corporate affairs manager of the Central Bank of
Nigeria. My mission was to solicit
support for The Communicator, a
journal of the Mass Communication Students’ Association of the
University of
Lagos.
Before this encounter, I considered the
names of my school and department a master key. I believed it could open any
door; all I needed to do was mention the names and flaunt my identification
card. So getting into this office in a tight-security zone was not a problem. I
was from the
University of
Lagos and I expected everybody
to respect that fact.
The office was a beehive of activities. With
journalists crowding every inch of the room, the big boss, the corporate
affairs manager, reclined in his swivel chair, as he cracked jokes with those around
him. There was no vacant seat available, so I stood in the crowd, watching and
expecting this rowdiness to end. After what looked like eternity, I walked my
way through the crowd and came face to face with the manager.
“My name is Sylvester…. I am from the
University of
Lagos.”
“Oh, you are one of them.”
“Sorry, sir?”
“You are one of those Beko’s boys.”
“I am not, sir.”
“Young man, instead of reading your books,
you allow that guy who has nothing else to do to use you to destabilise this
country and spoil the good work this government is doing.”
“No, sir. Actually, I am from the Department
of Mass Communication, and I am here to ask for help to print our magazine.”
“I am not interested.”
“Sir….”
“Go back to your school and ask Beko to
sponsor your magazine.”
“But….”
“Good day.”
All the pressmen in the office who had been
listening with rapt attention to our conversation burst into unrestrained laughter.
I felt so embarrassed. For a moment, it was as if I was wearing the emblem of
shame. On second thoughts, however, I realised that whatever he said could be
taken as a compliment, not an indictment.
It is true that the student body had risen
up to protest what they considered to be the ugly face of the government’s
economic reforms. In fact, that was the second time it was happening in
unimaginable proportions in my four years in the university and the school had
been shut down. Although I had never been involved in student activism, I was glad,
as I walked out of that office, that I was a student of an institution of
higher learning reputed to be at the forefront of fighting the government’s inhuman
posture.
Being the editor of The Communicator had brought me in contact with many people. Good
enough, the responses I got from them were always positive. Once in a while, I met
someone who could not be bothered whether I was from the moon or the sun. But not
once did I meet someone with an unpardonably negative and biased attitude to my
university and its students, except on this occasion.
Now, as a final year student, all I wanted
to do was work less and play more. After all, I had worked extremely hard up
till my fourth year in the university. In fact, I had deliberately taken almost
all my courses in the first three years. The few courses I had left were
basically the compulsory ones – four in the first semester and three in the
second. Of course, there was my research project. My only fear was that life
would be boring if there was not much to do academically.
And t was not an accident that I was one of
the few popularly referred to as Professor
in my class. This was a title reserved for bookworms or people who were intellectually
minded. For three years, my life had revolved around books, studio and fellowship.
If there was any group assignment, many
members simply went to sleep if there was a Prof
in their group. This sometimes had some dire consequences! As one of our
lecturers later explained, there was just no way one student would do an assignment
meant for ten people and it would look like the work of ten people.
When the call to edit a magazine came, therefore,
I had to accept it for some personal reasons. Although I was studying mass
communication, I was a broadcast major and so had refused to have anything to
do with the print sequence up till my fourth year in the university. I therefore
considered the call an opportunity to do something new. Again, I believed it
would, to a large extent, keep me on my toes academically.
Our mandate was to resuscitate the magazine
which had been dead for four years. In fact, the last and only edition was published
before we entered the university. With Allwell Okey Nwankwo and Benn Osang
(both Profs) as the editor-in-chief
and business/advert manager respectively, it was only natural that whatever we
would come out with could not be a run-of-the-mill magazine; it had to be an academic
journal through and through. Even my lecturers would be disappointed if it was
not.
Interacting with the high and mighty in the
mass communication industry on the project turned out to be real fun. Dan
Agbese (the then deputy-editor-in chief of Newswatch
magazine), Dr Charles Okigbo (the then registrar of the Advertising
Practitioners Council of Nigeria), Obadiah Tohmdet (the then executive
secretary of the Broadcasting Organisations of Nigeria), Chief Mike Okereke
(the then chairman of the Federation of African Public Relations Associations
and president of the Nigerian Institute of Public Relations), May Nzeribe (the
then president of the Association of Advertising Practitioners of Nigeria) and
Chris Doghuje (the then managing director of Lintas Advertising) all
contributed articles to the magazine. So did a number of academics, including
Dr John Merrill, a renowned American communications expert and retired
professor.
Ray Ekpu (the chief executive officer of Newswatch magazine), Folabi Olabimtan
(the then managing director of Multi-media and later OBM Advertising) as well
as Abiola Oloke (the then managing director of Redasel and later Cowrie Media)
were all there to render a helping hand. The positive comments of my strict and
highly critical lecturer and two-time project supervisor Dr Adidi Uyo ultimately
was all I needed to know that we had done well.
Noteworthy is the fact that some of the
relationships I developed in the course of the project are still waxing strong till
now.
“So, how is the magazine doing right now?”
my colleague in the office asked me as I wrote this piece. Well, the answer to that question is one part of
the story that has grieved my heart since I left the university. About sixteen
years down the line, it seems the students of the department have no idea that The Communicator
ever existed. But I believe that there are more people today who are willing to
give the necessary support if only someone somewhere will get serious and
initiate the process of resuscitating the magazine again. And today’s highly
improved technology will make it even easier to come out with something much better
than what we did. For now, I am waiting patiently for that student or group who
will take the bull by the horns.
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Posted by Robot| 08.02.2008 10:54