It’s 30 years already, but it still feels like it was only yesterday. Writing now, it looks like there is a feed from a distant memory bank playing back moments that appeared to have long grown wings and flown away. The joyful moments, the disagreements, the recordings, visits to the bank and the Amala from under-bridge, the conversations on the Saturday evening walks from Number 3 Allen Avenue to Opebi. They come rushing back.
“As a child, I wished only to be relevant. I am now. I wished to have people pause and listen to me as I talked. They do now. I wished also to have people laugh at my jokes. They do now, even if it’s out of politeness.” – MEE Mofe-Damijo, 1993
This day, 30 long years ago, the sun abruptly set at noon somewhere in Surulere, Lagos, despite the spirited last-minute efforts and prayers to stop it from doing so. It was a shocking, painful, and highly unexpected ending for journalist, writer, publisher, and TV host, May Ellen Ezekiel Mofe-Damijo, fondly called ‘MEE’ by millions of fans and admirers. She was only 39 years old at the time, but looking back, this was difficult to believe, given the level of impact she had made in the media at the time. It was an unkind and shocking end to a life that was just about coming fully into its own, and beginning to unravel in more exciting and fulfilling dimensions beyond her immediate calling. It was a dark Saturday, and as the enormity of what had just happened began to sink in with the grief, it ushered in an overwhelming anger at what was alleged then to be an avoidable death caused by medical negligence.
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For many in her corner, it was a sharp turn of events that was difficult to process. Sunday before the tragic turn of events, we left together after the church service, and on the short drive from Oregun to Allen Avenue, we discussed quite a few things, before I alighted from her car and she proceeded to her Opebi house. She was to leave for Abuja on Monday and return mid-week. I was to drop a personal document at the house before her return, which took me there on Thursday, only to be told that she had returned from Abuja the previous day and left shortly after for Surulere. Who would have known that providence was such that she would not leave the same place she drove herself to alive? The plans for the future (personal and business) were daring and elaborate; nothing to do with death was in anyone’s contemplation. It was more about the familiar chapter in publishing coming to an end, and a more exciting future in other areas opening up for her and those connected with her. It was just another day with MEE, talking about her dreams, mistakes of the past, and lessons for the future.
It was always all about dreams for MEE. It was often all about making hers and other people’s dreams come true. In dedicating her book, Dream Maker, to those who made her dreams come true, she was quick to ask God to please send her a new dream. God was obviously generous with her in that regard, as her 39 years of life, even with the different challenges and bumps, read like a logbook of dreams – some unfulfilled, some fulfilled in her lifetime, some only after she had passed on.
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Born in Takoradi, Ghana, to Nigerian parents who were forced to return to Nigeria in the early 1970s, following the expulsion of ‘aliens’ by the Ghanaian authorities. That unplanned return home to Warri led to a dip in fortune and difficult economic circumstances for the expansive family, but even then, at different points in her journey, she attested to having encountered ‘miracles,’ starting with how a scholarship at St Theresa’s College, Ughelli, saved the young, shy MEE, with an awkward foreign accent, from a life in a completely different direction from the one she eventually had.
Her training in Journalism at the Nigerian Institute of Journalism and fortuitous entry into professional practice under the wings of Dele Giwa in 1982, set her on a path that would enable her to discover herself and establish a journalistic identity from Concord to Newswatch, and Quality, where she served as pioneer editor, on to Classique, which she set up in 1989. Over time, she carved a niche for herself, establishing a personal brand that secured her millions of followers, which only grew in numbers when she branched out to television, as the star of the “MEE & YOU Show”, the talk show with a live audience, which was syndicated across NTA Network and TV stations around the country for years, until she passed on.
Her undying passion for charity was never in doubt. “I feel a compulsion to do things for other people who are in need. Life is meaningless without you doing something for other people,” she said, in setting up structures for her charitable endeavours. A year before she passed, she wrote: “God, if you smile on me, I will do something outstanding for charity.” She succeeded in part, as the Sunshine Foundation, with the support of Reverend Chris Okotie and the Household of God, outlived her, holding on firmly that the dream does not die.
For May Ellen Ezekiel, journalism was not just about the numbers or account balance, but real impact in lives of the people. Even for the soft sell, she argued for ‘a sort of balance,’ citing the example of the National Enquirer, which teaches the lesson of the rat, which bites, then blows away the sting of the bite, then bites again. Even for the “MEE & YOU Show”, of which I was the producer, the driving force for us, was always social impact, rather than sensation.
