THIS ‘EVIL SPIRIT’ CALLED JOURNALISM

BY DAVID-CHYDDY ELEKE

If the spirit of journalism possesses you, even powerful deliverance pastors like TB Joshua will not be able to cast it out. It is a very possessive spirit that takes all of you and makes you think only it.

If the accruals from this possessive spirit were high, then we can manage it and continue to bemoan our fate, while we enjoy the benefits there from, but the accruals are barely able to take you home from the point where you received them, no matter how close you are to your home.

I was racing to my village yesterday, when my jalopy of a car packed up on the highway. I have been knocking her about all the nooks and cranny of Anambra for five years now, and she has been very strong and supportive, so I saw no reason why she should pack up without notice, and most painfully, at a time when her service was most madly needed.

I was far from any residential area, and had not even the faintest idea what I should do, to get her back on the road. To make matters worse, my brain also stopped working, and I stood under the painfully scorching sun, sweating profusely, then a call came into my phone. A contact called me to tell me that there had been an accident at Immigration junction, Awka that morning, and that a truck rammed into a commuter bus and four persons were already dead, as he spoke.

The ‘evil spirit’ of journalism possessed me immediately, and I reached for my laptop which I kept on the floor of the passenger side, locked the car, dashed across the express, into the bush and sneaked into some low trees and shrubs in the bush and started typing away on my laptop. That would not be the first time I was thinking work before safety.

Many years back in Aba as a rookie journalist, a lawyer had asked me to accompany him to Umuahia for a case involving a monarch who was involved in fraud. We were waiting for the court to start sitting when suddenly a Black Maria drove in, and the suspect, fully clad in his traditional robe was ushered out of the van, and behold he had cuffs on his hands.

The spirit of journalism possessed me immediately, and my first thought was how the picture of a monarch in his full regalia and in cuffs can make the front page of Announcer Express newspaper where I worked then. So I started taking pictures of the monarch randomly from all angle. I was however unlucky because immediately the court started sitting, the monarch cried that his opponents had brought journalists in, with the intention to ridicule him, and the judge quickly invited me, threatening to lock me up if I showed up in his court next time without obtaining permission. I was made to delete the pictures.

At another time, I was coming back from Umuahia to Aba when I saw the corpse of a young man lying by the road side. I was driven by a human rights activist, and a lawyer was also in the car. The rights activist said the corpse was of a suspected armed robber, and was shot by the police. While the rights activist was telling us how he would petition the IGP over the violation of the right of the dead man, the lawyer was talking of how he can get the relatives of the dead man to press charges against the police and his willingness to offer pro bono services to them, but the spirit of journalism was alive in me, with my brain creaking as I thought what caption would be best for the story and how I would reach out to the police public relations officer in the state for reaction Immediately I alighted from the car.

Two years ago, I had travelled to Ogoja to visit the mortuary to identify the corpse of my father who had been brutally murdered by unknown persons. The mortuary attendant who I had first spoken to on phone and told to take care of the corpse very well, beamed with smiles when he saw me(even though we hadn’t met before). I asked him how my father’s corpse was and he said; “Ah! Daddy dey here with us, e no skin pain at all, and we dey take care of am well well. Come make you see am na,” he summoned me.

His response made me wonder if the news of my father’s death was true afterall, because that guy couldn’t have been referring to my dead father as being ‘very well’. But he led me into the morgue to behold several corpses, and at some point he stopped before a certain corpse and started scolding it for no reason. Even as I fought had to keep tears away, the spirit of journalism gripped me, and I started begging the mortuary attendant for interview of his experiences while tending dead people.

My wife knows that I am possessed with this spirit, and once in a while she would scold me bitterly that nothing mattered to me except my job. Sometimes, she even wondered if all journalists were that serious with their work, as I hardly did anything else once I picked my laptop or stayed hunched over my android phone.

We are stock, and deliverance from this ‘demon’ may be hard, even as we may not even be willing to let the evil spirit leave us. Don’t even start telling me journalism pays bills, because even if I pushed a truck in Eke Awka market, I would still have paid bills.

