The first time I slept over in Enugu was in 1988. I had just finished youth service in Benue State and was on my way back to Rivers, my home state. My dad was not expecting me. My mum was not expecting me. My brothers and sisters were not expecting me, and there were no handy phones to take a call from any of them seeking to know my whereabouts. My mission was simply to board a vehicle in Makurdi that would take me straight to Port Harcourt. From the Garden City, I would head for my place of birth, Nembe, kitted all the while in my National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) uniform.
And so I boarded a taxi at High Level motor park in Makurdi and meandered through the many roads that lead down south, busy roads that Ebiowei Sokare and I had taken for the first time in our lives, first from Port Harcourt to Katsina-Ala, and then to Makurdi. But on this solo trip back home, I decided to do some exploring for myself. My first child, Rembi, was born on 17 April of that year. This was August, and I had not set eyes on him. I was going home to see my first son, and I was going empty handed.
It occurred to me then that perhaps I should stop over in Enugu, and apply for a job at the new FM station there. They were adjudged one of the best in the neighbouring radio frequencies. There was no harm in trying. So I stopped over in Enugu, and traced a friend of mine, Flora Akpan, who gave me directions to the broadcasting house. Flora didn’t know anybody there, but she provided a useful map of connecting buses that took me to destination point.
It is a mark of just what an ideal media house should be that I introduced myself to the very first staff I met, spelt out my mission, and was expressly invited into the audition room. The young studio manager promptly selected a few albums, placed them before me, and asked me to put together a 10-minute musical programme. After that, I would go ahead and read an old news bulletin on tape.
I couldn’t be happier. I quickly tidied up a script and my presentation went into the reels of the recording studio alongside the short news bulletin I had delivered to the best of my ability. The head of presentation, Chuzzy Boko, stepped out and would get to listen when he got back. When I heard him on tape, Chuzzy sounded like the deepest and most alluring baritone across the Benue-Enugu border.
I could not help but admire the cascading tonalities of his voice as he took the news talk for the day. I only took exception to Chuzzy’s office on account of the obvious smell of smoke. At a corner of the table was an open ash tray with a small heap of cigarette butts in it. I didn’t like the idea of anyone smoking in the studio, and I hope they stopped it.
I had full assurance that management would get across to me, but those were the days before cell phones came to hand. At a much later date, I was to learn that the head of programmes at the station, Pete Edochie, had listened to my audition tape and called for me to be engaged forthwith. But I didn’t leave a forwarding address, and I could not be reached.
Otherwise, I would have had the personal pleasure of shaking hands with a man I admire, one of Nigeria’s most iconic actors, Ebubedike himself, the actor who brought into bold relief the life and times of Okonkwo, the classic character created by the masterly pen of Chinua Achebe. I still look forward to the day I would meet Pete Edochie in person and tell him how much he reminds me, in carriage and comportment, of my own father.
Let it be clear that I did not leave Enugu at once. It had come to my notice that Ken Saro-Wiwa’s television series, Basi & Company, was being produced in Enugu. The entire cast was right there in Coal City, so why should I be in a hurry to leave for Port Harcourt? This was as good a chance as any to get to see for myself the celebrities I had been watching on the network service of the Nigerian Television Authority, NTA, no less.
I wanted to see Basi in action, prancing about his sparsely furnished room, his eyes lighting up with bright ideas. I wanted to see Dandy, the funky, gullible bar man with a paunch, and I wanted to see Segi, the lady with the lovely eyeballs.I wanted to meet the aristocratic Madam The Madam for whom all transactions amounted to a matter of cash. I wanted to meet Boy Josco and get to know what new plot was unfolding in the city’s sleazy, mischievous underworld, and I wanted to shake hands with Alali, the young, enthusiastic acolyte who believed in every smart scheme conceived by the ingenious mind of Mister B, in keeping with his guiding principle: to be a millionaire, think like a millionaire.
My youthful memory of national television programmes and the colourful characters they threw up for Nigerians to see themselves in the proverbial mirror of art, consisted of all these names from the heydays of television drama in Nigeria, before the birth of Nollywood. What’s more, I wanted to meet Ken Saro-Wiwa, the versatile playwright, director, poet, essayist, novelist, publisher, merchant, activist and patriot. I wanted to meet the lively mind who conceived all these characters and presented them to the world with a cheerful laugh, and a message to go with it all the time.
It turned out that rehearsals for that day had to be postponed because Saro-Wiwa was built to address the cast, and had to travel out of the country suddenly. I couldn’t get to meet with the entire crew, but I was grateful for the company of Tekenah Harry-MacDonald, the exuberant young actor who played the role of Alali. From the moment we shook hands, Tekenah and I clicked. We found ourselves chatting non-stop for hours, so much so that I ended up passing the night at his flat in Ogui New Layout. He prepared dinner for two, and we chatted far into the night, surrounded by the bright florescence upon the encircling hills of Enugu.
Tekenah’s interest was wide-ranging, and his reading was substantial. In point of fact, out of all the actors on the set, he was the only one who actually wrote a few episodes of Basi & Company, and Saro-Wiwa found them good enough to produce, with full credits to the young script writer. I couldn’t miss that skilful, clever touch in the dialogues crafted by Tekenah Harry-MacDonald, and I was convinced that he would make a great playwright if he had put his mind to it, and continued in that spirit. By the time I was ready to leave the following morning, Tekenah had gathered enough reading materials for me, going so far as to entrust me with the manuscripts of his three plays that were broadcast in the popular series.
Many years later, after Basi & Company had been rested, I ran into Tekenah again, this time at Radio Rivers, Port Harcourt. He was presenting a late afternoon music show, and was angling to be on the news roster. But after awhile, he seemed to have lost steam and was often to be seen hanging listlessly around the radio premises along Degema Street, looking unkempt and disoriented. He seemed to be withdrawing into himself, like a turtle tired with the ways of the world. It was painful to watch him gradually vegetate into paranoia.
He acted as though he didn’t know me from Adam whenever I spoke with him or tried to get close. I could not help but watch one brilliant mind go to waste. I took it personal when I went to take the news at Radio Rivers one day, asked after Tekenah Harry-MacDonald, and they told me that he was no more. That friendly, happy-go-lucky soul who played the role of Alali, Mister B’s right hand man, was no more. It was the sort of disconcerting news that would make even Ebubedike sigh with fortitude and brave equanimity.
