By Rudolf Okonkwo
I’m sure that once Amaka Modebe (nee Obiofuma) settles down in Heaven, she will make a reservation for us at Olive Gardens. Despite all my efforts, we did not get the chance to visit that restaurant in New York City, but she will ensure it happens in Heaven. Yes, Amaka and I have come a long way.
I first met Amaka Obiofuma in the 90s when I was walking up and down Ikeja, Lagos, looking for a job in journalism. Ok. Scratch that. I did not meet her. She did not know who I was. Nobody at Hints knew me or invited me. I went on a job hunter’s equivalent of cold calling. Like many other job seekers, I sat at the Hints magazine reception area several times, hoping to get an opportunity to meet someone who would interview me for a job.
Several times, I watched Amaka Obiofuma walk into the Opebi building of True Tales Publications LTD, the publisher of Hints magazine. She was the Chief Executive Officer. Each time she walked in with the likes of Chidinma Awa Agwu, I looked at them with great admiration, pondering if they had two heads, being the people I had read their columns every week for years. I also told myself that one day, I would become their colleague.
At the Federal University of Technology, Akure(FUTA), where I started writing at the Press Club, all I wanted to be when I grew up was like MEE (May Ellen Ezekiel) of Classique magazine. I wanted a column in a national newspaper or magazine where I would write whatever came to my mind. Nothing more, nothing less. But if that failed, I had a plan B: to write stories like the ones published by Hints magazine. I had written a few such stories at FUTA that gave me the confidence that I could do it if given the chance.
So, after my NYSC in Akwanga, I went to Lagos to hunt for a job in journalism.
My job searching axis was straight. From Okpebi (the home of Hints) to Allen Avenue, Ikeja (the home of Classique). I had a leg up at Classique because, during my NYSC, I had written MEE every week for a year. So, she invited me to come afterward. But at Hints, I had no contact with any of the writers. So, during those visits, I would sit at the reception and watch them walk in. Like all young people of that period, I read them all – Reuben Abati, Fatherhood with Ibe, Kayode Ajala, Amaka Obiofuma, and the mysterious gossip columnist Toks. As they walked in, they would glance at those of us waiting, and if they recognized a visitor, they would take the visitor with them. For the rest of us, we would wait and wait.
I ended up getting a job at Classique. It didn’t lead to a permanent position. I went to the Guardian newspaper a few weeks after Reuben Abati left Hints and went to the Guardian. Again, I didn’t get a permanent position at the Guardian. I went to the Daily Mail. At the Daily Mail, I finally got all I wanted in journalism – a column of my own. From then on, when I opened the newspapers and magazines of the week and read columns like those of Amaka Obiofuma, Reuben Abati, Edwin Madunagu, Dan Agbese, and Mike Awoyinfa, I pictured some people somewhere in Nigeria reading mine.
Almost twenty years later, in Valley Stream, New York, I met a man named Paul Onochie Modebe from Ilah. His daughter, Bukun, was in the same Catholic school with my daughter, Ijeamaka. We got acquainted, and he introduced me to his wife along the way. He said his wife was a journalist in Nigeria, and her name was Amaka Modebe.
The day I met her over fourteen years ago, she told me she was Amaka Obiofuma of Hints magazine. I told her that one day, we would go to a new restaurant that opened near us in Valley Stream called Olive Gardens so she could tell me about the behind-the-scenes stories of Hints magazine. I had a lot of questions about the stories they published in those days, the people who ran the magazine, and that gossip columnist, Toks.
Over the years, Paul and Amaka Modebe became our closest friends in New York. They quickly became family. They were the only people with the right to pick up our kids in school. Our home became theirs, and theirs became ours. No party at our house was complete without them. Paul Modebe became more of my senior brother, or so I thought. I call him at least twice daily – in the morning and evening. He was the kind of person who knew the answer to any problem that could crop up.
All was going well until a scandal broke one day. I made my usual check-in call on Paul Onochie Modebe, now known to my family and friends as the Ilah of Ilah. Amaka picked up the call. She accused me of being her co-wife. She said I was speaking to her husband, Ilah of Ilah, more than she was.
Once again, I added it to matters we would resolve at Olive Gardens.
Like her columns at Hints, “Frank Talk with Amaka,” Amaka was a gentle soul with no pretension. Her kindness was effortless. Her unique laughter filled every space she entered. She was like water, and as Fela said, “Water no get enemy.” If William Shakespeare were to write of her, he would have put it this way:
“Her life was gentle; and the elements
So mixed in her, that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world, THIS WAS A PHENOMENAL WOMAN!”
Amaka had moved away from journalism in America, and each time I tried to drag her back into it, she politely declined. She was not even interested when I tried to entice her with the exploits of her former colleagues, like Reuben Abati. During Goodluck Jonathan’s time as president, when I could not reach Dr. Abati, I often told Amaka to give him a call for me. Each time, she would only smile and say nothing. It was the smile of someone who knew a lot but would not talk.
I added that to the list of matters we would resolve at Olive Gardens.
I used to tease her that she would be my first guest on a show I planned to do called “Where Are They Now?” I told her that the second guest would be Letty Diai, the editor at Classique magazine when I was there, who also left for America. And then, Innocent Egbunike, Felix Liberty, Jide Obi, and other 80s and 90s celebrities who have melted into thin air.
The day I knew that even though she left journalism, journalism had not left her was when I wrote a column about Pastor James Eze. As one of those who received my column every week, her husband thought I would hear from her whenever she read it. It did not happen. As a former columnist, she understood that a column is nothing but the writer’s opinion at the moment in time and that every writer has the right to their opinion. She only told me she would pray for me when we finally discussed it.
For a long time, the running joke between us was when this long-deferred visit to Olive Gardens would happen. We went from wondering when I would have enough money to take everyone to Olive Gardens to when this American life sef would give us the time to go. Time passed. Kids kept growing. They finished elementary school and high school and entered college.
Today, Amaka has left us.
To be sure, Amaka has only taken a rain-check. The only thing that changed was the location. The visit to Olive Gardens will now happen when we get to Heaven.
Though, sadly, Amaka went ahead of us earlier than anticipated, we all take solace in the memories of her that we cherish. We know she will prepare a place for us at the finest table, just like she gave her all to friends and family when she was with us.
We all miss you, Amaka—Au revoir. See you later at Olive Gardens in Heaven.
Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo teaches Post-Colonial African History, Afrodiasporan Literature, and African Folktales at the School of Visual Arts in New York City. He is also the host of Dr. Damages Show. His books include “This American Life Sef” and “Children of a Retired God,” among others. His upcoming book is called “Why I’m Disappointed in Jesus.”
