Great
things often start like a joke. There is no better way to depict the birth of
Ovation International in London. As illustrated last week in the first part of
these anniversary notes, I was on the run from the dreaded military regime
headed by maximum ruler, General Sani Abacha.
My involvement in the struggle
for the revalidation of the June 12, 1993 Presidential election mandate which
the people of Nigeria freely gave to Chief Moshood Abiola, landed me in big
trouble. Unlike former President Ibrahim Babangida, it was impossible for anyone
to express his innocence to Abacha. There was no negotiation. I just developed
wings and took off pronto.
Specifically,
I was accused of being one of the brains behind Radio Freedom (which later
metamorphosed into Radio Kudirat) after the cold-blooded murder of Alhaja
Kudirat Abiola. But truth is I was not a member of the Radio Freedom crew
considered a huge menace to the dictatorial government. At least not at the
stage I was initially accused. The story of how I later joined the gang
of highly dedicated and committed operatives of that ubiquitous pirate radio
would be told subsequently.
Thus,
having fled to England without any plans other than for immediate personal
safety, I was in grave peril of expiring from human scourge, hunger, as I was
jobless. It was this fear of joblessness and its consequences on my
family that drove me and my team to take the leap of faith that manifested in
the production of what would become one of Africa’s most ambitious media
projects. We were under no illusion that the journey would be easy. We knew the
road would be rough. We expected funding to be the biggest threat to our
existence for a long time to come. We needed £150,000 to start small scale but
could barely raise about £20,000. With a shortfall of around £130,000, we would
have to crawl slowly but steadily. A man who’s down should fear no fall was our
attitude. Our options were few and limited. But we were determined to make the
impossible possible. Thanks to my co-travellers Adedamola Aderemi, Olusegun
Fatoye, Adeyemi Aderemi, Damilola Abiodun and Bayo Williams (of blessed
memories) we were set for an epic journey.
The
first and very crucial task was how to assemble a crack Editorial team. We
decided to scout for and assemble a star-studded assemblage of writers. We
succeeded in attracting the legendary writers and polemicists, Sonala Olumhense
and Onukaba Adinoyi-Ojo, who were both working for the United Nations. We got
the highly cerebral Ike Okonta. We found the flowery Alaba Yusuf. A Nigerian
lady, Uzoma Umesi, wrote some great pieces. We got the experienced media gurus
Richie Dayo Johnson and George Noah, our neighbours in highbrow Docklands where
we domiciled our effervescent office. We secured the gist merchant Kunle Bakare
to control Nigerian operations. We got my former boss and the Queen of
celebrity reporting May Ellen Ezekiel Mofe-Damijo and the king of African
movies Richard Mofe-Damijo (RMD).
Everything
appeared to be going well until suddenly, my former boss May Ellen had a fatal
surgery and died in Lagos. I had spoken to her in the US and tried to
straighten our ruptured relationship activated by my controversial removal as
Editor of Classique magazine. I was happy we made up. She wasted no time in
agreeing to be our Contributing Editor which I considered a great honour. Same
with RMD who instantly agreed to support our dream. Little did I know it was
going to be my last conversation with May Ellen.
We
decided our magazine was going to be a masterpiece crafted like a work of art,
and sold as a timeless and ageless piece. Every issue was going to be a
collector’s item. We were going to locate the best printers in England and
cover as many African stories as possible. The production of the maiden issue
was meticulously executed. We wanted to report the lives and lifestyles of rich
and famous Africans. We decided that we would expose and promote authentic
African stars who would not be given prominence on the covers of Hello, Ok, GQ,
Esquire, etc. We chose a plush cover story and placed Mohammed Al-Fayed, the
Egyptian luxury store king at Harrods, graciously on the front. We got Ike
Okonta, a brilliant poet, to get lost inside Harrods, one of the most expensive
departmental stores in the world and pen his dreamlike experience for our
readers. His piece was titled JUST DREAM. The man could not buy a pin in
Harrods.
The
beautiful magazine started with GOOD DAY AFRICA by Sonala Olumhense. Onukaba
Adinoyi-Ojo sent a comprehensive report from war-torn Somalia and highlighted
efforts of the United Nations at bringing peace to the nation. We had a panel
of the best gossip poachers including Deun Solarin and Funmi Ayandokun. They
compiled our juiciest snippets on the 100 Stormy Women in Nigeria. It was a
compendium of who’s who. It was meant to cover a broad spectrum of society
ladies and ignite an instant debate in high society. We succeeded.
The
magazine was an instant hit. Our friends, Gbenga Olunloyo , Kayode Akinyele,
Dayo Olomu and others, were marvellous in spreading the magazine to different
parts of London. We lived like communists and worked and ate together. Funmi
Akinyele cooked lunch for us regularly. My energetic wife was heavily pregnant
and still had to keep company of our fist son. Exile was hellish but we were
undaunted. Holding the first copy of Ovation was worth all the diamonds in the
world. We were in Cloud 10.
We
sent copies to the of Chairman of Harrods and we were surprised to receive a
very powerful response from Mr Al-Fayed, titled AN OVATION FOR OVATION, and a
basket of goodies including vintage wines and chocolates. The historic letter
praised Ovation as a welcome positive development as opposed to the purveyors
of negativity. The second issue of the magazine was even more dramatic. We got
an exclusive access to the family of famous singer SEAL in Lagos. The foreign
media had always seen him as a Brazilian. We got phone calls from the world
media as soon as our special report put together by super reporter, Azu Arinze,
who was then at Encomium magazine, hit the streets.
