The Abba Kyari I know

I left Bayero University, Kano (BUK) Mass Communication Department for the world of journalism in 1988 as an intern at the defunct Democrat Newspapers, Kaduna. The news room where I was initially grounded as a copy boy, radio news transcriber and then baby local reporter was rather a distinguished kind of place, a bit like […]

I left Bayero University, Kano (BUK) Mass Communication Department for the world of journalism in 1988 as an intern at the defunct Democrat Newspapers, Kaduna. The news room where I was initially grounded as a copy boy, radio news transcriber and then baby local reporter was rather a distinguished kind of place, a bit like a hall of typewriter generated tracks of music.

On showing my letter of placement, I talked my way to the presence of the News Editor, who led me to the editor. “Afternoon sir, this is one of the students sent to us for a three-month attachment.” He then turned to me and said, “My friend, this is Mallam Abba Kyari, the Editor Daily.” And I responded, “thank you sir, thank you sir.”

Looking at me, Abba Kyari greeted warmly and told me to make myself comfortable in one of the armchairs close to his table. Although he was neither smiling nor frowning, telling me to take a seat cheered me. Abba Kyari then picked a piece of paper and started writing something. In that interlude, I fell asleep. I woke up shortly to observe Abba Kyari laughing and dialing an intercom receiver. “Please, your attention is needed in my office,” He demanded of somebody. With sleepy red eyes, I sat anxiously for the fellow who arrived almost immediately. “Take this young man to the canteen and see to his welfare,” he instructed the fellow. I found out later that the fellow was the company’s Administrative Manager, Francis Iyang.

The two weeks I spent as a copy boy made it clear to me through my constant contacts with him that he was a man of few words. I never saw him idling away. Any time I was sent to deliver an editorial material to him, what I usually got was a quick and short response to my eye-service greeting, and he would stretch his hands, collect the materials and continue with his business. My experience as a radio news transcriber provided more insight into his essence.

My colleague on same schedule once hinted on how Abba Kyari almost disengaged him due to late-coming. Previous-night over indulgence and the sweet morning rain had pushed me into his jaws. I quickly washed my face, put on a dress and jumped away whistling what could probably be my punishment. In my youthful naivety, I had already prepared ‘I over slept’ answer to his anticipated why question. I crashed into The Democrat Newspapers gate at about 9am. On sighting his Peugeot 504 parked in front of the company office complex, I concluded I was more than a gonna.

I arrived at the news room with a swollen forehead. When Abba Kyari saw me, he asked “What’s wrong with your forehead?” “I had an accident, sir.” I replied. “Accident?” He wondered. “Why not go home and get yourself treated and resume work when you are Ok.” He advised. I was amazed at how calm he sounded. The day forged a deeper understanding of the essence of Abba Kyari.

From the day’s encounter, I began to look past Abba Kyari’s stone face to see the prominence and increasing visibility of The Democrat Newspapers nationally and internationally. I began to consider him not only as a serious and effective editor but also a very good manager.

For the most part, the stories I was dealing with weren’t particularly elevated: birthdays, funerals, cultural days, marriages, traffic jams, and strikes. But I was very happy that I had become a member of the league of reporters within the organization. On their part, the reporters accepted me as one of them. Some of the most visible reporters then were; Bature Umar Masari, Emmanuel Onyejena, (who also doubled as Foreign News Editor), Walter Uba and Sulaiman Kolo.

There was a day I ran into a group of journalists sitting beneath a tree outside the Arewa Textile club house close to the office. They were eating, drinking, smoking, and sulking out, muttering about the unfairness of the company’s management. When I heard the name Abba Kyari, I became captivated and attentive. The leading voice started the argument. “That Abba Kyari sef, eno won chop, eno won anybody to chop!” Then, about two voices countered him, “who told you, the man de chop. He just de pretend.” Another voice said, “I beg, make una no de spoil person name like that. The man no de chop.” The argument went on, and on, and on. Then, one unfamiliar soft voice tried to close the argument. “I begeee, whether the man de chop or not, eno fit stop my outside runs. Let’s forget about him.” I asked myself so many questions on my way home. I made up my mind to find out.

I commenced the interrogation of some credible key informants within the organization. My investigation led me to the open-secret shame of journalism. “Don’t mind them. They are just trying to give Abba Kyari a bad name. Frankly, the man detests shady deals. And because he appears to be alone, they say all sorts of things about him.”

The two weeks I spent on the reportorial desk opened my eyes. I began to look at Abba Kyari as somebody who loved The Democrat Newspapers dearly and would not let it be ripped off by anybody. My next posting was to the proof reading section which was more of a den of beautiful ladies. They were kind to me. Because they knew I was an intern, and penniless, they were taking me to lunch by turn. I was too innocent, naive to realize the danger until I began to receive frowns from some very senior staff. I barely spent a week before I was posted out of the section to the darkroom. It wasn’t until two years later when I joined the organization as a permanent staff that I found out that virtually all the ladies were attached to one senior staff or the other. Abba Kyari’s name was very far from the names in the romance list.

I just had a day to leave. Abba Kyari saw me at the office of the Production Manager. “My friend, when are you leaving?” He asked. “Tomorrow, sir.” I answered. “Okay, meet the Chief Accountant for some pocket money.” He instructed. I thanked him.

There are many stories to be told of The Democrat Newspapers. Alhaji Ismaila Isa Funtua, the publisher/Managing Director, who I never saw interfering with the professional conduct of the paper; Malam Abdulkareem Al-Bashir, the Editor-in-Chief, (smiling in paradise); Gausu Ahmed, the Editor Weekly; Bello Bashir Gwarzo, Deputy Editor weekly, I can go on, and on and on. I knew Abba Kyari as an Editor of The Democrat Newspapers, I did not know enough about him as a person. To me, he represented a defining moment in The Democrat journalism, nay history. It was after he stepped away that they succeeded in bringing the paper to its knees. I will never forget Abba Kyari. His journalism taught me never to be part of the bunch, however crowded. And I have been better for it.

Dr Okidu writes from Kaduna, [email protected]