Her point was about seeking the good among the rubble of humankind, serving as a source of inspiration, and using the media platform to mobilise resources in aid of the less privileged, women and children. That inspired her, first, in setting up the Classique Educational Foundation, and in 1992, the Sunshine Foundation, which brought together people of like minds from different walks of life to put sunshine in the lives of the needy. Even though the Sunshine Foundation has not been that active in the last few years, it continued to wax strong for many years under the leadership of Rose Odiete.
Her undying passion for charity was never in doubt. “I feel a compulsion to do things for other people who are in need. Life is meaningless without you doing something for other people,” she said, in setting up structures for her charitable endeavours. A year before she passed, she wrote: “God, if you smile on me, I will do something outstanding for charity.” She succeeded in part, as the Sunshine Foundation, with the support of Reverend Chris Okotie and the Household of God, outlived her, holding on firmly that the dream does not die.
Given all that she achieved and the great impact she made in the lives of a generation of journalists, who either now sit at the top of the editorial/management ladder in the media or have moved on, it is almost unbelievable that she was that young at the time she died.
Even as Publisher/CEO, MEE did not attach undue importance to herself, continuing to maintain in her writing a kind of intimacy that was unusual and uncommon at that time. She bared it all to MEEholics in a style Greg Akeh-Osu described as a “familiar MEE-method of self-purgation”. Her approach to the diverse subjects, which she took on, from the most mundane to the rather serious, was “unrepentantly blunt, cynical, grave”, in Greg’s words or one of “extreme levity.” But that was MEE Mofe-Damijo – in a CEO-mode and business-like one moment, and hairs-down and completely carefree the next moment. Beyond the iron-lady façade was a kind and generous soul that was there for family, friends and even strangers in different ways.
It’s thirty years today that you left, just when it looked like the opportunity to put flesh on more of your dreams had just arrived. It’s unbelievable that it’s already been that long. Time might have succeeded in helping us process and come to a place of acceptance that you are truly gone, but it has not offered any meaningful explanation. We carry on, as we know you would want us to, reminding ourselves of the need to remain human and compassionate on the journey. Not time, not even thirty years, can make us forget you, because you are simply unforgettable.
It’s 30 years already, but it still feels like it was only yesterday. Writing now, it looks like there is a feed from a distant memory bank playing back moments that appeared to have long grown wings and flown away. The joyful moments, the disagreements, the recordings, visits to the bank and the Amala from under-bridge, the conversations on the Saturday evening walks from Number 3 Allen Avenue to Opebi. They come rushing back.
It’s unbelievable that it’s 30 years already, with members of the extended family, inclusive of her immediate family, ex-staff of Classique, production crew of “MEE & You Show”, members of Sunshine Foundation, and others in different parts of the world, with life pulling us in different directions. The last formal gathering was years ago. I can’t remember if it was one of the remembrance anniversaries or at Mamuzo’s wedding.
These days, it’s so difficult to keep up, but we do hear from ourselves from time to time, even though we don’t get to see or speak as often as we should. But it is what it is. You are always on our mind. RMD is doing great. Onome is doing well, all grown-up, calling the shots in high places now. In her is the dream coming true in a way, I guess, you would have been truly proud of.
In your tribute to Dele Giwa, you tried explaining the essence of the annual memorial in honour of the assassinated journalist. You wrote, and I here adopt: “To those you could not yet touch before you were killed, it looks unnecessary, this yearly ritual to immortalise your name. But to us who feel it, it is imperative. For years after changing year, as the rigours of striving and succeeding struggle to prevent us from keeping tabs, we strive still to ensure that we are doing that for which you would have been proud. We may not always succeed, but we do try. To be the best. To reach, always, for the skies. And to be compassionate and caring along the way. And always to be human.”
It’s thirty years today that you left, just when it looked like the opportunity to put flesh on more of your dreams had just arrived. It’s unbelievable that it’s already been that long. Time might have succeeded in helping us process and come to a place of acceptance that you are truly gone, but it has not offered any meaningful explanation. We carry on, as we know you would want us to, reminding ourselves of the need to remain human and compassionate on the journey. Not time, not even thirty years, can make us forget you, because you are simply unforgettable.
Simbo Olorunfemi, a specialist on Nigeria’s foreign policy, communications consultant, and managing editor of Africa Enterprise, was producer, “MEE & You” show. Email: [email protected]
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