It happened in the
morning of May 4, 2013. Pini Jason was already beginning to recover from surgery
which his doctor considered necessary and urgent. He had no choice but to
submit himself in obedience. But days before he left Abuja for Lagos, we kept
talking not just about the impending medical tour to Lagos, we also discussed
the rampage of Boko Haram in Maiduguri, the capital of Borno State, a city he
said he visited a number of times and developed so much love “for its streets
lined with trees and flowers, but which these rascals are now destroying.” He
told me how beautiful and peaceful Maiduguri
was each time he visited the city either on official duty or on holiday.
We
talked of other things like Jonathan’s response to the terror group, and then
we would return to his health. “I am not feeling too well,” he said repeatedly,
but kept assuring me that his doctor was certain that the surgery would come
off pretty well.
Days later, Pini called from *Pini Jason |
“Should I pick you
from MM airport and put you down at that your Surulere home?” I asked.
He said someone living
in Surulere was coming to fetch him, and promised to contact me as soon as he
was home. He rested the whole of Saturday, and early Sunday morning, he sent me
a text message: “I am in for surgery tomorrow, Monday. Please, pray for me.
Here is my wife’s phone number . . . just in case.”
I didn’t reply immediately.
I was already on my way to early morning Mass. But, somehow, I knew that my
friend was ill but he would conquer. When we met in Abuja a month or so earlier, he had lost some
weight and his laughter was beginning to lose its robustness.
Monday came and I was preparing to drive to
his hospital at Yaba to be near for messages or small errands, knowing that
Nigerian hospitals can lack critical items at critical times, when my phone
rang. It was Pini calling.
“It has been
postponed,” he said from the other end. He hung up.
I wanted to ask what
happened and the new date, or has a miracle happened when the telephone went
dead from his end. Pini likes cracking jokes – even expensive one.
On Wednesday, the
surgery took place and it was “successful” and the following day, I called but
he wasn’t picking. I then called the hospital telephone number which I had
saved during his first hospitalisation the previous year, at the same health
facility. A female voice picked and said that Pini was sleeping. I dropped a message:
“My name is Kanayo. Could you please tell him that I will be at the hospital
Saturday noon to see him. I will be coming with Chief Edwin Igbokwe.”
“I will tell him, Sir,
when he is up from bed,” was the measured reply from the female voice. I hung up.
Then, early on Friday, I suddenly remembered that Pini forwarded his wife’s
phone number to me. I then called Obiageli, his wife, whom he preferred to call
“Oby”.
Madam confirmed that
“yes, the surgery has been done”.
I then asked: “And he
is doing fine. Is he?”
Oby said: “At least,
he is conversing with us, but he is still weak.” I intercepted her: It is
usually gradual. His strength will come back slowly. I will be there tomorrow,
Saturday, in the afternoon, with Igbokwe.
“Greet Pini”, was the
way I said ‘goodbye’ to her. I was happy with my conversation with Obiageli,
who, I knew, had relocated to the Yaba hospital fully: the surgery had gone
well, Pini came out of it ‘successfully’, resumed his usual lively
conversations; and was recuperating slowly. I was joyous – hopeful of full
recovery and, in no time, would be back to his political beat.
The Saturday came and I took my breakfast
earlier than I usually do on weekends. But I became somewhat restless and,
although I knew I had to go first to Igbokwe’s house, I seemed to be preparing
a bit too early for an afternoon appointment. I felt agitated and mentally
disorganised. What was happening to me? The dress I wanted to put on wasn’t the
one I ended up wearing. And it didn’t match the sandals I wore.
The breakfast was
getting cold and twice my wife reminded me that “your breakfast is getting
cold.”
Did I mind and did I
know what was happening to me? There was something about the trip to the
hospital via Igbokwe’s house that wasn’t really adding up. My wife was noticing
that I wasn’t getting anything right that morning: wrong dress, wrong sandals
and a waiting breakfast on the table that was getting cold, etc.
