Theirs were the voices, faces and names of the past, made famous by their profession. If, as they say, that the pen is mightier than the sword, then these people were mighty men of the 60s, 70s through 80s. In their prime, they swayed minds and shaped opinions. They were there gathered, from Buhari’s Decree 4 victims, to other victims of several detention centers, carrying with them, the scars of their valor and the hazards of their profession proudly. An older, but deceased member of this group, the late Alhaji Jakande once famously said: ‘The Nigerian Press is free because the early practitioners of the Press fought for a free Press’. Some of these people took the baton directly from those early practitioners. They were the people who resisted and fought despots, people who fought for freedom, often at the risk of their livelihood and sometimes their lives. They were, in many respects, witnesses to Nigerian history – one or two, seated in the hall, were even at the war front during the unfortunate Civil War. Now, old and wizened, they were gathered at the Nigerian Institute of Journalism for perhaps, a long overdue recognition. The convener of this historic gathering is an organization called Journalism Clinic which engages in the training of practicing journalists. It is headed by a veteran journalist who has himself ‘been there and done it’. The choice of the venue itself was thoughtful. The Nigerian Institute of Journalism (NIJ) is one of the country’s earliest institutions for the training of journalists and many people in the hall on the day, including yours truly, passed through its portals at one time or the other either as students or trainers.

The hands that wielded those pens might now be weak and shaky, the once golden voices that once commanded the radio waves, might now be croaky and guttural, the once fertile brains might now be succumbing to the onsets of dementia, the active and restless limbs might now be homebound, the once sharp eyes and ears might now be dulled with age, but there is no denying that these people, collectively and individually, contributed immensely to the Nigerian Press, and even to Nigeria. Just as there is no denying the inevitable passage of time and reality that this might be the last outing of its kind for some of them – many are octogenarians, with two or three nonagenarians. I came in a bit early, so I was able to meet some of these iconic veterans one on one. Some I knew personally, some by reputation. Some, I hadn’t seen in decades. But as the hall filled and we were seated, it became difficult to circulate. I desperately wanted to meet some people, especially those not resident in Lagos as names were called and introductions made, knowing that we were all running out of time – I had for example, just discussed Dan Agbese of the Newswatch with a mutual friend just three days before his death. Another old friend, Prince Bayo Osiyemi, who was Press Secretary to Governor Jakande among other things, passed on just a couple of days ago. May their souls rest in peace.

On my way home, with the recognition plaque by my side, I thought of this profession I stumbled into, but which has been so good to me. I thought of the places it took me to, the personalities I met around the world, and the challenges I encountered as I climbed the professional ladder. I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered those older colleagues who said I didn’t have the making of a good journalist simply because I was deemed reserved – call it shy – and I neither smoked nor drank like them – drinking and smoking were a way of life in the newsroom in those days. In a way, they were right, though. Journalism – or reporting – could be said to be about sources and these sources are about contacts. Outgoing people who make friends easily could have an edge in this respect. But journalism also has many sides to it, or strengths, and I am grateful that I outlasted and outperformed these naysayers. However, I would say truthfully, that journalism found me and not the other way. I wondered how many of those distinguished journalists in the hall on the day went out to become journalists from the onset. How many found themselves in journalism because they loved to read and they loved to write? How many became journalists because someone saw what they wrote in their idle moments and decided to give them a chance? How many started by contributing letters and opinions before they were sucked into full time journalism? How many saw it as a means to an end and not an end in itself?

The world is full of accidental professionals who have excelled where fate pushed them to. There are people who have failed at everything they laid their hands on only to soar at a hobby, or the one thing circumstances pulled them into, not knowing it was their destiny. Many people are average at best at what they do when it is not their destined assignment. The thoughts should humble us if they don’t confound us. And how much of life’s success for example, is through will power and how much is destiny? It’s a perennial question. And a controversial one. A particular faith believes that you can only attain the position God has destined for you and no more. So, in the main, is the Yoruba culture which embraces destiny. At the risk of being called a fatalist, I believe the process, not just the final position, is pre-programmed irrespective of the trials and errors along the way as we exercise our individual wills. But when does the individual will stop and Sovereign will take over? A Yoruba adage says ‘a kunle yan, ni ad’aiye ba’. (What you select at pre-birth, is what you meet on earth). So while we are busy chasing different vocations because that is our lot as humans, destiny might actually be chasing us. Like John the Baptist, may God help us discover our destiny and find our real purpose on earth. One clue is that real purpose in whatever vocation, is almost, always other-centered. It is not necessarily about fame, wealth, power or material acquisitions.

• Muyiwa Adetiba is a veteran journalist and publisher. He can be reached via titbits2012@yahoo.com