Reporter’s diary: My sweet-bitter Asian experience
On February 5, 2025, at exactly 5:18pm when I got a congratulatory mail from the Global Investigative Journalism Conference, with my heart throbbing fast, my eye skimmed through the subject-line as I opened the mail. With shaky hands and a heart full of anticipation, I read the words, “Congratulations” and “sponsored.” Instantly, a wave of […]
On February 5, 2025, at exactly 5:18pm when I got a congratulatory mail from the Global Investigative Journalism Conference, with my heart throbbing fast, my eye skimmed through the subject-line as I opened the mail. With shaky hands and a heart full of anticipation, I read the words, “Congratulations” and “sponsored.” Instantly, a wave of disbelief and shock filled me.
“Did I read that correctly?” I questioned myself. I scrolled up and down, double-checking the sender and the details—Kuala Lumpur, fully sponsored. It felt too good to be true. This is the moment where a dream abruptly morphs into a tangible document sitting pretty in my inbox.
Interwoven with the excitement is a profound gratitude to the selection committee and sponsors who made it possible, and perhaps to my personal mentors and colleagues. Alongside this came a sense of weighty responsibility.
This fellowship was a gift but also a mandate because it carried the unspoken expectation to learn voraciously, network purposefully and bring back knowledge that would elevate my work and my home, newsroom or community. I felt entrusted with a mission; however, beneath it all, there may have been a flicker of nervousness. “Will I measure up? How can I make the absolute most of this?” I asked myself severally
It wasn’t fear but an exciting anxiety, the kind that ensures I prepared mentally, physically and emotionally for the conference ready to absorb everything positive.
The feeling was a unique alchemy of personal triumph and professional destiny. It signified the end of a long journey of hard work and the spectacular beginning of a new one. It was my passport, not just to a city but the very heart of global journalism.
A journey long awaited
November 18, 2025 marked a profound turning point in my life – the beginning of a long-awaited journey to step far beyond my familiar world and comfort zone. For the first time I would travel to Asia, my destination was Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, the historic host of the first-ever Global Investigative Journalism Conference (GIJC) held on Asian soil. This landmark gathering brought together, over 1,500 journalists, editors and media innovators from more than 80 countries under a theme that promised to resonate far beyond newsrooms: Navigating the New Frontiers of Truth.
Merely being part of such a massive congregation of the world’s most determined journalistic minds was an experience that was humbling, thrilling and profoundly electrifying. The fellowship, which ran from November 20 to the 24, was not a passive event but an intensive immersion that gave a huge advantage to many journalists like me for a great interaction and interfacing amongst hundreds of other fellows, while offering enriching sessions, hands-on practical workshops and visionary keynote addresses, all focused on the evolving tools, techniques and ethical frameworks necessary to navigate an increasingly complex information landscape.
The conference was expertly structured around several critical pillars defining modern investigative work: AI and Digital Forensics. We delved into cutting-edge methods for leveraging artificial intelligence to analyse vast data, track disinformation networks and uncover hidden patterns.
Crucially, these sessions did not shy away from the profound challenges addressing algorithmic bias, the ethics of automated scraping and the digital arms race against those who use the same tools to obscure the truth.
The power of open-source intelligence (OSINT) was on full display, demonstrating how publicly available information from satellite imagery to social media footprints can be systematically weaponised for accountability. This was paired with a powerful emphasis on cross-border collaboration, showcasing how journalistic consortia are dismantling silos to tackle global stories of corruption, environmental crime and human trafficking.
With traditional funding evaporating, the search for new business models was an urgent thread. We explored pathways to financial resilience – from nonprofit funding and reader membership models to innovative grants and collaborative partnerships – all aimed at securing the future of in-depth public service journalism.
In sobering, necessary conversations, we confronted the escalating threats to journalists worldwide. Panels shared vital strategies for working in exile, digital security, and with growing openness, the critical importance of addressing trauma and safeguarding mental health in a profession under constant siege.
Asia in focus
As the inaugural GIJC in Asia, the programme powerfully centered regional perspectives. It highlighted specific investigative trends from tracking illicit financial flows through Southeast Asian hubs to exposing environmental degradation in the Mekong region, while creating a vital platform for local journalists to share their unique challenges and resilient strategies.
More than a mere conference, the GIJC was a living ecosystem for connection. It was a rare space where colleagues, future mentors and long-admired journalism heroes crossed paths in hallways and cafes, exchanging not just business cards but hard-won ideas, tools and encouragement. It was a place where shared commitments to truth were not only renewed but fortified with new skills, alliances and a palpable sense of global solidarity. This was the journey I had long awaited.
