By Steve Ayorinde
A FEW days before he clocked 50 in December 2004, I had a good time with Mr. Ben Tomoloju at his Agege, Lagos home, reflecting on his, or shall I say our time, at The Guardian.
I had gone there to interview him for The PUNCH and was touched, very impressed even, when he started recalling the names, strengths and peculiarities of each of the men and women that had the good fortune of working with him on the Arts Desk of the newspaper that was celebrated as the ‘flagship’ of Nigerian newspaper journalism at that time.
It was gladdening to see that more than 10 years after leaving The Guardian, as at that time, Ben T, as we all fondly called him, took note and could still vividly recall what stood each of his lieutenants out.
But I ought not to have been surprised!
The power of total recall, an essential tool for a journalist worth his name, was one of the attributes that I first noticed in the great Ben T.
The other was what many journalists crave – the ability to combine good oratorical prowess with great writing skills. Both gifts find a fertile ground in Mr. Tomoloju.
And it was easy to get swayed by his charm. I recall the day he interviewed me in his office towards the end of 1991. He was the Arts Editor but on that day, he didn’t just speak as a journalist, but as a businessman as well. The job on offer was essentially reportorial but it would require a bit of advert canvassing as well, he told me. And assessment would be based on both.
I could not have refused. Sola Balogun, who joined a few weeks later, was to become my ‘test candidate’ partner – sourcing stories for the weekend arts pages and classified adverts to sustained The Guardian, before the vacancy advert boom became a goldmine at Rutam House.
It was always a delight to return to the newsroom from field assignments because Ben T had an interesting enclave of men and ideas. He would commend great copies and encourage exclusive ideas as well as controversial but great reviews.
We wrote in long hands, on off-cuts and Ben T would read every line and made corrections in those tiny but cute hand-writing of his.
God bless Sister Ngozi, the secretary/ typesetter to the Arts Desk, for enduring endless pages of corrected papers.
Whenever she couldn’t read some lines in any of the corrections, she wouldn’t dare to go into Ben T’s office, either because she detested the thick smell of tobacco oozing out of her boss’ lips, being a devoted Christian of the Deeper Life hue; or she just couldn’t bear to see Ben T snap or scream at her particularly on production days when everywhere was almost, always heated up.
She would prefer to come to me being the youngest on the desk, or to Yetunde (Adjoto) a lady, to help her decipher Ben T’s writing.
Production days with Ben T could be as interesting as they could be dreadful.
Yes, Jahman Anikulapo, Ben T’s dependable deputy and ally, should take the credit for introducing daily arts page into the Nigerian newspapering in 1995 (immediately after The Guardian was de-proscribed by the Abacha junta) but Ben T’s Arts Desk created the template for that onerous accomplishment with the ingenious manner in which the arts pages were being produced under his supervision along different arts disciplines with reporters being recruited with background and specialized interests in different areas of the arts.
The idea of a newsroom as a ‘mad house’ was real at The Guardian. But it was on production days that Ben T would become something of a thespian in the newsroom.
You would not be sure if he was acting, anxious or just angry. God help you if you had to submit a non-news copy on production day or couldn’t get an appropriate photograph from the library to illustrate your article. You would have to coherently explain your delay and why you should escape the wrath of the new Editor who later became Director of Publications, Mr. Femi Kusa, who abhorred delays or lateness in production.
So it was not unusual to suddenly see Ben T appear at the staff canteen or at the ‘church’ – the beer joint beside The Guardian just to let his presence convey the desperation of the moment to any reporter that may have chosen to overstay at those two notorious places while production was on. There was a reporter whose sin was branching home to take a shower and change his clothe after a field assignment that the delay caused by that indiscretion got Ben T so speechless that Jahman had to descend on that reporter with such verbal invectives that a young reporter like me simply wondered if it was not better to have dropped the story entirely and filled the space with another story.
Deadline and discipline were two key lessons that would first confront you at The Guardian.
But there were other things that got Ben T pissed.
The day I saw him wave Jahman aside on account of an ‘inexact headline’, I gladly took Sunny Aragba-Akpore’s advice that any day that Ben T was visibly angry on a production day, just begin to act as the un-appointed liaison officer between the newsroom and the library or just disappear into the production room. Find any other thing doing but be in his presence, because you were dealing with a perfectionist who wanted good copies and in good time too.
On that day, Jahman had cast a certain headline that Ben T reckoned needed improvement; and so as the boss, he changed the headline that Jahman had previously cast.
Jahman, who had just been promoted as the Assistant Arts Editor, politely went to his boss to make a point about the satire he had intended with the headline. Ben T responded almost inaudibly without taking his face off Bankole Ebisemiju’s script before him: “It’s inexact and I’m a graduate of English, please!”
But what Jahman couldn’t do with his boss, Ben T would later do to his own boss, somewhat admirably. It was inside the computer production room on the eve of the day arts pages were moved to Saturday in 1992 and the production on Friday required that the template of the pages be changed. I think Ben T had changed the name of our section to ‘Arts and Life.’ Mr. Eluem Emeka Izeze, who had just taken over the editorship of The Guardian from Mr. Kusa, later sauntered in and thought the section should be called ‘Living Arts.’ Ben T disagreed vehemently and dictionaries were brought in as the ‘referee’ with big, big English being belched out ferociously, but politely from both men.
If art was not dead, how could it be described as ‘living’, it was argued. Neither was ready to concede and eventually it was agreed that arts being life required no qualifiers. ‘The Arts’ became the identity of the section and peace returned to the newsroom.
Ben T did not need to lecture his subordinates on the future of arts journalism. He demonstrated why multi-tasking and the need to explore other latent talents were a necessary recourse to having a successful and robust career later in life. And so it was gratifying seeing him practising as an actor, playwright, director, singer and a recording artist, in addition to being a journalist.
When the controversy about ‘Ajakubo’ song ensued between Ben T and Ras Kimono in the early 90s, I knew where the truth laid because I was at The Guardian the day Kimono and Sybil (God bless their souks) visited Ben T in his office at just about the time he was recording that Ilaje-inspired song for his debut album.
Nearly every visitor would have encountered his musical side in that small office as I am sure Kimono must have done. Kimono’s version, though more popular, came much later after Ben T’s.
However, as much as his art and creative spirit were duly acknowledged, not a few was in doubt that they might ultimately lead him into confrontation with the establishment at The Guardian, which struggled to appreciate how art production that he engaged in at his spare time could not necessarily conflict with his duty as the Arts Editor and later Deputy Editor of the newspaper. We all knew that an iconoclast and ideologue like Ben T would choose his freedom and creative enterprise over dogma if his commitment was called into question and this is exactly what happened when he eventually took his exit from The Guardian in 1993.
It is a fitting recognition to continue to refer to him as the father of contemporary arts journalism in Nigeria, for the body of work he did and supervised at The Guardian in the late 80s and early 90s. Arguably, that period could as well be described as the golden age of arts journalism in Nigeria. That was made possible, essentially, because a visionary man of letters identified his area of interests, defended and promoted them and built a good team that ensured continuity.
Our profession will benefit from an arty memoir from him at an appropriate time. I believe that the Ben Tomoloju book will be as important to arts journalism in Nigeria as a Sam Amuka-Pemu book will be to every journalist.
I cannot thank my boss, being the very first boss I would have, for the honour of writing the preface to a special publication done in my honour by committee of friends in July 2022 when I celebrated my 50th birthday.
Congratulations boss!
***This piece was originally written to celebrate Mr. Tomoloju’s 60th 10 years ago. Ut’s now updated for his 70th with minimal editing.
