A Tribute to Lami Sadiq – My Editor, Mentor, and Big Sister

As I sit down to write this, I find myself staring at a blank screen, struggling to find the right words to capture everything you have meant to me, and to so many others. I wonder, how does one sum up years of dedication, mentorship, and sisterhood in just a few paragraphs? The truth is, […]

As I sit down to write this, I find myself staring at a blank screen, struggling to find the right words to capture everything you have meant to me, and to so many others.

I wonder, how does one sum up years of dedication, mentorship, and sisterhood in just a few paragraphs? The truth is, no tribute can fully capture your impact in your 15 years professional career at the Daily Trust Newspaper, albeit, I will try my best to do justice to the incredible person you are.

From the moment our paths crossed at Daily Trust Newspaper, where you served as my head and editor, it was clear you were different. While others saw stories, you saw potential. While others focused on deadlines, you invested in people. Working closely with you alongside other colleagues at the Daily Trust Newspaper’s Multiplatform Investigation Desk, has positively impacted both my professional and personal life.

When I voluntarily resigned sometimes in 2024, saying that bye-bye to you all at the investigation desk brought some mixed feelings. Yet, oftentimes I miss that your famous “red color highlights” in my submitted draft. Although, we never like it, but it taught us how to think, how to question, and most importantly, how to tell stories that mattered.

Lest I forget, that “Hajia look” you had give when a story wasn’t up to par – equal parts disappointment, and determination yet pushed us to be better than we thought we could be.

Remember those endless editing sessions? The back and forth, Subhanallahi. What started as line edits often turned into masterclasses on journalism and life. You never just fixed our stories; you made us understand why they needed fixing. That’s the kind of an editor you are.

“Usman, this isn’t about me being difficult,” you had say. “It’s about respecting our readers enough to give them the truth, well told with every details.” That lesson, more than any other, has stayed with me. Thank you sincerely for that.

But your impact went far beyond grammar and structure. You had this uncanny ability to see potential in people before they saw it in themselves. I have said this to my friends and students countless time that so many of us came to you with self-doubt, wondering if we belonged in this tough industry. You’d listen patiently to our fears, then hit us with that trademark Lami wisdom: “Of course you can do this. Now let me show you how.”

Your desk became a hot spot, and at the same time a safe haven – a place where we could admit our mistakes, celebrate small victories, and occasionally just vent about the frustrations of the job.

You never dismissed our concerns, no matter how trivial they seemed. Instead, you’d share stories of your own early struggles, making us feel less alone in ours. That combination of tough love and genuine care created journalists who didn’t just survive, but also thrived.

Interestingly, what many didn’t see or know was the Hajia outside the newsroom – the one who remembered birthdays, who asked about family, who could tell when someone was having a bad day even before they said a word. You weren’t just our editor; you became our big sister in every sense of the word. That was a memory to hold onto forever.

I will never forget the countless times I appeared right in front of your desk with some drama or another, but always met with the same response: “Sit down. Let’s talk.” Whether it was work stress, personal issues, or just one of those days where everything felt overwhelming, you made time. You listened without judgment, advised without imposing, and always knew when a situation needed solutions or just a sympathetic ear; or even a reprimand.

Hajia, you’re one of your kind. You appeared unapproachable, but your kindness extended far beyond professional courtesy. You checked in on us during tough times, celebrated our milestones like they were your own, and somehow always knew when someone needed encouragement (or that extra push to meet a deadline). That blend of professional excellence, and personal warmth is what made you truly special.

For the women, especially In an industry that isn’t always kind to them, you are their supermodel who created space for them to succeed with you. I have witnessed how many young female journalists looked at your byline, and saw their own potential reflected back at them.

You taught us that being strong didn’t mean being hard, that compassion wasn’t weakness, and that the best leaders lift others as they climb.

Let me break a secret today, the “Lami Effect.” It was something that happened to us all who have worked closely with you. That “Lami Effect” wasn’t about creating good journalists, rather it was about creating good people who happened to be journalists.

Now, as you embark on this well deserved break, know that your legacy lives on in every story we tell, every standard we uphold, and every young journalist we mentor.

Most importantly, that coffee-stained red pen may be taking a vacation now, but its lessons are permanently inked in our professional DNA.

Thus, please take this time to rediscover yourself, to rest, and to pursue all those passions you put aside for deadlines. However, the WhatsApp group isn’t going anywhere. We still need our big sister there.

Though we’ll miss your presence in the industry, we take comfort in knowing this isn’t goodbye. As you said, you’ll be back. Journalism is in your blood, and we know the world hasn’t seen the last of Hajia Lami’s byline.

Until then, I pray may this next chapter bring you as much joy as you have brought to others. May you find time for all the things you love, free from the constant ping of breaking news alerts. And may you know, beyond any doubt, the profound difference you have made in so many lives, both professionally and personally.

With endless gratitude, love and respect, I am a proud graduate of the Lami School of Journalism and Life.

Usman Bello Balarabe is a journalist, Lecturer and a media strategist from Kano. He can be reached via [email protected]