It was a shock when the news brake that Director of Information O. J. Abuah died in his house in Abuja about 4 days ago. Quite a lot of people have sent their tribute to the Information Message.
Checkout Reuben Abati tribute message below
Life is all about
memories. It is the only thing we are left with when flesh and spirit
depart the earthly plane, and we can do no more than remember the life
of the departed, through memories of times and moments shared, and their
deeds in their lifetime. I received a phone call and a whatsapp message
announcing the death of Justin Abuah, popularly known to all and sundry
as O.J. Abuah, and the world seemed as if it had stood still for a few
minutes.
I
had some difficulty initially adjusting to the ways and habits of civil
servants when I got to the Villa in 2011. I found them too laid back,
too conspiratorial, and always on the look out for reward, or what they
call motivation. But what I found most exasperating was the lack of
initiative. Coming from the private sector, I was used to members of a
team doing their part and not waiting to be directed, knowing that any
delay could affect the rest of the team and the quality of service
delivery. But I met a situation whereby civil servants believed they
always had to be directed to carry out even the same routine tasks that
they undertook daily.
“SA, you didn’t give me any instruction”
“How? You and I discussed this matter and you know what to do, you do it everyday.”
“You didn’t tell me to go ahead”
I always felt
like hitting the roof. I didn’t see any reason why a media assistant had
to be reminded to take a podium to a presidential event, microphones,
batteries, or why a photographer or cameraman needed to be reminded of
pre-announced events, or why an information officer could not use the
initiative to prepare drafts. I used to get worked up and I would
scream: “civil servants, what is wrong with you people!” I was perhaps
prejudiced. I had been warned as soon as I assumed office that I should
not make use of the civil servants. I was advised to sideline them and
bring a team of my own who would get things done. I didn’t think this
was right. If there is a full-fledged department in place, with paid
staff, assigned different tasks, and who have been in the system
forever, the best thing to do is to get them to do their work and not
undermine them. It may have taken a few months to establish a rhythm,
but I eventually won the confidence of the departmental team to create a
very resourceful and creative communications and media team that
ensured efficient coverage of the President’s activities. OJ Abuah as
Director of Information and as the most senior staff, as well his
predecessor, Aduwak, were most effective in helping to achieve this
objective.
OJ became the
bridge between the general staff and me. I eventually figured out that
apart from their love of directives, civil servants worship hierarchy.
They have this inherited military era mentality that pushes them to
function when they are given express orders. It was better if the order
was documented, and OJ had his ways of pushing them. This took a lot of
pressure off my shoulders, up to the point that at a time, whenever I
shouted “civil servants!”, the staff around would also say “SA!” or “The
great Abati” and we would all burst out laughing. We had great fun in
the long run. The civil servants were all individually and collectively
my backbone.
It was just a
matter of discovering their talents and getting them to work: there was a
lady for example who was so excellent in protocol matters who later
left us, there was another who always got things done particularly
during foreign trips because once she showed up, all the men around
could never say No to her, we later recruited a multilingual chap who
was also so good in protocol matters that the protocol department used
to report him to me to keep him away from their territory, and of course
the diligent quartet who monitored the print, electronic and digital
media and prepared daily reports and analyses, and the army of other
staff, the foot-soldiers - from secretary to drivers and boom operators-
who covered every event. I want to thank OJ for his friendship and
support and also for his readiness to take responsibility on behalf of
the other staff whenever anything went wrong or when other departments
blamed the media department for a microphone that did not work, a podium
that stood in the way or photographers and cameramen blocking people’s
views.
OJ had my back.
He had been in the Presidency since Dodan Barracks. He had served under
different Presidents and Media Advisers. This placed him in a vantage
position to avail me of institutional memory. He could tell me what
previous advisers did under certain circumstances, and the expectations
of those who occupy the office of President. He also knew the intrigues
within the palace, and the scent of inter-departmental rivalry. Because
he had been in the system for long, nothing escaped his notice and if
anything was going on, somehow he would get to know. He always tipped me
off. He drew my attention to intrigues even before they blew into the
open. Let no one joke about it: the Nigerian Presidency is a nest of
malevolent intrigues. And running the media and publicity department
could be very much like being in a wrestling ring, because it is one job
that everyone claims to know.
People whose
responsibility it wasn’t wanted to arrange media interviews, manage the
President’s appearance, organize his public speaking, take his
photographs, record his speeches, and determine how speeches and press
statements should sound. Someone even came up with what became known as
“the space theory”, meaning anybody could do anybody’s job, once they
could create a space to do it. It got so challenging at a point, and on
one occasion, a cleaner accosted me early morning and told me: “Oga
Abati, you are working hard, I see you for television, I no know say
you sabi speak English like that. Make you dey talk more hen. But dis
your staff and journalists…” I
didn’t know what to say in response. But in the face of it all, OJ
helped to protect the integrity of the department. He was loyal and
dutiful.
He not only knew
the system, he drew my attention to many rules and regulations. If
something could not be done, he would bring out the rules book and state
the position of government. In the end, I left the matters related to
civil service rules and regulations to the civil servants and stayed
with professional and technocratic aspects of the work. Every outsider
who finds himself in a political position in government needs a man like
OJ. He was nobody’s sycophant. He would tell you as it is. He had a
critical mind, but he was nevertheless fair-minded and constructive, and
there was no reason to doubt his loyalty to government and country.
He was above
everything else, intellectually gifted. He had been a journalist before
joining the State House media department, and he remained a damn good
reporter and editor. He had a nose for news and a sense of what can work
or not in a media copy. He wrote well too, his prose was spare but
precise, his sentences were clean, his thoughts were clear. OJ could
discuss literature, politics, history, geography, economics and a wide
range of other subjects. We spent hours in my office whenever our
schedule was light, debating issues in a friendly atmosphere. In the
course of duty, I also met many knowledgeable and experienced civil
servants, men and women who toil daily to keep the Nigerian system
going, but who are often unheard and ignored. OJ was one of the most
impressive. He was an ideal information officer, talented and
experienced, mature and disciplined, knowledgeable and smart. It was not
surprising that he passed his promotion examination in 2014 and became a
Director. I consider his death a major loss to the department and the
Nigerian civil service.
Gifted as he was,
he was nevertheless a very quiet and impeccably gracious man, to be
found moving quietly close to the wall, as if he did not want to be
noticed in his regular, stylishly spacious batik caftan. Even if he was
angry, you would hardly hear his voice. He was self-effacing almost to
a fault, and he was intensely private. It was always difficult to reach
him after office hours or on weekends, but whenever he was around or
available, he got the job done beyond the call of duty and earned
everyone’s respect. He never talked about his family – the closest I
got was when we went to a bookshop in New York once and he bought books
for his son whom he said was studying in the UK. He did not invite
anyone to his house. Nobody knew which church he attended or whether or
not he had ceremonies to which he invited guests. Some of the staff
even thought he was queer. If he was in pains, he never showed it. If he
was ill, nobody knew. He was just himself. People like him are
difficult to replace. He was the type of man who would never have asked
for a tribute, but he deserves this and more tributes to come. So sad,
he is gone…
0 comments:
Post a Comment