My departure from Abuja was logistically smooth, though it was accompanied by the very real, fluttery nerves of a first-time international traveler. Brimming with an excitement I could hardly contain or keep under wraps, I arrived at the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport at 6pm, full five hours before my 11:30pm departure time on Turkish Airlines flight to Istanbul. The processes of check-in and customs passed with unexpected ease, leaving me with ample time to sit patiently at the departure lounge. There, I secretly scanned the hall, hoping to identify a fellow Nigerian journalist headed for the same fellowship in Kuala Lumpur, but sadly found none.
Onboard, I settled into seat 28B, next to a lively middle-aged Nigerian woman who couldn’t contain her excitement at having a fellow compatriot as a seatmate. Her warmth was genuine, radiating a homely – “Nigerian mother” kind of energy. Yet, the six-hour flight to Istanbul became a marathon of quiet endurance as she spent half the journey offering a detailed, running commentary on the inadequacies of the airline’s food, water, dessert and even the cabin air.
At some point, when I needed some quite time to myself, I pretended to have fallen sleep at intervals, a necessary diplomacy to escape the affectionate but relentless critique of the airline’s failures.
Landing in the morning at Istabul airport, the sprawling ever-busy airport welcomed me and other passengers headed to Malaysia with an 11-hour layover. With everyone on the fast lane trying to navigate their way to finding their next connecting flight, as a fir-time traveller, the first thing I did was to check the flight information screens for my connecting flight to Kuala Lumpur, which sadly was not on the screen.
With time on my hands, I freshened up, prayed Fajr prayer at the masjid and settled near the screen monitors to keep vigil for when my connecting flight pops up. No first-time traveller wants to miss a connecting flight that wasn’t going to be, but I stayed next to the screens like a designated screen monitor.
It was there I met Malik, an observant Senegalese footballer raised in the United States. I say observant because after exchanging greetings, he played back my movements from the prayer area to my seat in detail. I was shocked and mesmerised at the same time. I couldn’t believe that someone sat and took note of all I did or was doing despite the chaotic-like kind of situation at the airport. I say chaotic because the airport was a beehive of activities and humans, all in one place; something I had never experienced before.
That apt attention of his broke the ice instantly and we introduced ourselves, while he went on and on speaking fondly about Nigeria: our food, the buzzing energy of Lagos and the myths surrounding Abuja’s “Big Boys.” Our conversation deepened, revealing that he was an atheist, who, after practising both Islam and Christianity, had settled into a neutral spirituality. While I gently offered my perspective on why we all should believe and worship God without sounding too discriminative, he was respectfully firm in his stance. Taking a pause to reflect, that moment quietly underscored the trip’s theme of unexpected human connections.
Our discussion went on for hours, touching on his personal life. He talked about his German girlfriend, whom he missed due to his delayed flight to China.
As our chat went on at intervals, I perceived a certain smell and paused to look around me to know where the smell was coming from. Suddenly, I noticed something he frequently puffed, thanks to the internet. I came to know that it was an eclectic vape, which he used periodically.
This small detail reminded me of the importance of adapting to and accepting people as they are. We went on chatting on various aspects of life; and at a point, was interrupted twice by immigration officials who were curious about our four-hour stationary vigil around the screen monitor area. Eventually, hunger pulled me away.
Following a tip from my friend, Abdulhakeem, I inquired at the Turkish Airlines office and was relieved to receive a food voucher for the layover. The escalator ride to the food court felt like a transition into another world vast, gleaming and filled with a stunning tapestry of people from every corner of the globe. The court itself was designed with an appetite-inducing aesthetic, adjacent to a serene resting lounge. I noted with appreciation how spotless, accessible restrooms were attended by staff offering broad, welcoming smiles. Before eating, I indulged in window shopping, passing stores selling fashions, gadgets, sneakers, groceries and prayer materials.
In a quiet corner, I met a Russian designer in Turkey for a workshop. She spoke of the difficult balance between her career and caring for her three-year-old daughter, attending therapy to navigate this pressure. Our brief exchange turned into one of mutual encouragement, a small moment of shared humanity amidst the transit chaos.
As boarding time approached, I noticed a man and a woman at the gate engaged in animated conversation about their destinations. By a stroke of fortune, we were all assigned to the same row—24A, 24B and 24D. An unexpected travel squad was born. The 10-hour flight to Kuala Lumpur became a shared capsule of camaraderie, filled with movies, laughter and conversation. We shared our backgrounds: he was from Ghana, she from Adamawa in Nigeria. We discussed journalism, the bilateral relations between our countries, and our hopes for the conference. As fatigue set in, my Ghanaian neighbour announced his intention to sleep.
