Dr Rita Okonoboh, now a lecturer at the University of Ibadan, chronicles—albeit briefly—what it was like to be baptised into the fire of reporting at Tribune, yet learning valuable life lessons along the way.
Fresh within the last phase of rounding off a Master’s programme, by some realigning of stars (I really need to shake the hands of whoever was on guardian angel duty that day), I came across this advert. Tribune is recruiting. I applied, wrote an exam, and presented myself for an oral interview. Weeks after, in May 2014, I resumed at the Sunday Tribune.
With time, I was asked to handle the ‘Makeover’ and ‘Relationships’ pages. The irony couldn’t have been more brutally fitting. I was reeling from a bad breakup, and in no mood to be near anything relationship—or makeup-related. Yet, handling those pages were a blessed and welcome distraction. They couldn’t have come at a better time.
The journey to healing was made even more interesting with the phone number dedicated to the pages. From unsolicited offers of undying love, to ideas on what next to feature on the pages, and the never-ending stream of matchmaking requests, it was one day, one message to wonder about.
Then came the ‘church’ pages.
If someone had told me in April 2013, that in less than half a decade, I’d have encountered well over 100 clerics, based within and outside Nigeria, I may probably have laughed my heart out. However, Tribune gave me that amazing opportunity. Politics, economy, health, human rights, security, technology, entertainment… name it. Was there really anything too off-topic for the church pages?. Whether it was examining the science behind church logos, the context of digital Christianity, or controversies over failed election promises, unfulfilled prophecies, gender realities, or recession, as long as the topic was important to the reader, Tribune had to have it. It was a time for learning, unlearning, and relearning.
A most interesting life experience Tribune taught me, was learning to think well outside the box. Being assigned to a specific beat doesn’t exclude a Tribune journalist from delivering on special reports. Beyond church issues, and heart/beauty matters, special reports threw me well into the reality of learning from others’ lived experiences. Story ideas came with a condition: ‘Deliver or deliver’.
And now, ten years after that first, hesitant step into that life-changing phase, I couldn’t have asked for a better background for where I am today.
From the Ebute Metta floating sawdust island to treading precarious rocky prayer mountains on bare feet, deep into slippery mine pits hidden within darkened farmlands, to the dewy hills hosting the most welcoming community of leprosy victims, the heartbreaking accounts of abused males, beyond the altars of tens of Christian denominational settings, among hundreds of other reporting encounters, looking through how much the now-75-year-old Tribune has taught me, it is almost unbelievable that all I had was four short years, in exchange for a lifetime of continuously-inspiring experiences.
To all the editors and colleagues then and still at Tribune, who took a chance on a tentative dream, thank you.
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