They doff their hats to Ladbone, By Kunle Ajibade

The book is inspiring and enlightening. It is implicitly an affirmation of visionary power and a celebration of significant values. As a treasure trove of lessons in competence and commitment, Ladbone: A Life in Print is a master class for those who aspire to excellent public service. In his tribute, Steve Osuji writes that Mr Bonuola is a peculiar history that is yet to be written. This book will surely be a veritable reference to anyone who rises to the challenge of writing this peculiar history.

This book, Ladbone: A Life in Print, edited by Dapo Olorunyomi, the publisher of Premium Times, is a collection of 85 essays in honour of Oyinlade Bonuola, one of the original and creative minds in the Nigerian media. Here, friends, co-workers, mentees, family members and academics remember one the most accomplished Nigerian newspapermen, who is generally called Ladbone. They write about his life of a relentless struggle for excellence. They pay homage to a man who was often motivated by a deep sense of obligation and who relished the appeal and grace and glory of a long-distance runner. They pay tribute to Bonuola who is totally lacking in rank arrogance, in spite of all his enviable achievements in the media. They write about Ladbone who constantly espoused the art of the possible. Many of the writers in this book doff their hats to him as they sketch his profiles in dignity and tenacity. In a chorus of voices, they celebrate the man they call Mr Thoroughness; the man they describe as the gold standard journalist; the conscience of Nigerian journalism; the tree that made a forest; a journalism exemplar and statesman; the legend; the great teacher; the standard bearer; the big lad of Nigerian journalism; a fastidious professional; the architect of truth; the editor of editors; the bone of our bones; the phenomenal Ladbone; the engine room of The Guardian; a solid bridge across generations of Nigerian journalists; a perfectionist; a consummate workaholic; the media policeman; an extraordinary talent spotter; an architect and leader of the Joshua generation in the media; a master of simple prose; and a disciplinarian. Does this hero worship weaken the book? Not at all. I will return to this point in a moment.

The book is inspiring and enlightening. It is implicitly an affirmation of visionary power and a celebration of significant values. As a treasure trove of lessons in competence and commitment, Ladbone: A Life in Print is a master class for those who aspire to excellent public service. In his tribute, Steve Osuji writes that Mr Bonuola is a peculiar history that is yet to be written. This book will surely be a veritable reference to anyone who rises to the challenge of writing this peculiar history. As many of the writers tell stories of their interactions with Ladbone, they also tell plenty of stories of their own professional lives. Put differently, in honouring him they considerably honour themselves. The confluence of stories here, the narratives within narratives, give us aspects of the history of Nigerian journalism itself. In the parable of the elephant and the wise blindmen, all those who touch different parts of the huge animal draw different conclusions. But in this book, all the different perspectives return the same verdict: Ladbone is a strong breed. There are many engaging recollections here of how he was an inspiration and a spur to many readers of his most popular column in The Sunday Times — “Caught Out: A Critical Look at the Nigerian Press,” and then his Abdul Rafiu column with the ram logo in The Guardian, which is the longest running column in the history of Nigerian journalism. General Ibrahim Badamosi Babangida, a former military president; Professor Yemi Osinbajo, former vice president of Nigeria; Chief Bisi Akande, former governor of Osun State; Aremo Olusegun Osoba, former governor of Ogun State; Mr Babatunde Raji Fashola, former governor of Lagos state and Oba Masoud Oyekola Aweda Lawal, the Iba of Kishi kingdom, attest to his courage and insights as a public affairs commentator, and his pieces of advice, in private, on public policies. 

The writers render in uncluttered prose Ladbone’s humble beginning in Kishi, his home town; his years at Ijebu-Ode Grammar School for his A/Levels, where he was a voracious reader and a passionate lover of good debates, and where he won the coveted zonal John F Kennedy Essay competition; his life as a secondary school teacher of English Language and Literature at Methodist High School, Arigbajo, in Ifo, and at Premier Grammar School, Abeokuta; his 55 years in journalism; how he was hired by Alhaji Babatunde Jose at The Daily Times as a sub-editor and how he rose by dint of hard work to become chief sub-editor, production editor, acting features editor, member of the Editorial Board of Daily Times and deputy editor of Spear magazine. This was where he met Prince Henry Odukomaiya, Alhaji Alade Odunewu, Dr Patrick Dele Cole, Mr Femi Kusa, Uncle Sam Amuka, Aremo Olusegun Osoba, Mr Kunle Elegbede, Prince Tony Momoh, Mr Martin Iroabuchi, Chief Tola Adeniyi, Mr Gbolabo Ogunsanwo, Mr Dele Giwa, Chief Areoye Oyebola, and Mr Tunji Oseni, the editor of Sunday Times who asked him to write the “Caught Out” column. It was here that he met his beautiful wife, Esther Iyabo Oladele, with whom he has produced and raised six daughters: Abiodun, Bolatito, Bolupe, Lolade, Kemi and Wemimo. It was also at The Daily Times, in 1977, that he earned the certificate of the Thomson Foundation Editorial Study Centre, affiliated to the University of Cardiff in Wales, United Kingdom. He then moved over to The Guardian, where he laboured for 22 years as a founding associate editor, then editor, editor-in chief and managing director.