Minutes later, the pilot’s voice crackled through the cabin, instructing us to fasten seat belts for anticipated turbulence. What began as mild shaking quickly escalated into a violent, rattling descent that felt terrifyingly endless. In that moment of sheer vulnerability, my mind flooded with the faces of my immediate family and a pang of regret flashed through me. I was knocked back to a strange calm by the realisation that prayer was my only anchor. I turned to my neighbour, who, astonishingly, was fast asleep. A tap on his shoulder yielded only a drowsy recommendation to close my eyes and use my headphones. I followed his advice, and eventually, exhaustion claimed me.
When I awoke, the plane was steady, preparing for its final approach. By the time the wheels touched down in Kuala Lumpur, the earlier anxiety had fully melted, replaced by a thrumming, radiant excitement. The unscripted journey had ended, and the adventure was just beginning.
Kuala Lumpur: A city of contrasts
We touched down at 8:15am, local time. From the aircraft window, Kuala Lumpur unfolded like a living blueprint of progress—a futuristic dreamscape cradled by ancient, lush green hills. The geography itself told a story: incredibly precise highways stitched through dense rainforests, while breathtaking, gravity-defying skyscrapers rose like secular spires against the clouds. These initial wonders kept my mind racing. Following GIJC’s seamless guide, we navigated to Terminal 2 and boarded the efficient KLIA Ekspres train to KL Sentral. For the 30-minute glide into the city’s heart, a quiet cultural exchange played out in the carriage. The building I saw in videos, movies came to reality as locals gazed at our diverse group with polite curiosity we appeared as aliens from a global journalistic consortium, while they represented a gentle, intriguing mystery to us: the first-time visitors.
KL instantly captivated me. It was a symphony of contrasts played in visual form: the sleek gleam of glass-and-steel monoliths standing alongside intricate, Mughal-inspired domes; the immaculate order of its streets bordered by the untamed serenity of its landscapes. I found myself perpetually glued to the window, absorbing a city that has meticulously curated its evolution.
The Twin Towers: Where culture meets steel
The Petronas Twin Towers were the first true architectural marvel to seize my full attention. To understand their significance is to grasp Kuala Lumpur’s audacious ambition. Completed in 1998, they were conceived as a potent symbol of a nation transitioning from a commodity-based economy (symbolised by the state oil company, Petronas) into a modern financial powerhouse. By day, they stand like twin blades of ambition, slicing through the tropical clouds; by night, they transform into glowing silver lanterns, a beacon of national pride. Their design, by Argentine architect, César Pelli, is a master-class in this cultural synthesis: the floor plan is based on an eight-pointed star, a geometric pattern prevalent in Islamic art, while the towers’ gleaming façades echo the motifs of traditional Malaysian handicrafts.
Looking beyond the Twins, the skyline tells the ongoing story. It is a dynamic painting of twisting forms, green rooftop gardens combating urban heat, and buildings shaped like crystals and leaves, a clear commitment to a “Green City” future. Dominating it all is the soaring Merdeka 118, now the world’s second-tallest building. Its name, “Merdeka” (independence) and its location near historic independence landmarks consciously tie this new pinnacle of engineering back to the nation’s hard-won sovereignty in 1957. Every structure feels intentional, a dialogue between deep-rooted heritage and relentless innovation.
Pasar Seni: Where art lives
In stark contrast, Central Market, Pasar Seni felt like stepping directly into the living, breathing soul of Malaysia’s artistic heritage. The building itself is a landmark; originally a wet market built in 1888, its distinctive blue Art Deco façade is a preservation success story. Today, behind that historic exterior lie a vibrant world of handcrafted batik (a wax-resist dyeing technique integral to Malay culture), intricate wood carvings, traditional jewellery and contemporary paintings.
The market pulses with an organic, creative life: the strum of a guzheng, the call of food vendors selling apam balik, the sweet, pandan-scented air. Kasturi Walk, with its iconic giant, wau bulan (moon kite) overhead, adds another layer, transforming a simple walkway into a celebration of folk art. Pasar Seni is not merely a market; it is the enduring heartbeat of Malaysian craftsmanship.
The language puzzle
One of my most profound and surprising experiences was the daily dance of communication. This was a nation confidently polyglot in its own right, with Bahasa Malaysia as the unifying tongue, yet my own linguistic toolkit was challenged. While the global fellowship of GIJC participants created bubbles of English, venturing beyond them revealed a different reality. Ordering roti canai or asking for directions became a delightful, sometimes perplexing, mini-adventure of gestures and smart-phone translation apps.
One memorable night, a small group of us found ourselves charmingly lost on a walk. The universal kindness of the locals was palpable, yet our questions often met with genuinely confused smiles. In that moment of humorous frustration, I felt a sharp, fond pang for the effortless, verbose directions one would get from any mallam on a street corner in Abuja, a testament to Nigeria’s inherently communal and verbally expressive social fabric.
