The Spirit of Dele Giwa By Wunmi Tunde-Obe: Dele Giwa ( 16 March 1947 - 19 October 1986) Shortly after Newswatch founding member and Editor-in-Chief , Dele Giwa was prematurely blasted into the hereafter, his biography, ‘Born to Run’ was published. Authored by renowned journalists, Dele Olodeje and Onukaba Adinoyi-Ojo (then of Newswatch and Daily Times respectively), the book became my most treasured companion for the duration of my perusal. I’d never met Dele Giwa, but I’d known of him, through my eldest sister, Angela, who was then an Advert executive with Newswatch, and she it was who relayed the sad news that her boss had been ‘exiled’ to the place of no return. Only 16 at the time and an ‘A’ level boarding student at Queens College, Yaba Lagos, I became a daily visitor to the schools’ library – somewhere to which my lazy behind hardly ever ventured before then – just to keep up with the news in the dailies, and learn more about this man and the offence he must have committed to have deserved this new and ‘unique’ mode of elimination. I read how it happened – blow by blow. I saw the aftermath pix – of both location and victim. And I read all sorts of comments, reactions, speculations, condolences, possible reasons, accusations and counter-accusations. I even began reading up on various types of bombs. Yes o, dynamite, grenades, time bombs, parcel bombs, molotov cocktails … the lot. Final exams were pending but I focused on nothing else throughout that period. I was so intrigued, I became obsessed. I followed the burial arrangements and the controversies embedded within: His people were going to bury him in his native town of Ugbekpe- Ekperi in Edo state; His colleagues – Ray Ekpu, Dan Agbese and Yakubu Mohammed – had on the other hand insisted that Dele Giwa had in his lifetime expressed the desire to be buried at the site of the Newswatch permanent headquarters; To comply or not to comply..? Well I suppose it was just as well he was interred at the village eventually, considering now that a certain Jimoh Ibrahim, in deciding to spread his dying- business-acquiring tentacles towards the weekly news print media, has now added Newswatch to his growing list. Anyhow, then came the book. And from the book I’d learned that Dele Giwa, a self-made man from humble beginnings, was a highly intelligent and gifted journalist with a powerful command of the English language. This was prevalent in his then must-read Newswatch coloumn, PARALLAX SNAPS. A man of integrity – the kind (sad to say) I’m not so sure exists today among most of his newbreed counterparts (it’s all about the benjamins, these days). Dele Giwa would neither be bought nor compromised, nor would he be deterred from revealing the truth, regardless of the consequences. And these he bore eventually – with his life. He was confident. Good-looking. (sister told me that one!) A ladies’ man and a charmer. Unapologetic and arrogant, but in a positive kind of way. He lived by his favourite mantra, ‘The pen is mightier than the sword’. And so he dared anyone, and feared no-one. Not even the soldier and his cash-embezzling troops, who were in power at the time … his undoing. For one fateful Sunday morn – October 19th 1986 at his Talabi st. off Adeniyi Jones residence, a despatch rider dropped a parcel with his eldest son, Billy, who took it in to his father, having breakfast in his study whilst meeting with the Newswatch London Bureau Chief, Kayode Soyinka. Dele Giwa on seeing ‘from the C-in-C ’ boldly inscribed on the parcel, remarked to his guest, ‘this must be from the president..’. Animatedly, he placed the parcel on his laps and made to open it … BOOOOM!!!!!! Rending the air- conditioned atmosphere was an explosion so loud, it instantly shattered the eardrums of Mr. Soyinka, who had been thrown to the ground while seated across the table from his boss. And the rest, as you all know it, is history. Including Dele Giwa. Cut down in his prime at the unripe age of 39, Dele Giwa became a hero. A man of journalistic principle and integrity who lived and died for what he believed in. Headlines. Accolades. Tributes galore. A certain lawyer was even shot into prominence after he’d braved all odds to publicly accuse and charge the highly suspected ‘powers that be’ to court, for the killing of Dele Giwa. His name was Gani Fawehinmi. I wanted to be Dele Giwa. Oh yeah, I had big dreams. I was going to step into his shoes and carry on from where he’d left off. Everyone would applaud my