It
was incredible receiving calls from the National Enquirer, the largest
circulating tabloid in America (4 million copies weekly). The publication
requested our permission to cull our SEAL story and even offered to pay us. We
approved but rejected the offer of payment and settled for the bold
acknowledgement of Ovation in their widely circulated paper. We secured the
same deal with The Mirror in London and it gave us massive exposure. For a new
magazine named Ovation, it was a loud ovation for us from the beginning.
We
experienced the miracle of God everywhere we turned because we were able to
capture stories that money cannot easily buy. For example, I was having a drink
in 1996 with Nduka Obaigbena at The Dorchester, the posh hotel on Park Lane,
when the celebrated boxer, Chris Eubank, walked in. Chris was such a flamboyant
celebrity and I approached him for an interview request. He told me I needed to
approach his media agents which I knew I couldn’t afford. But Nduka came to my
rescue. In his usual never-say-die spirit, he lectured Chris on why he should
support the laudable business of a Black brother. Chris fell for Nduka’s charms
and agreed to a major photo-shoot and interview the following morning at The
Dorchester. That was it. We got another scoop.
We
soon shifted our focus to the extraordinary Ghanaian fashion designer on
Saville Row, Ozwald Boateng, who made no fuzz in agreeing to an Ovation
coverage. We moved from Ozwaild to the glamorous football star John Fashanu who
was staying in St. John’s Wood and gave us exclusive access. We did so much
with so little cash and we soon reached a cul de sac. We simply ran out of gas,
perhaps to put it mildly. Several times we thought the end had come but God
created ways where there were none. I will never forget three of such. Top on
the list as always was Dr Mike Adenuga, my God sent benefactor in the days of
tribulations. He never forgot to send his contribution for the three years I
spent in exile and I’m eternally grateful.
There
is no money-guzzler like the media. I was totally frustrated one terrible
evening when Jimi Akinniyi, one of our most committed reporters, walked in and
told me what could have been a powerful message from God. He said he had
earlier met a friend of his, Gbenga Adesanya, who offered to help us with some money
without being close to me. I was delirious. The other and major miracle came
when my friend, Dele Balogun, a businessman and educationist in London, invited
me to a home in Surrey to interview a prominent Nigerian politician, Dr Bode
Olajumoke. I met a very simple and unassuming gentleman who picked his words
slowly but assuredly. In the course of our divine interaction, he told me his
wife loves Ovation to bits but they could see we were just struggling with it.
I told him the whole truth and departed.
A
few weeks later, I got a call from Dr Olajumoke and he said his mind has been
with me since we met and he has been thinking of my challenges. He then asked
what he could do to help and I responded that he should act as God directed
him. He said he likes my personality and was ready to grant me an interest free
loan. He asked for my account details which I faxed urgently. He redeemed his
pledge and I was elated.
The
loan improved our status but as usual with the media business, it was like the
abiku child, it comes and goes. No matter how much you pumped in, it was bound
to evaporate in little time. Not many people understood how this business
works, but I like to describe it as the ultimate casino. You have to be a
gambler of sorts to make appreciable impact and success in the media industry.
There are just too many variables, especially if your operations are as
humongous and international like ours. The loan soon evaporated and it became a
ding dong affair as we barely scratched the surface. To my greatest surprise,
Dr Olajumoke did not only write off the loan, he later gave me more to keep us
going. He believed so much in our ability to compete with the best of the
world.
Between
1996 and 1998, we worked assiduously to stay afloat. We were hit on the solar
plexus several times by blows that would have felled a giant but we had become
resilient to the vagaries of the industry and knew how to absorb the rude
shocks. The fact that I could not visit Nigeria made matters worse. I had to
depend on others for most things. I was lucky that most of the people I
turned to were willing to help but another man’s eyes can never be the same as
one’s own eyes!
However,
in between working on Ovation, I never slowed down on my political activities.
I worked feverishly to attack the dictatorial and repressive regime of General
Sani Abacha. I joined the Radio Kudirat team and ran the Yoruba segment. I went
by the pseudonym Saliu Elenugboro, Eni Olorun o pa! I worked closely with the
NADECO chieftains and spent any free moment I had with Senator Bola Ahmed
Tinubu and Tokunbo Afikuyomi. We were in the vanguard of the battle for the
actualisation of the June
12 which was definitely won by Chief Moshood Abiola.
On
June 8, 1998, General Sani Abacha was pronounced dead. It first started like a
false rumour, the kind of which social media is now replete with, and I
instantly dismissed the story. However, I got a call from Chief Segun
Osoba who confirmed the shocking news. I was soon invited over to the CNN
studio around Tottenham Court Road for my comments on the late military ruler.
I felt a tinge of somnambulism and was in an emotional state, totally
confounded by the development. There were rumours that Chief Moshood Abiola
would soon be released. And we were naturally expectant.
Then
the big bang came on July 7, 1998 and I crashed to earth with a thud, filled
with indescribable sadness, nay devastation, as reports that Chief Abiola had
died suddenly and mysteriously ruled the airwaves. Ovation had to do a special
cover as the authority on Abiola. It was titled GOOD BYE TO A GOOD MAN. The
Magazine disappeared from the streets as it sold out as soon as it went out.
I
knew it was time to end my life in exile…
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