Tribute To Najeem Jimoh At 70

We call him Alhaji. This is how many of us have been addressing Alhaji Najeem Jimoh since we first met him. It was either you called him editor, as he then was, or Alhaji. We preferred Alhaji. And till today, we call him that. But why the appellation, Alhaji? The simple answer is that those before us at Punch then called him that and we followed suit.

It looks like yesterday that I stood before him in his office in Punch at Onipetesi off the Lagos-Abeokuta Expressway. He looked up from his desk to behold my presence. I greeted him; he responded. „Sir, I have come to seek a place here to do my internship“, I said as I explained my mission to him. „I know“, he said, „I have seen your papers“. He went on: „we like to encourage young people at The Punch. These are your papers, thrusting them at me. Go and see the news editor. Good luck“.

That was how I became part of the Punch family in 1988. Somehow, Alhaji, who turns 70 today, was interested in me. He was a hands-on editor, always coming in and out of the newsroom, where Chris Mammah (news editor) and Dapo Aderinola alias Baba Africa held sway. Mammah was in charge of the newsroom, with the elderly Africa assisting him in cleaning up copies to facilitate production.

As editor, Alhaji provided leadership. Though he gave his editors a free hand, there was no doubt that he was in charge. He presided at the daily editorial meeting where decision is taking on the story that will lead the paper, how it should be treated and who should handle it. Alhaji was mobile; he was everywhere because he was not an armchair editor. He was an editor with the eyes and nose for news and details.

Alhaji was editor in an era when editors were gods. Those were the days when others did not pass through the corridor taken by editors. Many of them wore their editorship as a band. You just must know that they are editors and when you see them coming, you must give way. Alhaji was not like that. He laughed and joked with everybody, including reporters. Whenever he came to the newsroom and saw us eating groundnuts, he joined the party. He knew that it was always at a price – dropping of something for the boys. Alhaji was approachable. Reporters walked in and out of his office for one thing or the other. He knew that his relationship with his subordinates did not detract from his position. The reporters too knew that it was not a licence not to do their job. Eating maize, roast plantain (boli) with our bosses was a common thing, but it was not allowed to affect our job. Alhaji was a leader of people who placed premium on hardwork, industry and enterprise. He, his deputy, Mr Demola Osinubi, who retired some months ago as Managing Director/Editor-in-Chief of Punch, Alhaji Bolaji Kareem, night editor, Aderinola, Mammah, Dipo Onabanjo, Godwin Nzeakah, Tunji Adegboyega, Bola Bolawole and the late Jide Kutelu, among others, saw to it that only the best was good for the Punch. Though the paper was going through hard times then, they never settled for second best when recruiting for the paper.  For Alhaji, it was nothing but the best. His joy knew no bounds whenever he got a good story. He would scream in delight, leaving those around looking askance. In the heat of production, he would rush into the newsroom, calling out to the news editor, „Chris, Chris, wetin dey, what‘s the story…?“ He would ask as he sought to know what the paper would lead with the next day. If told that we already have a good lead, he would shout in joy: „Ayo ni yen, iyen lama fi  t‘ayo“ (that is game; it is what we will use to sell the paper). Like all great editors, he is excited by good stories. You will see the best in him if you give him a good story, and the other side of him, if the reverse is the case. He was an editor like a reporter. You are sure to find him where a good story is. The late Bashorun M.K.O. Abiola and the Air Force men fracas of 1988 comes into mind here.  Abiola‘s son Deji was involved in a road crash with an Air Force officer. The officer and his colleagues were said to have assaulted Deji whose dad fumed on being told about the incident. Abiola referred to the air force men as „mad dogs“, wondering why those paid with tax payers money would descend that low. The matter did not end there. Unknown to Abiola, the air force was waiting to exact their pound of flesh. They caught up with him at the airport when he wanted to travel. They stopped him and Abiola returned home furious. Reporters besieged his Ikeja residence to know what he would do next. Abiola vowed to fight it out, saying he could not be barred from travelling in his own country by some „mad dogs“. Alhaji was on the scene. As soon as he heard about the airport incident, he left where he was for the house of Abiola, who is well known to him. As soon as Abiola sighted him, the business mogul said „Najeem, won ma dami duro ni airport, won ni mio le travel, afi ti awon oga won ba ni ki jade“ (Najeem, they stopped me from travelling. They said I can only travel on the order of their bosses). Alhaji said „chief, efi pele pele se sir“ (chief, please handle it with care). On seeing me among the reporters, Alhaji called me and introduced me to Abiola. „Reporter mi ni yen, mo jeri e, oma ko story na daada“ (this is my reporter; he will handle the story well). Turning to me, he said: „ma ba e ni bise. Story yen lama fi ta yo lola. So fun Chris. Mo nbo“ (I will meet you in the office. We are leading with the story tomorrow. Tell the news editor. I am coming). Alhaji  is a crusader and he brought his crusading spirit into journalism. Punch is what it is today because of the tone he and the editors before him set for the paper. As an activist, he drew like minds to the paper, shaping it to become the people‘s voice. In his university days, he, with others, was going from campus to campus, fighting students‘ cause.  So,   as an editor, activism came to him naturally. In his work, he was down-to-earth, pleasant and warm to deal with. He was so simple, but he brooked no nonsense. Alhaji is still like that today. His simplicity is his trademark, but beneath it, is a hardcore professional and humanist. Alhaji holds a degree in Mass Communication (1978) and a master‘s in Political Science (1982) from the University of Lagos. In 1983, he was at The Radio Netherlands Training School, Hilversum. He edited Punch between 1986 and 1988. He was the publisher of Hammer (1990-1992). Happy birthday, our great editor. 70 hearty cheers to you.

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 –  Ogienagbon is a journalist with The Nation based in Lagos