ADENAIKE MUST GO! – Cutting My Teeth In Journalism – By Muda Ganiyu

*Photo: Adenaike*

I remember my Oga finish, finish (Oga patapata), Mr. Felix A. ADENAIKE, constantly these days, almost on a daily basis. It then occurred to me to write a tribute on him. Mr. Adenaike was the Editor-in-Chief of African Newspapers of Nigeria, Plc., publishers of the TRIBUNE titles in the 1980s to early 1990s.

I am writing this tribute not because he’s dead o. He’s alive and kicking somewhere in the United States, enjoying the winter years of his life. I didn’t want to wait till he’s dead before writing this tribute. I thought he should read it while he’s still alive, and I can imagine him, a wry smile tugging the corners of his lips, his reading glasses perched on his nose, as he reads.

Known as the GOC (general officer commanding) of the Nigerian Press, he was one of the triumvirate known as the Three Musketeers of the Nigerian Press, and the arrowheads of the Lagos-Ibadan Press. The other two were Chief Segun Osoba, former Governor of Ogun State, and the late Mr. Peter Ajayi (may his gentle soul continue to rest in peace). I understand the revered Chief Obafemi Awolowo gave them the moniker, borrowing from a novel of the same title written in 1844 by Alexandre Dumas and Auguste Marquet.

Why do I remember him a lot these days? You see, I work from home as a freelance writer and editor, and the enduring lessons he taught me come handy all the time. When he was imparting these lessons on us, we saw him as a terror. He was the supreme definition of a newsroom terrorist. He was harsh and unyielding if you made an error whether advertently or otherwise.

“Give the bagger a query”, he would thunder, and God help the supervisor so instructed if he did not do so.

I remember Mr. Adenaike each time I reached out for my digital dictionary to check or confirm the meaning of a word, or for whatever other purpose. If he saw a wrongly spelt word, a misused word, or an inappropriate phrase in the newspaper, he would call out to me to ask who edited the particular page.

“This is laziness”, he would chide the person. “You are lazy. Don’t be lazy, always check your dictionary.”

The same way he would reprimand us if it was a misplaced punctuation, or an inaccurate fact. “Why didn’t you confirm? Editor, give him a query.”

If you wrote his name as Felix Adenaike, he would tell you, “No, my name is Felix A. Adenaike. You dared not omit the A and dot of his middle name. If you wrote Mohammed Buhari, instead of Muhammadu Buhari, you were in trouble. So, even today, I always check and double check the correct spelling of people’s names.

I remember once when he gave me a story he wrote for publishing. I slammed the story into the paper as it was without editing it, after all, Oga patapata wrote it. The following day, Oga Felix came barging into the newsroom as usual with a copy of the day’s edition of the TRIBUNE, errors marked in red.

“Why this error on the piece I gave you yesterday?” He asked as he slammed the paper down in front of me.

I brought out the original script and showed him. “Sir, that’s what you wrote.”

“Is it correct?” He asked sternly.

“No sir.”

“Then, why did you pass it?”

“Because you wrote it.” I stammered.

“It doesn’t matter who wrote it. Your job is to check for errors and eliminate them. Even I can make mistakes.” He lectured me.

As the Head of the Sub Desk then, my file at the Admin was the bulkiest because of the number of queries I had accumulated. I thought ‘my own don finish (temi ti ta)’, that I had no prospect for advancement at the TRIBUNE because of the queries I was served daily, but God did not think so. Story for another day.

If you were a reporter, you must add background to your story, and if the reporter did not add background to the story, then the sub editor must. God help both of you if you did not background a story. “No story happens in a vacuum,” he remonstrated, “every story has a background. Something similar must have happened in the past, so don’t leave your story hanging.”

I still work everyday with words servicing clients from all over the world, and I found useful, the meticulousness that Oga Felico (as we called him behind his back) instilled in me. But back then, we called him names – taskmaster, slave driver, overseer.

In fact, his subordinates so dispised him that an aluta erupted less than a month after I joined the ANN in February 1986 as a sub editor. Tribune journalists went on strike with the slogan, “Adenaike must go!” It was a bloody battle fought not just with words but black magic.

The strike lasted weeks but the paper was still coming out because the GOC had envisaged it, and had recruited new journalists, all university graduates. I was one of those recruits. We, the new employees, didn’t join the strike. We didn’t even know what they were striking for, so how could we join? Moreover, Mr. Adenaike handpicked us himself. He led the panel that interviewed us.

Among those of us employed that year, three of us became editors of the NIGERIAN TRIBUNE – Mr. Biodun Oduwole, FNGE (who also rose to become the Managing Editor), Mr. Akin Onipede, and my humble self, in that order at different times.

Adenaike triumphed at the end of the day, and booted out the strikers en mass, leaving a few stragglers to continue to show us, the new recruits, the ropes. And as soon as we mastered our beats, he booted the remnants out also. He proved to be a real General, a true GOC, in that battle.

But now, I thank Mr. Adenaike and pray for him wherever he is, for instilling the skills in me that have become my saviour in Nigeria’s harsh economy. Even during the COVID, I was working steadily, earning little, little forex.

Mr. Adenaike did not like seeing us in groups gossiping around the office. If he saw you, he would send to the library to go and read. “Invest your time in knowledge, go to the library and read,” he would shoo us. Often he would ask us what book or books we were reading. To make sure some of us were not lying, he would ask us to write him a summary of the book as if we were school children.

And it wasn’t only journalism Mr. Adenaike taught us. He also taught us etiquette and how to dress. You dared not dress shabbily to the office. Your dressing must not only be neat, it must be proper. If you wore traditional dresses (as in buba and sokoto), you must wear a cap to complete your dressing. If you wore a suit, you must put on a necktie, and you must wear socks along with your shoes. If your dressing was not proper, he would send you back home like a headmaster would send an unruly pupil home. He was, in fact, a headmaster before venturing into journalism. He, himself, was a sharp dresser.

He taught us how to answer the phone properly and politely. “When the phone rings and you pick up, after saying hello, identify yourself.” He instructed, “‘this is Felix A. Adenaike.’ And then ask politely, ‘may I know who is speaking, please?”‘ That’s how I still answer the phone till this day. And if you were the one calling, he taught us to identify ourselves by our full names first after hello, and state our reason for the call.

No reign lasts forever. Like what happened to my most admired Nigerian journalist of all time, Alhaji Ismail Babatunde Jose, in the Daily Times in the 1970s, in 1991, another of the ever recurrent crises bedeviling the TRIBUNE during those years occurred which led to the outster of Oga Adenaike by some of  the very people he had pushed up to senior editorial positions. A few years later, these people turned against each other, leading to another tsunami.

Oga Felix, I have never forgotten the lessons you taught me which still serve me well today. May God protect and preserve you. May the remaining days of your life be the best of your life. May you not know sorrow in this winter of your life. Amen!

Thank you, Oga Felico.

NB: Ehnnn, Oga, if you see any error in this piece, please, keep your query this time