Dele Giwa reached out to me first. Those who really knew him would not be surprised at that. Unlike me, he was the quintessential journalist who made friends easily. Of course, we had known about each other. He was at the Daily Times while I was at The PUNCH. And we were both – if I may be allowed to be a little immodest – fairly popular columnists at the time. We were also of an era when top Media Executives often met at functions. But no contact – formal or informal – had been made until this fateful evening. It was at a cocktail event with people moving around and interacting. I had moved over to Peter Enahoro to have a chat with him. Peter Enahoro, famously known as Peter Pan, had just come back after years of a self-imposed exile and was doing the circuit. Peter Pan was one of my earliest inspirations in journalism. He was a brilliant and exquisite writer. He was also an exuberant, jocular and soulful person. Another extrovert. Another journalist’s journalist. Those who really knew him would not be surprised that he greeted me with a laugh. Not a smile. He commented on my youthful looks. His voice must have carried beyond us – again not surprising – because a third person overheard him. ‘Is he not young’? said Dele Giwa as he joined us. We carried a three-way conversation for a while before we drifted to other people as is expected at cocktail events. But the ice had been broken between Dele and I.

A lot of water subsequently passed under the bridge. He moved over to the then newly formed Concord Newspapers and was the Editor of Sunday Concord about the time I also became the Editor of Sunday PUNCH. We chatted whenever we met and he invited me to a couple of his then famous parties. Then came this auspicious day. Or prophetic day. I was at a ‘Calabar’ eatery on Allen Avenue Ikeja. The owner who was quite known to me, took me to an inner, more exclusive room. There I sat alone with a novel, savoring my food and killing time. Then came in Dele Giwa and Ray Ekpu. I was as surprised to see them as they were to see me. They moved over to my table. We discussed light topics as they waited for their order. Dele had left Sunday Concord while Ray Ekpu had left Sunday Chronicle. The media world knew they had teamed up with two other Editors to start Newswatch Magazine, perhaps Nigeria’s first news magazine. Nigeria’s Newsweek or TIME, if you like. I remember they were in an expansive, celebratory mood while I wanted to get back to my book – I learnt later, that they had just had a successful board meeting. Then Dele took my book, glanced with a practiced eye at the back page and preface to know what the novel was about before handing it over. This was when he made the famous prediction. Or prophesy. ‘What we have just done, you are going to do very soon. Either alone, or like us, with some people’. He spoke with such conviction, such clarity that I was taken aback. My tame reply was that we could not all be Publishers. I was then Editor at the Vanguard.

It is on record that he was the first colleague to call me when the news of my exit from Vanguard was published. He reminded me of his prediction, as if I could forget. He then said something I would never forget and would always be grateful for. ‘Let’s meet for breakfast. I don’t want you to make the mistakes we made,’ he said. As at the time he made that generous offer, he had no knowledge of which genre of publication I was getting into. I could easily have been competition for all he cared. He was true to his offer, even making calls on my behalf to facilitate my take-off. It is on record that he was the first colleague to visit my premises, long before take-off. He was always encouraging; always strengthening. (Let me seize this opportunity to thank late Chief Akin Davies, the D in ROD Publicity who also came around often to encourage and offer help). When Dele offered to introduce me to Academy Press, the foremost printing press at the time, I declined, telling him I wanted to control as much as I could of my printing. He was surprised but never forgot – another mark of the man rarely told. A couple of months later, he wanted us to go for a printing exhibition in Germany. When I told him I could not afford to go, it is on record that he offered to meet me half-way financially, until I told him it wasn’t so much the money but the time. I couldn’t afford to be away for even a second as the debut date for Prime People was inching closer. And when Prime People became the success it became, he never forgot to remind me of his prediction.

The last time I saw him was about a month before he was bombed. About the last thing he told me was that Newswatch was moving to Oregun – incidentally, I was to move to the same area about three years later – and that they had secured a loan from a Merchant bank to purchase printing facilities. That press didn’t takeoff to the best of my knowledge. Makes one wonder how many of Dele Giwa’s dreams were aborted by his gruesome murder. Makes one wonder what would have been if that brilliant mind was allowed to continuously blossom. I didn’t know him enough to know about his secrets. But the Dele Giwa I knew was not secretive. He would let you know if he saw or heard something about you. You would know if he liked you. And if he didn’t, you were also likely to know. The Dele Giwa I knew was an open book.

On Monday, October 19, the 40th anniversary of his death – it was a Sunday morning, a holy day, if I remember correctly – a book would be launched in his honor. I hope the book titled ‘Dele Giwa’s Granite Journalism’ would give useful insights to the personality – and the mystery surrounding the death – of this vivacious, confident man who was cut down in his journalistic prime. I can’t wait to read the book. Just as I can’t wait to see some old faces who represented – and would remind one – of the glory days of Nigerian journalism. Faces I assume – and hope – would find the time to be there to honour their slain colleague.

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