Memories are made of the founding of The Guardian and why and how it became an instant success; of how the support for his original dummy by Mrs Maiden Ibru gave birth to the unique, attractive and winning layout of The Guardian as a high-brow newspaper; how the team of Dr Stanley Macebuh complimented that of Ladbone; and of his catchy headlines as a sub-editor. We are told of his punishing work ethic; how he became a sports enthusiast because sports reporting was selling his papers; how a well-written editorial was spiked in the dead of the night by Ladbone, just to please the publisher who had rushed down to Rutam House in his bathroom slippers to protect his business interest; Ladbone’s commitment, both in the newsroom and outside it, to those who did not have champions; the story about how he would obey the traffic light at 2 a.m. on his way home after office hours; the stories about the ethics and aesthetics of his journalistic practice; his principled positions anchored in the ethos of his upbringing and strengthened by his strong belief in God as a cross bearer; his immediate reactions to the gruesome death of Krees Imodibe and Tayo Awotusin in the Liberian civil war; his honesty and deep sense of accountability; his help in building Liberty Text School in his hometown, Kishi; his contributions to the Unique Frontline Club, Kishi; the interesting stories of how he nearly snatched Mr Ray Ekpu from Dele Giwa, but only succeeded in arresting Ted Iwere at the Murtala Muhammed International Airport and employing him at The Guardian effective immediately, beating Dele Giwa to it; the jailing of The Guardian’s senior diplomatic correspondent, Tunde Thompson, and assistant news editor, Nduka Irabor, under decree 4 by the draconian regime of Generals Muhammadu Buhari and Tunde Idiagbon; how the Simply Mr policy died; the closure of The Guardian by General Sani Abacha; the assassination attempt on its publisher, Mr Alex Ibru; the exit of Dr Stanley Macebuh, Dr Yemi Ogunbiyi, Dr Olatunji Dare, Mr Sully Abu and, eventually, Ladbone and Mr Femi Kusa. The writers reflect on Lade Bonuola’s refusal to fold when The Guardian, his beloved newspaper, was confronted with despicable regimes. Despite the terrorism of the Abacha junta, his abiding faith in a better Nigeria never wavered, as he always insisted that the future of his country was full of possibilities. Perhaps, more crucially, he believed that a nation as a community should share core values, agree on fundamental issues concerning its well-being.

Stories are also told of how, in his quiet way, with all his pleasant and courteous conversations and raucous laughter with his staff, Ladbone can be a very brutal person in his perpetual, if not obsessive, quest for excellence. This was not just in the newsroom. His children, when they were growing up, must not touch the walls of his house, which he painted every December. He washed and ironed his own clothes. He regularly went shopping for groceries, and was a terrific cook any time his wife was not around. No one stayed idle in his home.

Precisely because the meeting of the management of The Guardian with General Sani Abacha and the apology subsequently tendered to him have been reported differently by those who were not there, let me quote at length Mr Femi Kusa’s reporting of that meeting in his tribute: “When Mr Ibru became a minister in the government of General Sani Abacha, he expected The Guardian to soften on its criticisms of the regime. The newspaper did not. Abacha was tyrannical and murderous. The Guardian was not set up to support tyranny and murder. We did not come over to The Guardian to work with tyrannical and murderous leaders for pounds of porridge. Abacha closed The Guardian for one year. Mediators arranged a meeting with the dictator, at which The Guardian was to apologise. Oyinlade Bonuola declined to attend the meeting. Mr Ibru asked him to resign as managing director if he would not. Within the next second or two, Bonuola did. Mr Ibru offered me the job. Immediately, I rejected it. Mediators later proposed a meeting with Abacha at which no apology would be made. We agreed. Bonuola and I had a sleepless night before the meeting, drafting and reworking the speech he would make. The then Osemawe of Ondo, Oba Festus Adesanoye, who was Permanent Secretary at Defence Headquarters when Abacha was learning the ropes as a senior officer, joined us at the meeting on Mr Alex Ibru’s invitation behind our back. He gave Alex Ibru contracts for FESTAC 77, which he said made him. Their friendship made Oba Adesanoye a visiting consultant of The Guardian’s Editorial Board. It was he who made the apology after Oyinlade Bonuola’s speech, which made none. He was backed in the apologia by Andy Akporugo, Mr Ibru’s cousin. I spoke no words. Mr Alex Ibru did not forget our intransigence. The Guardian heated up. Soon, reprisal events unfolded, which advised us of the necessity to leave peacefully.” The utter ruthlessness of the way they were treated was one of the lowest moments in the history of The Guardian.