This contrast was further highlighted in KL’s Pavilion Mall, where I encountered AI robots gliding silently, offering directional assistance, technology seamlessly bridging the human communication gap. It underscored a broader cultural observation: Malaysians often carry a reserved, private demeanor in public, a world away from the spontaneous “Sannu uku” greetings and open inquisitiveness of Nigeria. Here, everyone gracefully minded their own business, creating a polite, efficient and quietly self-contained urban rhythm—a different world, beautifully and thoughtfully arranged.
Democracy, decline and the shadow over Africa’s future
At the GIJC, among the many sessions that expanded my professional toolkit, one panel struck a chord far deeper than methodology. Led by journalists from nations that were once bright spots in the democratic constellation—El Salvador, Hungary, India and Tunisia, this was more than a discussion. It was a collective testimony from the frontlines of democratic backsliding.
Each panelist narrated a hauntingly familiar story from their own soil: how hope can curdle into control, and how openness can be methodically sealed shut. Their accounts, varied in geography yet unified in pattern, converged on one chilling, universal truth: Democracy does not collapse in a single, dramatic coup. It erodes. It is chipped away, law by law, headline by headline, intimidated voice by silenced voice, while a distracted public is told the foundations are still strong.
They described the subtle, legalistic machinery of decline: the “lawfare” used to harass independent media, the defamation suits meant to bankrupt truth-tellers, the regulatory capture of broadcast bodies, and the strategic smearing of journalists as “anti-national.” They spoke of the slow, suffocating shrinking of civic space, where protests are redefined as riots, non-governmental organisations labelled foreign agents and critical discourse is drowned out by orchestrated nationalism.
For me, listening from Nigeria, the resonance was not theoretical; it was visceral. Their testimonies were not just case studies from afar, they were cautionary tales written in a language African democracies are beginning to understand all too well. We see the early symptoms: the opaque procurement deals, the attacks on judicial independence, the political capture of electoral bodies and the rising rhetoric against a free press as an impediment to “development.”
The lesson for Africa is stark and urgent. Our democratic institutions often young, underfunded, and politically vulnerable are not immune to this global authoritarian playbook. The experiences of El Salvador and Hungary prove that backsliding can happen even in societies that considered themselves consolidated democracies. Our fight cannot be complacent, it must be preemptive.
The panel’s most profound conclusion was also its simplest: democracy survives only through daily, vigilant defense, not merely through ritual elections. It lives in the dogged court reporting, in the FOIA requests that challenge state secrecy, in the collaborative investigations that cross borders when governments close ranks, and in the public’s unwavering support for a press that holds power accountable, even when it is inconvenient.
This session shifted something in me. It transformed my view of my work from a professional duty into a democratic imperative. The tools of investigative journalism forensic accounting, open-source verification, secure collaboration, are not just for exposing corruption, they are the very instruments for fortifying democracy’s early-warning system. To document the first signs of erosion is to sound the alarm for the society itself.
As Africa stands at its own political crossroads, the message from those who have watched the light dim in their own countries is clear: The time to reinforce the pillars is now. The most dangerous myth is the belief that decline happens elsewhere. The journalists from Hungary, India, Tunisia and El Salvador came to Kuala Lumpur to tell us, with hard-earned clarity that: it can happen here, too. And it will—unless we choose, every single day, to stand guard.
My journey through Malaysia: The first-timer’s alchemy
For a first-time traveller stepping onto global soil, this journey transcended the conference that prompted it. It was a profound metamorphosis, a conscious departure from the familiar shell of my world into a vivid expanse of new light, sound and human texture. This was the education that no classroom can offer: the act of seeing myself and my craft reflected in the eyes of strangers, of learning culture, not from pages but pulse points to a shared meal, a gesture of help in a crowded street, the silent language of awe before a shared monument.
I learned to navigate more than city maps; I navigated the beautiful disorientation that comes when every sight, smell; and social cue is unfamiliar. I met strangers on trains and in conference halls, whose stories became mirrors, reflecting parts of myself I hadn’t yet met. I got lost, and in doing so, found a quieter, more patient version of myself, one who could observe and adapt. I witnessed technology, not as an abstract tool but a lifeline bridging continents and languages. I discovered that travelling is a quiet alchemist. It changes you in imperceptible, irreversible ways softening edges, expanding inner horizons and rewiring your understanding of connection itself.
Kuala Lumpur gifted me more than photographs. It gifted me memories with the weight of revelation, stories that I will carry as personal folklore, and a quiet courage forged from having found my way in a world so vast. Most significantly, it granted me a sharper, humbler sense of my own place within the intricate tapestry of global journalism and humanity.
As I boarded my flight back to Abuja, my luggage held batik prints and packets of local tea, but my spirit carried a far more precious cargo: a renewed conviction, etched deep by experience, that our world is immeasurably bigger, fundamentally kinder, more wonderfully complex and more breathtakingly beautiful than I had ever allowed myself to imagine.