By Eddie IROH, OON

TRIBUTE
MANY of you knew Pini Jason. Indeed hundreds of thousands did: as a writer, a courageous commentator on our country’s many troubles, a public officer, a father, husband, community activist, and amiable personality; as friend, colleague and associate to many more. Such was the man that his diverse passions brought him in contact with hundreds of thousands of Nigerians who can never forget his impact, and who will mourn his passing with great grief.

But not many outside his family and close friends knew Jason Onyegbadue the man behind the legend. I am one of those privileged to know the man. We met first in Enugu sometime after the civil war through my cousin Mary Mbagwu. I think he was still with the Customs and Excise then. The vivacity of the young man, his robust laughter (something we had in common right from the go), his acute intelligence and fearless opinions – these were the instant building blocks of a beautiful friendship.

*Pini Jason

As Amos Tutuola would put it, Jason and I became “tight” friends. Soon Mary was sidelined as our strong bond propelled Jason and I towards our common destiny of journalism. The name Pini was just a nickname from his favourite pop-star. But as journalism took over his career it became the name he was to be known and loved by countless Nigerians who read Pini Jason.

Jason Onyegbadue and I had a lot more than career and personality in common. His home town in Mbaise is a crow’s flight away from my own home of Ikenanzizi. And indeed from the junction of Achingali that links both towns you could hear the sound of pestle and mortar as women pounded yam in either homestead.

Because my mother was from Mbaise like Jason, it conferred on him a certain cultural seniority which required me to defer to him as my Nnam-ochie and I as his Okele. But he was always Pini J to me. When I relocated to Lagos to work with the NTA in 1979, Jason was already in the city, and our friendship was quickly rekindled, growing even “tighter” as it expanded to include our families years later.

Jason’s first child Amamdi, and my first Njideka, even as mere toddlers, were infected by the pleasurable virus of their fathers’ friendship and bond. Jason would often drive over to our home in Awuse Estate, Opebi, Ikeja, and play his usual games with Njideka. He would carry her astride his shoulder, dance around the living room, and do the he-goat song: Nwa-eghu nwa-eghu, Mmeeeeh mmeeeeh! (Bleating like a goat!).

Njideka loved the game, a lasting poignant reminder of her “Uncle Pini.” Later my younger children were to demand that I play the he-goat game with them, and it became a family tradition. Such was Njideka’s closeness to and affection for Jason that I have still not had the courage to tell her that her beloved Uncle Pini has passed away.

When the late Dr Stanley Macebuh personally invited me to join him and others in founding The Guardian newspaper in 1983, it was only natural that I in turn asked Jason to come along, not merely because he was my friend, but also because he had already established himself as a voice of reason in the Nigerian media, and would blend well with the highly erudite and talented Editorial Board of the paper as well as continue his abiding passion as a columnist. The rest, as they say, is history.

But for me, Jason’s life and achievements will always be current affairs.