Then the telephone
rang. At first, I thought it was from Igbokwe or his driver to remind me that
they would be expecting me by 12 noon, as agreed.
But, no, the call was
from Emma Ohakim. Emma is usually calm when he talks, but that morning, he
sounded pursued. “Kanayo, where are you? Are you in Lagos ? Have you heard from our friend, Pini
Jason? When did you speak with him last?”
Four questions at the
same time and in quick succession. I said I was in Lagos but before I could answer the other
questions, Emma asked if I knew Pini was in hospital; I said “Yes, his hospital
at Yaba.”
Then the message: “His
Excellency (Emma is a brother to Governor Ikedi Ohakim) wants you to go
straight to the hospital and report back to us immediately. Pini’s wife just
called and was sounding incoherent. Tell us what the situation actually is, please.”
I became confused and something in me somehow told me that something bad may
have happened or about to happen to Pini Jason. I listened him out with all the
calmness I could muster. I told my wife the instructions I just received.
I called Chief Igbokwe to relay the new development, and to advise that instead
of embarking on the trip to the Yaba hospital by 12 noon, he should, please,
prepare for us to leave in the next 15 minutes. “I am already on my way,” I
said by way of conclusion.
Trust Edwin Igbokwe,
he had dressed up already and his driver was there. I was there in record time,
below nine minutes – the traffic was low, being a Saturday morning. I packed my
car, jumped into Igbokwe’s car and his driver sped off. We were heading to the
hospital in Yaba. There was a mild traffic jam at the Maryland area, just in front of St. Agnes,
but it soon cleared and in about 10 minutes, we were in front of the hospital.
We stepped out of the car and told the driver to, please, find a place to park.
As we entered the Reception of the hospital, Pini’s wife, Obiageli, was
uncontrollable – her face covered in tears and she was rolling on the floor,
unmindful of our presence and that of other visitors.
I knew, at once, that
the worst may have happened. When Obiageli eventually realised that we were
around, it was then she said in a voice filled with grief: “Have you seen your
friend? Nurse, please show them their friend, show them their friend!”. A nurse
took us into the room where Pini Jason’s lifeless body was lying, covered head
to toe in a white sheet. The tears could no longer be withheld or controlled.
It poured like a tap whose control nub had gone crazy. I called him by our
common nicknames and he didn’t respond. So, Pini is gone? I said to myself –
just like that? I knew that the worst has happened to the family, to us his
close friends, to readers of his popular column and to Nigeria .
The doctor had a brief session with us, and
thereafter sent for an ambulance. One arrived in good time and the body was
lifted into it. The journey to the Military
Hospital , Yaba, morgue
started. By this time, Pini’s relations, among whom was his son, Amamdi, an
Architect (I have forgotten his name) had arrived. We filled the necessary
papers and the body was accepted.
We had to go back to
the Yaba Hospital to collect Obiageli, his wife
and personal effects – she had camped at the hospital for days. Burial
arrangements started in earnest – a burial befitting a man who so loved his
family, his friends and colleagues, his people and Nigeria . Pini’s burial was so
profoundly deserved and well attended – a story for another day.
From the first
Governor of Imo State, Rear Admiral Ndubuisi Kanu, to the last Governor, Dr.
Ikedi Ohakim and majority of his Commissioners, Deputy Rep. Speaker Emeka
Ihedioha, colleagues that stretched from Chuks Iloegbunam, Ikechukwu Amaechi,
Ikeddy Isiguzo and so many other great names in our profession, traditional
chiefs and Pini’s townsmen, they were all there. And they were there not really
to mourn but to be part of the celebration of a life well lived and service
rendered in pursuit of truth for a better society, by one of the finest human
beings that God ever created.
Till date, I mourn the exit of one of my best
friends, a gentleman, a fine writer, a refined conversationalist and a man
whose life was governed and strictly guided by his personal motto: “Thank God, I Was Not Silent.”
Adieu, Pini. I will
forever remember you.
*Esinulo, a veteran
journalist and writer, wrote in from Edmonton ,
Canada .
No comments:
Post a Comment