The first thing I noticed about Ovieteme George was the isolated dot of grey on the frontal lobe of his hair. He is the only journalist from Bayelsa with that distinction. Whenever I saw that dot, I knew that was Ovieteme George. The other thing that made me take particular note of him was the frequency with which my son, Rembi, spoke about Ovieteme George. He mentioned the name with appropriate respect and admiration.
When I finally got to see Ovieteme George on screen, I could understand my son’s passion. That is because Ovieteme George takes his reports with all seriousness, stating the facts as they are, choosing his words in the right and proper order, and bringing his confident personality to bear on the choice of his story. I don’t have to speak in a vacuum. I was struck by three particular reports that came to me as a revelation, reports that confirmed the sheer courage and audacity Ovieteme commands before the camera.
His report from Gbaramatu swamp was like that. It had the trappings of a dramatic confrontation. He practically went where angels fear to tread. Ovieteme simply took his questions to the militants, across seven rivers and seven seas, right into their camp. Brandishing high caliber rifles, their faces behind a mask of mangrove trees, the militants spoke to Ovieteme George, and gave him reasons why they will resist anyone who dares to dispossess them of their oil wealth. Anyone who dares to trespass on their territory should have a rethink. That was the message.
I also had cause to give kudos to Ovieteme George when he went after bunkerers, outlining their motives, meeting them at work in their hideouts, tracing the pipelines all the way to the offshore vessels on the high seas, and having the nerve to point fingers at the distant dealers, the capones in high places, who do worse than the small-time bunkerers, the international oil magnates who wreck the Nigerian economy for the heck of it.
I was no less impressed by a moving narrative by Ovieteme George, reporting from Kigali. Many years ago, precisely in January 2004, I was a pilgrim in Israel. One of my most sober moments came with our visit to the Yad Varshem, the monument built in honour of those who died during the holocaust visited on six million Jews by Adolf Hitler. I came to understand the grief of a nation and the noble response of government to the horrors of history.
The government had taken time to display the faces of the victims, row after row, in and out of deep caverns oozing with soft music, the corridor lit all through by candle light, each light burning for each beloved soul. In like manner, the report by Ovieteme George on the Rwandan genocide brought home to me the same eerie sensation, the same mournful drop in mood.
I could jolly well say Ovieteme George is doing what I should be doing. I ought to be reporting for television. I did report for television in the year after my youth service in Benue State. For two weeks, I anchored the first trade fair in Makurdi, organized by the commercial department of NTA. I was also the principal presenter of a Law programme called ‘The Assizes” on NTA 2 Channel 5, Lagos. Even more recently, I used to present a programme on books and their writers on Niger Delta Television.
I thought I could relive those years, in fact, when Ovieteme George told me one day that he would like to draft me to the newscasters’ corps on AIT Yenagoa. This was not long after he took office as General Manager, following the demise of Tari Joshua. I was so delighted with the prospect of casting the news on television that I went straight to the barbers. But Ovieteme never placed me on the news roster until he left for Arise News. I still wonder why.
In fact, when he called me out of the blue recently, I thought he was about to tell me that there was an opening for me at Arise TV. Instead, he invited me to show up at the sports complex on the morning of 14 February 2026. He said there would be a novelty football match for retired journalists of Bayelsa stock, so I went in my tracksuit, thinking I would be called upon to man the goal post on one side of the field.
It turned out that the players had already been decided on both sides of the pitch. But one thing was certain. I was overjoyed to see my fellow retired colleagues in one place. This had never happened before. This was a novelty. It was good to smile at familiar faces, and shake familiar hands again. Time had scribbled a forlorn story on the faces of some retirees, but it was good to be alive to see each other again. This spirit of camaraderie was the first major plus for Ovieteme George. He brought long lost friends together again.
Against a background of cool music, he invited everyone to relax and watch a football game played in their honour, and then he began to unfold the surprise package he had carefully put together. He called out each retiree, one after the other, and handed them a costly plaque, and a cheque for one million naira. The term ‘brown envelope’ is well known amongst journalists. This was way beyond a brown envelope, and the goodwill behind it left each recipient flustered.
Just when the conversation was picking up pace and wonder was spreading on the faces of each recipient, Ovieteme George sprang a bigger surprise. He called out five separate retired journalists, all beyond eighty years of age, and endowed each of them with a jumbo cheque for five million naira. I saw tears of gratitude standing in the eyes of Lindsay Barrett, and I heard a quake of emotion in his voice. Thompson Oyatu was no less bemused, and so too was Hall Morowei. Tons Fetepigi was represented by his daughter, and the joy on her face could not be missed. In short, Ovieteme’s overture left everyone overwhelmed.
The first person I looked for when I got to the stadium, as may be expected, was Ovieteme George. Courtesy demanded that I let him know I was around. He was surrounded by a retinue of people where he sat. I approached him with an open smile, touched knuckles, and commended him for undertaking this singular assignment of hosting retired journalists. Then I went about greeting friends I had not seen for many years.
Up to that point, I had no idea that Ovieteme George was on crutches. My heart went out to him when I saw him rise, guided by his wife and friends, to give his address. For a journalist who was always on the move, it must be terrible to be limited by physical constraints. Other than journalism, Ovieteme loves football. I hear he sustained a severe injury while playing a novelty match last year. I can only wish him quick recovery. It is truly large-hearted of him, selflessly so, to give a helping hand to his colleagues even in his condition.
As things stand, there is no doubt that Ovieteme’s gesture is a unique achievement in media history. No other journalist, in times past and present, has assembled retired colleagues, and demonstrated an act of generosity that can only be sponsored by Tantita, the name for pipeline security in the Niger Delta.
Ovieteme George has drawn attention to the value of journalists to society. He has become an embodiment of a parable as to what government can do to improve the status of the homegrown media, and support its practitioners. With particular regard to Bayelsa State, Ovieteme George has honoured the first set of journalists to have reported Bayelsa to the world in the first quarter of this century. It was an award for pioneers, and it was done in grand style.
I don’t know about others, but that was the first time I saw myself on a billboard, and the one at the venue was massive. I felt special, and I think all other recipients felt that way too. For celebrating other journalists, Ovieteme George is bound to be celebrated big time. I felt particularly blessed to have been handed my plaque by Bishop David Wale Feso, a clergyman I respect.
My only outstanding resolution now is to get to be eighty years old, in quick time and in good health, so that I can be named in the age bracket of Stanley Max-Egba and Lindsay Barrett.
