I’ve written this before. Ten years ago, but this man's story is new every time. To me. And to many who have crossed his path. On his 80th birthday on July 14, I’m repeating this story with the zeal and delight I shared it ten years ago: 

If the lot had fallen on Ajibola Ogunshola to be the undertaker, not many would have blamed him for the fate of PUNCH. 

He was 40 when he was appointed director. Though he was a star in the insurance world (former Managing Director of Niger Insurance) and one of Africa's leading actuaries (a consultant to the UN on pensions), he did not know jack about newspapers, if you get what I mean. 

For the three months that I worked in PUNCH as an intern in 1986, after Olatunji Dare's note paved the way, our paths did not cross. The Aboderin family was still in turmoil after the passing of the founder, James Olubunmi Aboderin, in 1984 at 49 years of age. 

Aboderin, an accomplished accountant at National Bank, was an extraordinary man whose presence and legacy were legendary. At the time, co-founder Sam Amuka (fondly called Uncle Sam) had left, but a relic of his time, like the famous armchair tucked away in a room in the last office at the old wooden building, was still there.

After the founder's death, Ogunshola's half brother, Moyosore Aboderin, who took over, invested quite a fortune to turn the company around, but the prospects remained bleak. The destiny of the Aboderin publishing empire – quite formidable in its heyday – now rested mainly on the shoulders of a 43-year-old non-newspaperman.

I returned in 1989, this time as a reporter. At that time, you could gauge the public mood or government temperament by the writings of newspapermen, whether in the Tribune, Sketch, Triumph, Daily Times, New Nigerian, Newbreed or 

Newswatch.

PUNCH was also a significant force. On the Board were the likes of Lekan Are and Lolu Forsythe, who, together with those in the editorial department, especially Najeem Jimoh and Ademola Osinubi, would be instrumental in helping Ogunshola rebuild in the years ahead. However, the company's redemption was squarely the burden of this non-newspaperman.

He turned this "disadvantage" into an incentive. He became an avid consumer of the news and how it is produced, distributed and consumed, letting facts and figures show the way. Most of all, whenever decisions were made, he ensured execution with ruthless efficiency.

I learnt of one rare occasion when Are – perhaps the most feared and respected in equal measure on the Board – brought an advert for publication. Are handed the copy to the editor (in the presence of Ogunshola) and asked him to publish the next day. There was no discussion of payment. The Editor was afraid to ask. 

When Are left the office, Ogunshola asked the editor about payment. 

“I didn’t ask him, sir,” the editor replied.

“Well, go and tell him it will be paid for.”

The editor rushed after Are, who returned with him to the office, obviously upset.

He asked Ogunshola if he had sent the editor after him.

“I did, boda,” Ogunshola reportedly responded firmly but politely. “You remember that we agreed at the Board meeting that all adverts must be paid, without exception.”

Are opened his wallet and wrote the cheque.

I am trying to remember which of my stories or feature articles first caught Ogunshola’s attention. I was a small fry, unconcerned about what was happening at the top. But, somehow, Ogunshola noticed. 

After I had been in the PUNCH for nearly one year, the Editor, Osinubi, told me that the chairman was gathering materials for a book. He wondered if I could help with research. 

I was confused. At the time, Ogunshola had the reputation of a taskmaster amongst staff. When he took over as Chairman, he sacked 400 or so of the 600 staff members in one day. I thought sending me to his Ajele, Lagos office was putting me on the supplementary sack list.

But I met a completely different man. He is challenging, deep and engaging - a man who calls a spade by its first name. I spent the next 18 months in his office researching, asking questions and taking notes. This was the inside story of how court battles, family feuds and not a few frenemies brought Aboderin’s dream dangerously close to the edge.

We toyed with a few names for the book, and I think he finally settled for Against All Odds – a fitting title for a book that never was.

If he didn’t restart the book on his 70th birthday, it’s improbable he would do so now. 

“I have cleared my library substantially,” he told me at the height of Covid-19 in 2021. “I do only essential reading and retain the most important records.”

He has left a trove of living words in my heart with chapters to read for a lifetime. I still have one of his lectures, “Lessons from the 2014 National Conference,” delivered at the Second Chris Ogunbanjo Lecture Series on May 18, 2017.

I believe there is no better summary of the National Conference than the one provided in Ogunshola’s 16-page lecture. I have carried it in my bag for seven years and used it very often, especially on matters related to restructuring.

Before measurement became a hot topic at international journalism conferences, Ogunshola insisted that "what cannot be measured cannot be rewarded". He infused PUNCH with the values of innovativeness and a near-obsession for rational thinking. His work ethic makes you strong if it doesn't kill you. 

He is a man of strong views. He resents tardiness, collectivism and all shades of intermediaries in a way that reminds me of Thomas Sowell’s contempt for collective bargaining.

He waged trade wars against newspaper agents and advertising agencies for fairer commissions or more transparent practices. Some of these were solo wars, which earned him powerful enemies, while a few were under the umbrella of newspaper publishers, of which he was president.

Apart from the crisis after the death of the founding chairman, perhaps one of the most challenging wars was the one against the military. PUNCH was shut down thrice, the third and longest under General Sani Abacha, which lasted 18 months.

There was pressure on Ogunshola to beg Abacha. He refused, insisting that the newspaper had done nothing wrong. It was a very, very tough call. I remember him saying afterwards, "If the closure had continued for another three months, the paper would have gone down irretrievably." 

But he stood his ground, and the rest is history.

At 80, he is slowing down. But thanks to a lifestyle of moderation, contentment, and empiricism – a decent amount of money to keep him as well as he can be at 80 – he looks good for another 10, at least. 

The non-newspaperman has paid his dues, with some change to the bargain. 

Long may your legacies endure, Baaroyin of Ibadan!

** Ishiekwene is the Editor-In-Chief of LEADERSHIP