writing skills and I would thrash all and military sundry with my pen. I would expose and condemn evil, and praise good. I would dare anyone and fear no-one. I would boldly advise the then residents of Dodan Barracks to stick their threats, bombs and bazookas where the sun doesn’t shine. I would … become Dele Giwa. Knowing the risks, I would update my will every fortnight. I would spend every other weekend languishing in some undisclosed jail cell, whilst my compatriots organised revolts(yes !) and rallies, demanding my immediate and unconditional release. Almost every weekend, they’d storm my home after midnight and drag me by my braids to some secret location for a ‘chat’. I’d make headlines, no doubt, especially after each release from detention. Mine would be a hero’s welcome. I’d constantly be in the news. They’d call me ‘Amazon’. I’d keep spewing forth and spitting fire. I’d be … Dele Giwa. My family and loved ones would beg me after my release to shut my trap, lest I go the way of my mentor, but I’d keep ranting on and on. I’d go philosophical on their as-es: ‘There’s nothing to fear but fear itself..! They can kill my body but they can’t kill my spirit …! The pen is mightier than the sword..!’ blah … blah … blah. On and on I’d rave whilst they’d cringe in fear for my life. Oh and did I mention that I’d be doing hunger strikes as well? Yes o, and it would even mean I’d finally start that diet which I’d been postponing for years. Perhaps I’d even drop a few kilos in the process and fit into that my dream size 10 wedding dress still on the hanger at Harrods.. Maybe I’d even grow dreadlocks to complete the starving, dishevelled look. You know, hunger strike with ‘effizy’ . So yeah, I’d be the country’s most respected pen- toting female. I would possess the kind of guts, courage and fearlessness that the likes of Leonidas (300 ) could’ve only dreamt of. Mine would be the name that old school mates would drop alongside every flimsy hat. Mine would be the life of quality above quantity. Yes, mine would be … the spirit of Dele Giwa. I would live a hero. And die a hero. For if one day, the powers that be finally decided to produce a bullet, grenade or the like with my name on it, the ovation would be even louder. Comments, speculations, possible reasons, accusations, counter-accusations, tributes, accolades, t-shirts , billboards, banners … headlines … FAME…! They’d immortalise me with annual lectures and re-name streets and stuff after me – say, Ikorodu road. I WAS GOING TO BE DELE GIWA!!!!! Er, not anymore.. Once, at the age of 4, I was bridesmaid at a certain airline Capt. Moses Gowon’s wedding in Kaduna. By way of his status and elder brother being in power at the time, the church was dotted left, right and centre with armed soldiers. I was so frightened at the sight of all them guns, I shut my eyes tightly throughout the service, believing that if I couldn’t see them, then surely they weren’t there! Till I fell fast asleep. Front row. Only me, amongst the other young bridesmaids. And for the duration of the entire ceremony! So is it now that I want to start confronting armed men in uniform..?? Abeg, let’s just view my earlier words as the senseless and naïve ranting of an overambitious teen, shall we? And so the way it stands now, the Joe Odumakins and the Ayo Obes are more than welcome to hog the limelight, for these are the real amazons of our time. I troway salute – Shun! And detention..?? No way. Because detention would mean, no music, no ‘Oprah!’, no pedicure (not that I’ve had one this year, anyways!), no Chinese food, no junk food, no fast food, no food – period. Do they want to kill me?? And DO NOT even get me started on the hunger strike thing. As for quality over quantity – yes that’s a good thing, but so help me God, I want to see my grandchildren. I cannot fill Dele Giwa’s shoes. And 25 years later, I’m not sure that anyone can. Nonetheless, I have decided to continue writing, but only for the heck of it. I’ll write whenever I’m able to get off my sorry behind and grab a pen. Then I’ll write about anything and everything, as long as it makes for good reading and – sometimes even – makes you laugh. Suffice to say, I am … not Dele Giwa. Then maybe one day, I’ll roll everything into one tiny publication, organise a small presentation and make some ‘fast cash’, lol. But the icing on the cake would most definitely be: Wunmi Tunde- Obe: Singer, songwriter, entrepreneur, Advert Practitioner …. Author. NOT… Dele Giwa.