By DELE JEGEDE

In a country called Nigeria, there exists a rare breed of personages, nonagenarians they all are who, by circumstances of birth, are not only considerably older than the geo-political space in which they now reside, but who are also blessed with discernment. 

Within this cohort of Nigerians who are distinguished by the luminousness of their professional clout, no less than the sustained span of their creative oeuvre are a legal luminary, creative spirits, and nation builders. Here, the names that spring to mind include Afe Babalola, Bruce Onobrakpeya, Demas Nwoko, Frank Aig-Imoukhuede, Wole Soyinka, and the one who served this country in a different but critical theatre: Yakubu Gowon.

All of this represents a short introduction to the youngest 90-year-old inductee into this club of preeminence. Samson Oruru Amuka-Pemu, that hip, avuncular, and companionable journalist we all grew up to know as Sad Sam, may now be certified, officially, as a living legend. I have known him much longer than I have met him. Those who remember the Nigerian press of the 1960s would probably admit that they grew up in the era of intensely fervid, vibrant (never mind: I almost said luscious) journalism. The Daily Times, the generic name for all newspapers at that time, consolidated its posture as the regnant daily, what with a succession of star columnists including Peter Enahoro (Peter Pan), Tai Solarin, Allah Dey (Alhaji Alade Odunewu), Gbolabo Ogunsanwo and, of course, Sad Sam (Sam Amuka).

I learned of Sad Sam’s friendliness through my bosom friend, Josy Ajiboye, who was the resident cartoonist when I arrived at the Daily Times as the Art Editor in 1974. Uncle Sam, the rascally senior journalist, had left the newspaper organisation by the time I arrived. Yet, the residual trails of his tenure were unmistakable. One exceptional penchant of his, as observed by Ajiboye, was his nascent interest in cartoons and the worldview of cartoonists. It was a penchant that exploded when he co-founded The Punch in 1973 with Chief Olu Aboderin.  

Let me confess here to a pet peeve that I once nursed, not against Uncle Sam but journalism in general. Based on my first-hand experience as a cartoonist at the Daily Times, I left the organisation questioning what appeared as the exclusion, unintentional, you might argue, of cartoonists from journalism, as they were neither accounted for nor accommodated in any journalism institute in the country. All of that changed, fundamentally positively, at The Punch. Indeed, the renaissance that the Nigerian Press experienced in the 1970s manifested chiefly in the magic wand that Uncle Sam waved at the cartooning problem. 

With the inimitable Kenny Adamson at The Punch, supported by a coterie of wildly enthusiastic young artists, The Punch became the powerhouse of daring, creative impudence. Who would forget the brazenness of Tayo Fatunla, Dotun Gboyega, Femi Jolaosho (now Jolaolu), and Boye Gbenro? The distinctive fillip that cartooning experienced in the Nigerian media in the 1970s is attributable to the positivist attitude and the spirit of uninhibited carefreeness engendered in the cartooning space. And the critical link was the pipe-smooching Uncle Sam.

By the time he founded the Vanguard in 1984, two major newspapers—the Concord and the Guardian—had firmly established cartooning desks. It was an exciting period, one that was marked by a delicate, mutual suspicion between the military and cartoonists. Ask Bisi Ogunbadejo of the Guardian. And, at the Concord, check with Boye Gbenro. Or Ose Awosika. Even the Tribune in Ibadan caught the fever, with Bayo Odulana’s creative hauteur. 

That was not all. The Vanguard of 1984 bore the unmistakable imprimatur of Uncle Sam most prominently in the cartooning department, which showcased uncommon temerity as cartoonists displayed astounding courage and unfettered imagination. There were the usual editorial cartoons. But the Vanguard also created short, single column cartoons for social banter. The Mr. and Mrs. cartoon title exemplifies this style. The Vanguard school of cartoonists, which at varying times accommodated such cartoonists as Paul Adams, Laobis Obilonu, Sami Abejide, and Lawrence Akapa, has continued to thrive under the leadership of the inimitable Dada Adekola, who has spent over three decades at the Vanguard.

I have read many of the rich encomiums and panegyrics on Uncle Sam, all of which extol his exploits as a journalist and his bruises and triumphs as a businessman. In all of this, very little attention is paid to his contributions to the efflorescence of cartooning in Nigeria. Not since the Nnamdi Azikiwe/Akinola Lasekan era in the West African Pilot have Nigerians been exposed to a plethora of creative expressions by cartoonists on a sustained level.

And so, to Uncle Sam at 90, I send a thunderous Happy Birthday holler on behalf of the Cartoonists Association of Nigeria, CARTAN, on whose Board of Trustees I serve, proudly, as Chair. It is by sheer serendipity that the current president of CARTAN, Dada Adekola, is also the Cartoon Editor at the Vanguard. What better way to end this than have Adekola testify to the submission that Uncle Sam’s contribution to journalism in Nigeria cannot be deemed complete without acknowledging his impact on cartooning:

“Uncle Sam being a satirist naturally influenced the cartoon department at the Vanguard. He sees what editors fail to notice or are ignorant about. He made my journey in Vanguard smooth and exciting. He gives kudos (sometimes with cash gifts, if a cartoon piece excites him) and knocks when necessary. In fact, he practically employed all the cartoonists in Vanguard since they must meet his approval. All editors hand off when it comes to employment of cartoonists,” Dada Adekola wrote.