By Lans Gberie
I first met Mr Reuben Eghobor in Freetown, Sierra Leone, in the 1990s. A native of Ekpoma in Edo State, he was visiting his son, Kingsley Lington. Kingsley and his friend, Tony Hesmart – both young Nigerians – had established the Concord Times newspaper a few years earlier. Beyond their expectations, the paper had become a bestseller very quickly. It was lively, well-written, and was the first to run long interviews and profiles (the editors called them Pen Portraits) of all the key leaders of the brash and youthful military leaders of the National Provisional Ruling Council (NPRC).
The soldiers had all been unknown before their 1992 coup; the publication of their profiles and interviews – accompanied by near-glamorous photos of them in smart uniforms and Ray-Ban glasses – became an endless source of fascination for a public traumatised by stories of atrocities carried out by what seemed like a mysterious and amorphous group calling itself Revolutionary United Front (RUF). The success was the result of what often only the stranger’s eye can see, looking beyond the stalled political drama and focusing on something more interesting: what made these soldiers tick?
The proprietors/editors had arrived from Liberia, where they had gone to report Charles Taylor’s rampaging war for the Lagos-based, Chief MKO Abiola-owned, African Concord magazine. They had arrived by road; they were penniless; they had been stampeded out of an insanitary Taylor-land. But they had that Nigerian brashness and enterprise.
As a contributor to the paper, I got to know both of them quite well and got closer to Kingsley – who seemed to me more cerebral, in a charming, understated way. I liked him for that. We became friends. So, when his proud father arrived in Freetown – I believe this was around 1995 – he got me introduced to him.
Mr. Eghobor was already past 60, but he looked much younger. He told me, with a mischievous smile, as though we had known each other for a long time, that friends called him “Baby Face”. I liked his direct, unaffected style. He was to tell me later how the Baby Face magic worked – from which I understood, having known Kingsley for some time, that a facility with the opposite sex is a heritable trait. Not entirely unrelated to that magic, he later introduced me to ‘clinic’ – a wonderful herbal alcoholic drink that he was convinced, with resounding retrospective justification, was his elixir and much more.
There was something else I remember. A neighbour of Kingsley, who was Creole, aiming to honour their grand Nigerian guest, prepared some delicious fufu and egusi stew and brought them for Mr. Eghohor. The following day, at the Concord Times offices, then on Pademba Road, I heard Mr. Eghobor asking around discreetly whether Kingsley had given any indication that he had come from a poor family. He had not eaten the meal, you see, which in Nigeria is considered way inferior to pounded yam; he did not see it as an honour to be served fufu made of cassava! He was shocked to be told that in Freetown, it was a treasured repast on a Sunday.
The next time I saw Mr. Eghobor was in 2005, when he arrived, again in Freetown, for Kingsley’s wedding. He was now in his 70s, but he looked the same as in the 1990s – still always smartly dressed, the same conviviality and bonhomie, the same regime of ‘clinic’ in the morning and at night, and the same mischievous conspiratorial smile and knowing wink.
At the wedding reception, he dominated the stage, much like a highly celebrated stand-up. During a speech peppered with his trademark humour and frequently interrupted by applause, he paused after one such applause and announced: “Another round of applause for Baby Face!” There was an explosion of laughter and louder applause. This triumph was followed by more triumphs: he made friends, the Baby Face magic worked, and the ‘clinic’ was in action. I next had time with Mr. Eghobor in 2008, in his hometown of Ekpoma. Kingsley had invited me to join him and his family there for a ceremony marking the completion of his well-appointed house. I had recently gotten married, and, like Kingsley, was living and working in Liberia.
I travelled there with my wife. The old man’s charismatic mischief and generosity, which I had seen in Freetown, were here fully magnified: he was, though rather small in stature, simply larger-than-life. He was the only star around: his presence was dominant, his sense of humour infectious, his generosity expansive.
We were there for slightly under a week. One afternoon, he asked me to join him – not with my wife, he told me with that knowing wink – at his favourite joint, a slight distance from his house. When I got there with one of his nephews, Mr. Caleb Ibhasabemon, he smiled as he introduced me to a group of his friends, all charming old men in their 70s and 80s, having a good time. There were palm wine, gin (imported and local), and food – a tasty locally produced rice and stew. He spoke about his political activities, including his appointment in the 1980s as a Director of Ukpilla Cement Company, as well as other political roles in his state. I found it rather cool and enjoyable, and I felt privileged to be with them. That is a fond memory.
After Nigeria, I saw Mr. Eghobor twice: once in New York, when he visited Kingsley (I was also living there), and in Florida, to celebrate his son’s doctoral graduation. He was in his 80s, but he insisted on witnessing all of the long ceremony. His happiness was characteristically flamboyant: he took off his shoes, placed them on his head, and danced round and round. It was the last time I saw him.
I knew he had been unwell, but he had always seemed unperishable, so I was rather shocked to hear of his death at 92. I was at snow-capped Davos in Switzerland when I received the laconic text message from Kingsley: “Lost my dad this morning.” I called, and we spoke briefly. Then I wrote him what immediately came to mind, and which sums up my feelings about the late man: “A truly grievous loss, Kingsley. Your dad, whom I had the immense pleasure of knowing, was a gentleman of charm and great generosity of spirit. I remember with great fondness the week I spent with you and his entire family together in Ekpoma in Nigeria. He was witty, convivial and immensely welcoming. He lived, I believe, a most fulfilled life; and though we who knew him will much regret his passing, we might at least assure ourselves that he departed this world a happy man, surrounded by his family and loved ones. Our heartfelt condolences, my brother.”
Rest in heaven, Pa Reuben.
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