By Abdulaziz Abdulaziz
Imam Imam, who was interred Friday in Abuja lived a life that was short, but sharp and worthily lived. To die just after turning the second score of one’s life is to fall down at the zenith. But as short as his life was, it was also a sharp one; cladding so many laurels in that short span. He also spent the active parts of those 41 years on making impact.
Life expectancy in Nigeria is 53.4 for male; even at that, Imam’s was cut by a dozen years from that brutish statistic. This explains the thud of pain he’s left in some of us that were close to him.
As the finality of this sojourn, death is most expected at the dead end of life; when weary from physical and psychological fatigue one surrenders to the grim reaper, not when life is sassy and body still ebullient. But the tragedy of death lies in its unpredictability. The sequence changes. The ending could come at the beginning, or in the midst of the symphony of life. The end is not always at the ‘end’.
The cause is also very indeterminable. On this, both the metaphysical poets John Donne and Aliyu Namangi have explanations. In one of his famous sonnets, Donne explains that death is “slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men” in addition to “poison, war, and sickness”.
In Namangi’s magnum opus, “Imfiraji” he also versifies this phenomenon thus:
“It’s mostly expected in war
In infernos or during childbirth
[But] it also gets to a weaver
Who stretches out his loam
But dies before throwing the club” (my translation).
The metaphor of a short but packed life, as that of Imam, is that one gets caught in one’s strides. There is some quasi-mythological and spiritual explanation for this. It’s some belief that prosperity (in all its hues) at early part of one’s life could just be an indicator of one’s length of life. In religious literature there is the concept of predestination; of one what is destined to achieve, what one would do and general course of life. On the other hand is the predestined death, also.
A balance, therefore, has to be struck between all that is planned to happen and the period to live. Reconciling this often creates the haste that we see in people like Imam. I often mirror my own life in this caste when I think of death and one’s tasks and journey thus far.
From my personal experience, and the testimonies trickling in, Imam lived an impactful, even if short, life. He touched on the lives of a lot of people who crossed his path during his earthly sojourn.
As a person, Imam was warm. He had the sort of warmth that gives anyone meeting him for the first time instant comfort. He took life for what it is: vanity that is not worth taking seriously. It is for this that he was a friend of all and begrudged no one. He had complained to me about a friend who wronged him, but moment later, you won’t believe that Imam had buried the hatchet and moved on.
As a person, Imam’s signatures were his hearty laughter (his charismatic warmth, rather!), his uncommon humility and peacefulness. Imam was cool. I have never heard anyone complain about him being airy. He treated all with respect and that earned him and his boss’ unquantifiable goodwill. I will come back to this.
I first came close to Imam when we met in Katsina in 2010. When President Umaru Yar’Adua died on May 10, news mediums mobilised reporters to reinforce coverage of the funeral and the politics around it in Katsina. THISDAY sent in Imam Imam, as their bureau chief then, and Ibrahim Shuaib to vamp up its coverage. I was also similarly mobilised by my employers, LEADERSHIP Newspapers, to proceed to Katsina immediately. Imam’s warmth radiated that gathering. It also signaled a beginning of professional friendship and mutual respect between us.
While still consolidating as the Group Politics Editor of THISDAY, Imam was recommended to the new Speaker of the House of Representatives, Aminu Waziri Tambuwal, in 2011. What Imam could not fully achieve in journalism he did in his new turf. As spokesman for Tambuwal, Imam displayed great public relations acumen, painting Tambuwal into the national brand he is today. He steered the ship of the Speaker’s public relations from the tumultuous take off of the 7th Assembly through the many crises between Tambuwal’s arm of the National Assembly and Jonathan’s federal government. In handling those delicate assignments, Imam had his charm and humility as his arsenals.
It was therefore not surprising that Tambuwal chose to go to Sokoto with Imam, on becoming governor in 2015. In this new position, Imam continued with his known traits, winning through goodwill. And on his part, Tambuwal remained faithful to his dutiful aide in spite of a lot of political pressure from politicians who saw Imam (a Taraba man), as an alien coming to ‘enjoy’ what belongs to them. This much was confided to me by Imam when we discussed his aspiration to run for House of Representatives seat.
As a PR practitioner, Imam cultivated the art of making friends for himself and his cause. He was not bitter and did not believe in aggressiveness towards colleagues on the other side. He did not even believe in prodding you to toe the line he is. This much is exemplified by my last communication with him in the middle of this month. He was trying to manage a PR crisis and when he approached me with his position, I made my observation and suggested a different thing from what he wanted. He appreciated by professional position and accepted it.
The good journalist that he was, Imam was always fascinated by the written word, and widening his horizon. On a few occasions he would ask me to get him books when he could not make it to the venue of the unveiling. Beyond informal learning, Imam was also seriously concerned about learning and he obtained many other qualifications from home and abroad. In 2016 he enrolled for a Master’s in Public Relations programme at the Bayero University Kano, and thanks to his zeal and commitment he pushed to get the degree within the stipulated time.
Imam described himself on his Facebook page as one that is good to his friends. It was not an empty boast. Many have already come out to testify. I can also testify to that.
The first indicator of being good to friends, I suppose, is remaining with them even with changing fortunes. Imam remained the same humble man through his years close to power. He also helped when he could. Among all my friends that have gone into positions, Imam was the kindest to me. We collaborated on a number of things and he ensured that he reciprocated every gesture, without making it like he’s doing one a favour.
As we lifted Imam’s readied corpse into the waiting ambulance at his home on Friday for his journey of no return, I could not control my emotions, like majority of the people there. That moment dawned on me the futility of this life, and as we made away from the cemetery after the internment, in my devastation I mumbled; “Period. This is the end!” and the end it is.
