It was a sober moment. My Cousin Paul had just lot his young son. He got back from School to Jos and had completed the three weeks holiday when he fell sick. He was to leave for Abuja the following week. His mother had completed shopping for his school provisions when he complained of sickness and within a few days he was dead.
I had driven into Jos that Saturday only to be told of the death. We had to be in Church with my cousin on Sunday.
No body knew me in the Church so I was taken aback for few seconds when the officiating person called me name and asked that I should go out.
I stood up and walked out of the church.
€˜Sir€„¢, the Usher who was waiting for me told me, €˜there is an old man outside looking for you€„¢
Reluctantly, I left my seat, not wanting to offend the young Church Usher, neatly dressed, and getting people to take proper seats in the large church auditorium.
€˜Did he tell you his name?€„¢ I a managed to ask
€˜No€„¢ the usher curtly replied. I did not need to make any further enquiries. There he was before me that Sunday morning, my friend, a close confidant, and certainly, not an old man, Obidah Gomwalk.
He walked uncertainly towards me.
No where was the confidence he exuded a few years back. His steps were unsure as he extended his hands to me. I struggled to keep away tears.
€˜What happened?€„¢ I managed to ask in a shaky voce.
If I had any illusions about his confidence, these were cleared when he opened his mouth to reply. He was tired of life! He had given up the struggle against harshness of life. It had offered him so much trouble. The hopes he had cherished about Nigeria had been crudely destroyed. The comrades he stood with to fight for a better Nigeria had walked over to the other side. Some had even become more oppressive than the oppressors they were fighting. They had no milk of human kindness. The help he sought did not come and he did not know where to turn. Those whop cared to listen to him blamed him for his alcoholism. The more he was blamed the more he sank into it.
Indeed, Obidah Gomwalk, the writer, journalist, radical politician and community man and organiser, always willing to stand by what is right, had lost the fight against alcoholism, despite his acceptance that he needed to get out of it. But he was not yet willing to admit that he was losing the battle. The previous day when I could not find him at the usual places, he responded to my search and came to the Church to find me form the rehabilitation home he had checked himself into.
He explained that he was out of town because he had checked himself into the rehabilitation home. He was still struggling to kick the habit he said.
How did he arrive at this point? Obidah Gomwalk, a relation of the well known Gomwalk clan, finished form the Government secondary school Kuru and proceeded to the Ahmadu Bello University Zaria in the early 80s. He dropped out of school, for reasons which he did not disclose to me. He joined the radical Peoples Redemption Party (PRP) and became its publicity Secretary in Plateau state. He was made a member of the Board of Directors of the Triumph Publishing Company, publishers of the triumph Newspapers. Not long after the military struck..the path he had chosen was blocked and he could not go back to school. He was without school and without work. What a choice!!!!!!!!!!
The only certificate he could use was the West African school certificate. For thirteen years the military held sway
I got to know him when I went to work as reporter with the Nigerian standard newspapers.
We shared ideals and hopes. Then came the Northern Nigeria in Perspective magazine conceived in the early 90s. He was editorial adviser and, when asked to turn in an article on the PRP experience, he did in record time- a master piece.
In 1998, when I asked him to analyse the plans by the Military government to impose on of their own, General Olusegun Obasanjo as President, he turned in another very good piece.
He worked with the now rested POST EXPRESS newspaper in Lagos and with the Nigeria Standard Newspaper. Tried as hard as he wanted he was always haunted by the choice of dropping out of school, an opportunity that did not come his way again. His search for jobs did not yield much result because he did not have a certificate!!!!!. Even though he write better than his editors, and had a better command of English than me and most people that he interacted with.
His confidence sagged. Then at a point he become a born again Christian and even started a programme for Christian Journalists in Jos. I was glad to be invited for inaugural meeting.
This unfortunately did not help much. Joblessness and economic hardship pushed him back to the alcohol he so desperately wanted to conquer. And so the gray hair increased, he got leaner and his gait changed to that of an old man.
There was no way the usher could have known that the man that stood beside him was not a baba or old man.
Then, came the sad day. My phone rang. I picked it up. The voice at the other end was not very familiar. He said €˜sorry I just wanted to tell you that your friend has died€„¢
The struggle for him had ended. My tears could not be restrained again.