If I joined MC Oluomo at Oshodi, am sure I would even pay bills better.

Just last month, while I and my colleagues were covering the presidential election, we had just covered Mr Peter Obi, the vice presidential candidate of the PDP, and the revelation that he had been harassed by security forces the night before the election day was ‘good story’ to us.

In journalism, what you call bad news is good news, or better still good story. That is why last two years, I had driven to my village on a Sunday morning for no reason but to join my friends to drink fresh palm wine,I had just arrived and exchanged greetings with people in the compound, when I received a call about the shooting of several persons in a Catholic Church in Ozubulu, I didn’t have any option than to jump into the car again and start racing from Ohaozara, Ebonyi State to Anambra – you know why, because the killing was good news that no journalist can afford to miss.

So back to election day, my colleagues and I were all hunched over our devices as the driver drove us from Mr Peter Obi’s polling unit, all trying to send our stories of his intimidation by forces most probably loyal to Buhari’s federal government.

We were all typing away, after having instructed the driver to move fast so we can capture Anambra State governor, Willie Obiano while he voted, but a while after all we heard was ‘park’ some voices barked, and the sound of the corking of guns by security men in about five Hillux, all looking menacing terrified us as we looked up. They demanded for the key of the vehicle and after they tried mishandling the driver, he handed them the keys to the vehicle and they drove off, leaving our vehicle in the middle of the road, and paying deaf ears to our explanations that were on election duty, and had been fully accredited for the election.

We were terrified, but truth is that all five of us were already possessed by the ‘evil’ spirit called journalism. The first thing we did was for everyone to draw out their devices and we started writing the story of our travails. It took only Mr Tony Okafor of Punch, who only he knew how he was able to break free from the ‘evil spirit’ to make a call. We only heard him talking into the phone and later announced that he just spoke to the state commissioner of police. But our first priority was to move the story of our ordeal out for publication. That is how you think when you are possessed.

After the PDP presidential candidate lost the election, he had threatened to go to court, but was being persuaded not to, and one day, I received a text message from Val Obienyem saying that Obi was going to address journalists in his house in Onitsha. I drove to Onitsha and there was a little delay in the commencement of the press briefing, and once it was 4pm, I told them I was leaving to pick up my children from school.

Oga Val persuaded me to stay as they were going to commence soon, but I managed to break free from the spirit of journalism, and moved out of the lush compound to my car outside. When matters concerned my children, I can break free from any kind of spirit – so I thought after I left.

My attempt to hit Awka at 5pm failed when I got trapped in Onitsha traffic, which is never a good experience any day. It wasn’t until past 6pm that I was able to wriggle my way out of the traffic. I was driving like a mad man towards Awka when my phone rang. It was Obienyem. He told me Obi just briefed my colleagues and was throwing his weight behind Atiku challenging Buhari’s victory in court. That to me was ‘good story’, and immediately, the ‘evil’ spirit crept in, and I drove up to a check point, parked and whipped out my phone, and started tinkering with the story. I momentarily forget my children were still in school, and It was inching towards 7pm, I only realized so after I had pushed the ‘send’ button on my phone.

This evil spirit is true, and that was how it possessed me yesterday while I was travelling to the village and my car broke down on the way. I was sitting under the shrubs punching my laptop when suddenly I heard a frightening noise. Two very healthy cows, maybe mad too, were fighting and knocking horns, and they were moving in my direction. Fear gripped me.

A bigger fear even crept into me, leaving a chill down my spine when I saw the herdsmen tending the cows. I have heard several stories of herdsmen kidnapping people around Enugu State where my car had spoiled, then I started blaming myself for not being able to shrug off the ‘evil’ spirit called journalism for once, even though I was still stranded. I ended up being pursued out of the cool shelter of the shrubs back under the scorching sun by the cows, and subsequently found a tow van that brought the car to Enugu where I fixed it.

Truth is, this evil spirit is real, some of us are stuck, we know we are possessed, but I doubt if we need or can truly go for deliverance, so we just pray to be able to live with our ‘evil’ spirit in harmony.