When the transworld Airbus began its final descent,trepidation trailed human expectancy.
Then the Luxury Qartar plane en-route Doha,landed safely at Heathrow Airport, ending the second trunk of a 14-hour flight that started in Lagos on a warm bright Saturday,7.45am.
Tired but excited,I stepped on British soil.
The mind wandered in random thoughts.London and the Queen.Ancient history and ethereal royalty’.Two phenomena interlaced,frozen in my psyche.
I remembered colonialism,that eerie word that sounds like a poem.I first heard of london from my village headmaster.As little pupils fascinated by moonlight tales and nursery rhymes,our teacher’s story of British colonialism was always awe inspiring.
He thought us to sing at special occasions like independence anniversary or visit of a VIP from the city:
“1960 Nigeria Nwelu Independence (x2)
Ada oyibo ana,Ochi chi oyibo ana
Anyi ekene Azikiwe”
This translates in English:
“1960 Nigeria gained independence (x2) The Queen has gone.Colonialism has gone.We salute Azikiwe”
Some times when our bespectacled head teacher disappeared from school, he would return days later to announce jokingly to a captive audience. “I went to London to see the Queen”
About 40 years after I left Ikeke Primary school,Idumuje-Unor,here I am in London! Will I see the Queen? I mused, recalling in ever green memory, the earthy fun of Oyibundu, my good old elementary Teacher (God bless his soul).
Samuel,a calm Indian mini bus driver was our guide on my first day in London.
As he ferried me along with some of my professional colleagues,he appeared too busy on the wheels of his gleaming roomy Volkswagen.
All through the over half an hour drive from the Airport,he was generally taciturn to my restive enquiries.
My abode was Britannia International Hotel,an iconic resort that stood shoulders high beside JP Morgan Towers,controversial financial firm touted to be the managers of Nigeria’s foreign reserves.A cesspool of loot.
Ten minutes walk from Britannia sat O2 Arena,a magnificent theatre,where legendary Michael Jackson had proposed to have his last dance,towards his retirement.But he never danced.Irony of the macabre.
A shouting distance from the Hotel lies Canary Wharf Train station,London’s busiest underground terminal,conveying over one million commuters to various destinations daily.
Directly opposite Canary Wharf Train station stand in immovable majestic splendour,the object of my London trip.
Welcome to Reuters!
Shaped like SilverBird Galleria,in Victoria Island Lagos but far bigger in size and grandeur.Reuters is a colossal beautiful dome of polished steel and the finest of glass architecture,almost kissing the skyline.
With its stunning outlook,Reuters London headquarters sat delicately by the scenic courtyard of Docklands Canary Wharf,like the Egyptian goddess Cleopatra on the romantic embrace of horny Emperor Julius Ceaser.
When I eventually set my foot one cold Monday morning on the largest news room in the world,with a group of other Nigerian journalists,an unforgettable feeling of fulfillment welled my entire being.
With all modesty,I have travelled the world as a journalist and pageant connoisseur:Ireland,France,Norway,Cayman Island,Trinidad and Tobago,South Africa,Swaziland, Kenya, Ghana…
Save for South Africa,where I had nurtured deep emotional attachment to inimitable Madiba (Nelson Mandela) in 2000,no journey would fascinate me like the Reuters experience.
Established by a British Entrepreneur Paul Julius Reuter, it has a long history trailed by land marks.With age old reputation for excellent journalism, most of the defining moments in global news break came through Reuters.
The Titanic shipwreck of 1912,assassination of Abraham Lincoln and America’s glorious landing on Orbit in 1968 were delivered first to the world by Reuters.
Also it broke the news of 1989 fall of the Berlin wall,capture of Saddan Hussein in 2003 and killing of Libya’s Muamah Gadaffi in 2011 among other more recent events.
Every news story that shook the world since the past 100 years had the signature of Reuters.
The organization is the biggest news media in the world employing “over 60,000 journalists reporting from over 200 countries”.
While I informed our London hosts about the vibrant character of the Nigerian press,even in the face of socio-economic and political odds,Reuters’ lesson on ethical journalism was a bitter pill to swallow.
A Reuters journalist is not permitted to take favours in whatever guise. Inquisitive,I asked about a bag of Christmas rice as a measure of media relations from press partners to London journalists.One of my host journalists shook his head in protest.No rice.
Brown Envelope will bundle you to jail ! “Qua” is the quickest means to big trouble in British journalism.Dare write your name on “assignment list” and live to lament.You will be ridiculed like Anini.
Pecuniary benefits no matter the intention of the giver could spell compromise with the consequence of immediate sack.
A story laced with falsehood or mischief can send you to prison.
A Reuters Reporter has no reason to cut corners.The salary is comparable to the pay of bank executive or a Senator in Nigeria.
A white journalist told me how a Nigerian governor up North, gave him a huge wad of dollars after an interview ,yet he rejected the offer.Why not? He flew first class on luxury airplane to Nigeria ,all expenses on his media employer.
But every reporter abroad works hard to earn a living,typical of the West.The work culture has zero tolerance for indiscipline of any sort.
Reuters.Fortune brought us to London.Tenacity became my name.Eye on glory not gift.I met Belen Baccera,via cyber space.After over 70 email exchanges,spanning almost a year,the attentive lady of Reuters pulled the course through. Happy height.
When I approached Dr.Emmanuel Uduaghan in company of information commissioner Barrister Chike Ogeah for the sponsorship of the Reuters Journalism training,the governor approved the proposal pronto!
Amiable to his handsome bones,I never knew Ogeah until I became union chairman.
I saw Trafalgar square,Piccadilly Circus,Olympic city in Stratford,Shakespeare’s home,Harrods,London Guardian,BBC,River Thames and the famed London Bridge among others.
But did I see the queen?
We arrived there to meet thousands of tourists from across the world.
We came right on time to watch the royal sentries change guard in a solemn but lavish parade.
The atmosphere was glorious in the sprawling Buckingham palace arena.The amazingly colourful spectacle I saw on TV years back during the elaborate wedding of lady Diana to Prince Charles was unfolding before my very eyes.
A dense sea of human heads swarmed the surroundings.I had to stretch my neck to catch a glimpse of the proceedings with animated concentration.
Every now and then,my camera was clicking away.Buckingham palace, 2012.I thought of my primary school teacher who had often taunted me about London and the Queen.
Oh no! I was disappointed to learn shortly. Queen Elizabeth II had retired into her royal chambers and would not be coming out any more for that day.
Then it suddenly dawned on me that I had to move on briskly,to prepare for a long flight to Lagos. This Life!