Dele Giwa 25 Years After, Still No Clue

He was at the breakfast table with his friend and colleague, Kayode Soyinka. Sunmonu Dele Giwa did not expect any visitor. But in the middle of the late breakfast, a bicycle-riding postman came. His message was clear, to deliver a parcel to Dele Giwa.

The parcel, which bore the coat of arm of the Federal Republic of Nigeria, was received by Dele Giwa’s eldest son, Billy, then 19 years old. Billy handed over the parcel to his father. The latter looked at the parcel over and over again, and said in an assuring voice: “This must be from the president”.

Dele Giwa was unsuspicious of any foul play, just like Kayode who was sharing the breakfast with him. With self-assuring gesture, Dele opened the parcel. And behold, what looked like a mere harmless parcel turned out to be a letter bomb meant to blow Dele Giwa out of existence. Suddenly, the relaxed ambience of 25, Talabi, Street, Ikeja, Lagos, where Dele and his family lived, turned somber. Armageddon had visited. The bomb explosive parcel badly lacerated Dele’s body, shattered and charred his breakfast set and other domestic appurtenances. This was on Sunday, October 19, 1986.

While Dele Giwa was wriggling in pain, he persistently moaned a refrain, “they have got me!” He sustained the refrain until he gave up the ghost at the hospital where he was rushed to. Who did he refer to as “they,” remains a riddle till today.

All indications show that Dele Giwa saw his death coming. Few days to his gruesome murder, he was harassed by Nigeria’s top-most security chiefs.

According to Giwa’s Attorney, Chief Gani Fawehinmi (now late), the State Security Service (SSS) officials summoned Giwa to their headquarters on October 17, 1986, just 48 hours before he was murdered. The Deputy Director of the SSS, Colonel A.K. Togun had accused Dele Giwa of planning a socialist revolution and of gun-running. Twenty-four hours later, the Director of the Military Intelligence, Colonel Halilu Akilu, had allegedly telephoned to confirm Giwa’s home address. Dele Giwa was about to challenge his accusers in court when the friends of hell snuffed life out of him.

Like a splash, 25 years have passed since the murder of the founding editor-in-chief of Newswatch through a cowardly anonymity of a parcel bomb, yet there are no clues as to his mysterious death.

Throughout the tenure of Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida, under whose watch the cruel murder occurred, the police and other security apparatuses expressed helplessness, repeating their now familiar refrains of “no fresh leads”, ‘we have no clues yet, but we are still on it.” The case file of the slain journalist remained open for several years, with the police, like the Godot, awaiting information from the public that could lead to the identification of Dele Giwa’s killers.

Ray Ekpu, with whom Dele  Giwa founded Newswatch, along with Dan Agbese and Yakubu Mohammed, in 1984, wonders why “such an unusual and sophisticated elimination method, (used for Giwa) which ought to excite the interest, curiosity and concern of the IBB government in a more than routine fashion” seems to be lost on the Nigerian police.

Not even monetary inducement offered by the Newswatch and Professor Wole Soyinka and his Pyrates Confraternity has helped to unravel the mystery of Giwa’s death. The helplessness of the Nigerian State Security Services on the matter has therefore been interpreted by many people to mean that Giwa’s death must have had the endorsement of highly placed security personnel under Babangida’s regime.

The succeeding regimes after Babangida’s merely turned a blind eye to the case, or better still, played to the gallery, thus giving the impression that the occasional dusting of the case file may have been finally closed.

Even when late Gani Fawehinmi took the case to the Oputa Panel, in 2000, the number one suspect in the murder case, former president Babangida, frustrated the proceedings by refusing to appear before the Oputa Panel. Since then, the question has remained, “who killed Dele Giwa?”

Dele Giwa’s killers thought they could stop a man’s cause by killing him. How wrong they are? His killers are little tyrants of the least wisdom, who only succeeded in immortalising their victim.

It is better that a man falls as a martyr in the prime of his youth when the spark is still burning than to live hundreds of years and die as a villain or coward. Better still when a man dies in pain and agony within the fragments of blood and bones than to kiss the dust quietly, uncelebrated.

Realising that time, age and the Nigerian state might conspire to deny him  his presidential dream, the late sage, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, captured the essence of life thus: “it is not the life that matters, but the courage you bring into it”.

And indeed, while cowards and villains end up in the footnotes of history, the lives of martyrs are sustained in death. Through martyrdom, many men were made great and their achievements made greater. Jesus the Nazareth, perharps, wouldn’t have been so acclaimed and venerated if he had not been betrayed by Judas Iscariot, or if he had lived 70 years on earth.