We have here stories about Lade Bonuola’s Spartan lifestyle; his cultivation of high-wire contacts — top people in politics, business, armed forces, etc., etc. for scoops and the verification of stories; the high premium that he always placed on archives and libraries as a newspaper administrator; his secret encouragement of some radical, left leaning journalists; his curiosity about the practice of journalism in other parts of the world, particularly in the US and the UK, for which reason he read their major newspapers everyday and religiously followed the news on their other outlets; his constant celebration of the best journalists in the electronic media, such as Christiane Amanpour, who, incidentally, announced three days ago that she would soon be leaving CNN after 43 glorious years in the place; his deep interest in books on journalism and inspiring autobiographies; and his insistence that a newspaper must be readable, inventive, truthful, and, certainly, not neutral. By and large, the book tells us about the enduring power of the Lade Bonuola effect.

Stories are also told of how, in his quiet way, with all his pleasant and courteous conversations and raucous laughter with his staff, Ladbone can be a very brutal person in his perpetual, if not obsessive, quest for excellence. This was not just in the newsroom. His children, when they were growing up, must not touch the walls of his house, which he painted every December. He washed and ironed his own clothes. He regularly went shopping for groceries, and was a terrific cook any time his wife was not around. No one stayed idle in his home. And because he woke up at 5 a.m. everyday, the children must also be awake to do house chores before they got ready for school at precisely 7 a.m. The children dared not stay out beyond 7PM. They must dress modestly well. Each time he was around, a hush fell over the house. He inculcated in the girls the hobby of reading, which, they, in turn, have passed on to his 11 grandchildren.

The huge project that the Living Archives Initiatives of the Centre for Journalism Innovation and Development (CJID) is embarking on, I would argue, is informed by this idea of the struggle of memory against forgetting. It is fit and proper that the organisation has started with Ladbone, who told Lasisi Olagunju, in an interview embedded in his tribute, that he is not given to blowing his own trumpet.

When Buhari and Idiagbon introduced austerity measures to the beleaguered nation, Lade Bonuola promptly introduced his own structural adjustment programme in his home. Abiodun, his first child, was taught how to measure with milk tins the rice and beans they would cook. None of the children must have more than one piece of dodo. The girls quickly learnt how to have their hair done for one another. Ladbone, who was a Sunday school teacher, never stopped delivering homilies about the responsibilities that awaited his children. Wemimo, the last child, who is now a lawyer, reports: “As children we were surrounded by animals: goats, ducks, turkeys, pigeons, 17 dogs, 15 cats, fishes, snails, chickens, rams, sheep, and so on. These animals made us very responsible people. We understood how to feed them, bath them, clean out their faeces, take the animals who could go on walks around the estate.”

Still, today, the children don’t feel unloved by him. Lolade, who now holds a PhD in Artificial Intelligence, tells all those reporters and editors in The Guardian and elsewhere who still begrudge Ladbone for pushing them so hard, for asking for stories even when they were bereaved: We shared your pains. Please, forgive him. He meant no harm. He obviously believed, and still does, that if you must deliver on excellence, you just have to be brutal sometimes. To him tough love always pays in the end. There are impeccable accounts of the failures of The Comet and The Compass newspapers under Ladbone. He is accused of unrelieved partiality to his deputy and close friend, Mr Femi Kusa, who introduced him to The Grail Message and movement, at a time that he was a senior pastor at the Redeemed Christian Church of God. Clearly, this book is not hagiography at all — writers just tell it as it is. The recollections and memories are coherent versions of the same truth.

Milan Kundera, the French-Czechoslovakian writer, in his novel, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, says that “The first step in liquidating a people is to erase its memory. Destroy its books, its history. Then have somebody write new books, manufacture a new culture, invent a new history. Before long that nation will begin to forget what it is and what it was…The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.” The huge project that the Living Archives Initiatives of the Centre for Journalism Innovation and Development (CJID) is embarking on, I would argue, is informed by this idea of the struggle of memory against forgetting. It is fit and proper that the organisation has started with Ladbone, who told Lasisi Olagunju, in an interview embedded in his tribute, that he is not given to blowing his own trumpet.

Kunle Ajibade is executive editor/director of TheNEWS/PM NEWS.

This is the text of the review done at the presentation of Ladbone: A Life in Print at the Civic Centre, Victoria Island, on 22 October.