Joan of Arc was the youngest martyr in modern history. She was the maid of France who at 19 was burnt at the stake by the English. So inspiring was Joan at death that France mounted an aggressive attack and drove the English out of their country to proclaim independence. This was the same course Joan could not achieve when she was alive marching alongside regular troops to instill courage in her compatriots!

The Libyan sage, Umar Muktar, was another man made greater by death. He was a torn in the flesh of the Italian fascists before he was captured and hanged in the full glare of his people. While in prison, Muktar reiterated his unwavering belief in the immortality of his course at death. So brutally touching was Muktar’s death that from the depth of Libyan sorrow arise a monumental resolve built by men, women and children to fight on. And they did not relent until Libya was emptied of Italian overlords.

There are many other lives that have been sustained in death. Socrates, Julius Caesar, Mahatma Ghandi, Martin Luther King, and the 23-year-old celebrated poet, John Keat. The same could be said of our Own M.K.O Abiola who was killed for winning a Pan African election, and Ken Saro-Wiwa who was hanged for championing the cause of justice for his Ogoni kinsmen.

This is also the story of Dele Giwa, the media pearl who fell to the cowardly anonymity, of a cruel parcel bomb, 25 years ago. Like Muktar, Ghandi, Ken, Abiola and a host of others who made the endless list of men and women immortalized by death, Dele Giwa’s life is sustained in death.

Born on March 16, 1947 into a humble home, Dele Giwa lived a life of existentialism, even though his life was shrouded in contradiction.  Dele was admitted into  Oduduwa College in Ile Ife, but was suspended from the college as a result of the romance he had which gave him his first child, Billy, at the age of 19.

In 1971, he left the country for the United States where he took up many menial jobs before bagging a Bachelor of Arts in English from Brooklyn College and a Master Degree in Public Communication from Fordham University, both in New York.

His vibrancy fetched him a reportorial job at the famous NewYork Times, but in 1979, he came back to Nigeria on the invitation of the then Daily Times Chief Executive, Dr. Patrick Dele Cole, to become the Daily Times Features Editor. He left Daily Times for the Concord Press where he was the pioneer editor of the Sunday Concord.

“To live in Nigeria I heard is hard, but as a young Nigerian, I heard a ringing call to come home, a call to give the best of me to my profession and my people. So home I’m coming”, wrote Dele Giwa in his piece titled “Golden fleece? I think I got it”.

Ever a wordsmith, Dele was an enchanting prose stylist and a fearless investigative journalist. He was not the type of journalist so enamoured of the meretricious affectation of diplomatese, to call a spade another name. For Dele, a spade is a spade.

And of course, he was not your usual run-of-the-mill journalist you know in most newsrooms today, nor an editor of a cheap ego. Dele was, by every standard, a first class journalist, who by sheer force of tenacity and carriage, got himself close to the corridors of power. This, unfortunately, was his undoing.

With a good dosage of ego, carriage and personality that makes you want to embrace him, the slain media icon brought glamour and vibrancy to the Nigerian media and transmogrified journalism from all comers affair into a profession that is good only for the chosen few, even though a dozen of quacks who tumble into the noble calling for want of better things to live by, are still around.

A gem of journalism and a paragon of excellent prose, Dele Giwa’s “Page Seven” column in the then Daily Times,  and his famous “Parallax Snaps” in his beloved Newswatch were indeed a must-read for those who appreciated good prose and understood the nuances of English language. His treatise provoked, more often than not, a stinker of replies from his readers.

Most of Dele Giwa’s articles remain till today, not only refreshing but indeed socially relevant that you would think they were written yesterday. In his scathing piece, “Peculiar Nigerians called Journalists”, the celebrated journalist bemoaned the status of the media he met in Nigeria thus:

“Most of those in Nigeria who go by the occupational reference of journalists tumble into the calling for want of better things to live by … going about as though they have something against looking well …, turning press conferences into money sharing ventures”.

That is vintage Dele. To think such a man is dead is to be clever by half. A writer doesn’t die. That’s why most of us will continue to regard Dele Giwa’s killers as tyrants of little wisdom, ignoramuses of the simple way of life that you cannot stop a man’s cause by killing him when there are numerous offsprings and admirers to pick up the flag where he left off.

What epitaph can be greater to Dele than what his killers did by transforming a man who only aspired to be a simple journalist, into a martyr of all ages?

Boye Salau