“Don’t you know who you are?” His brother, Mike Enahoro, a veteran newscaster with the NTA, at that time, lashed out at him at the other end of the phone.

“Don’t you know who you are?” He would lash back at his brother, Mike.

It was a standard way to greet each other with such a good-natured friendly insult that momentarily reminded them of their mother’s admonition… always remember our roots and be guided in all our actions, discernment, promises and pronouncements by that heritage, trails our scruples to this day, like a watchful spirit firmly lodged in the subconscious… In Yoruba language it simply means – “ranti omo eni ti iwo nse…

His father, the late Prince Asuelimen Okotako Ehonor, which was misspelt as ENAHORO, nicknamed him “Old Pete”. But in the media, he was known by the pen-name PeterPan. His exploits in the field of journalism remain unbeaten till date. He became an Editor of the Sunday Times newspapers at the age of 27. What a remarkable feat?

In his days, journalists were not appropriately enumerated in terms of salaries. Their salaries were meager; quite discouraging. It therefore means for you to be a good journalist, you must be extraordinarily passionate about the profession. At that time, the society held them in high esteem, if you like, in awe. Journalists are usually the compass of the society. They mirror the ills of the society and report back. Journalists of that time were brilliant, fearless, committed but often misunderstood.

In his days, the rest of the society considered a good journalist as an abnormal person, an irrational thinker and a risk taker! And in a way that assessment is right.

How do you explain this?

At an accident scene, people would running helter-skelter, trying to evacuate dying persons to the nearest hospitals. Suddenly a journalist appears at the scene, not to give a helping hand but to extract information, called exclusive story, from a dying man.

Are you normal?

His mindset is at variance with the rest of the people. His primary concern is to report the incident back to the society and tell what was responsible. The vehicle had a brake failure. No, the driver had ego issue. He ignored our advice to moderate his speed, a dying person reveals.

This is largely the primary concern of a good journalist – getting an exclusive story. Not to participate in the evacuation of the dying persons. That does not suggest a journalist has no feeling for a dying person or accident victims. He does but the zeal to capture exclusive story comes first. He must obey that instinct, a call to duty at any place and in all circumstances.

Another example will suffice.

During the bomb blast at the Ikeja Military cantonment, people around that vicinity were scampering to safety, but a journalist thought otherwise. He had to be at the spot, frontline, to gather exclusive stories for his publication.

The safety of his life was secondary. He was prepared to sacrifice his life in the best interest of an informed and egalitarian society.

It was at this era that Mr Peter Enahoro, better known in his practising days as PeterPan, foyered into journalism.

PeterPan, as a young, gangling journalist, had many running battles with the military junta, not only under General General Yakubu Gowon, but also during the brief period of late General JT Aguiyi-Ironsi. PeterPan (if you like Old Pete) was a very courageous journalist of his time.

For him as a journalist, his allegiance was to the Nigerian society and people, though the Federal Government had controlling shares of the publishing house where he worked. For this reason, he was constantly at loggerhead with his employers, for his sound opposing views.

Of course, the military went after him.

His parents, who were temporarily staying with him, had a feel of the humiliation.

At this juncture, permit me to use his book – Then Spoke the Thunder – as our guide.

My disgust with Nigeria was boiling in me, but l thought papa would be glad to see me and that was a consolation. Instead, my father snapped at me: “What are you doing here? I told you to stay away!”

Dear God, l thought, can you ever satisfy this man? Although the previous night he assured me he was all right, l felt guilty that he was alone in the house. The Igbo nanny had fled, the two Hausa gatemen had left without notice; only the two house boys remained with him in the compound. Yet coming out in daytime to see him was unnerving for a man in hiding, trying to avoid soldiers, and I’d run into Gowon’s motorised armada. I naturally felt aggrieved that my father snapped at me. In fact, he had been through worse overnight.

My two loyal Esan houseboys witnessed the scene between father and son and read my face. They must have seen the irritation l could barely conceal.

“Please, Sir, don’t vex. What papa meant to say is that it is not good for master to come here.” They then narrated an incident the previous night. At about midnight, they heard a vehicle come to a halt in front of the house. They heard someone trying to shake the gates loose and they boldly came out of their rooms to investigate. They were confronted by an armed soldier. They noticed four other soldiers in the back of the Land Rover and including the driver that made a party of six men. “Open the gate!” the intruder barked at them. “Where your master?” The boys answered that l was not at home. The soldier did not believe them. He was joined by another soldier, also armed. They’d seen a light come on upstairs. My two young men wisely opened the gates. Using a bayonet, the first soldier tried to prise open the lock on the heavily carved outdoor to the house, but my father beat him to it. Papa calmly opened the door and asked them what the problem was. They said they’d been sent to come and fetch “the man here”. “My son is not here,” my father told them. “You can come in and check for yourselves.”

Let me quickly share this.

At another occasion, PeterPan had concluded to go on exile. He had to visit the house in Maryland to bid his parents good bye and extract the much cherished “parental blessings”.

In the early hours of that morning, he sneaked to the neighbourhood and gently knocked at the gate, his dad asked who was that? Pete, he replied.

Papa was furious seeing him and snapped. PeterPan was astonished at his dad’s strange attitude. Mama had to corner him to explain why his dad was furious.

At this juncture, PeterPan had to tell his parents his decision to go on exile and had come to extract their blessings. He went down on his knees, papa invoked all the spirits of his ancestors, then mama gave her blessings and lifted him up. How long would you be gone? Mama asked?

What was his reply? Please read his book.

Then he took a few items from the house, rearranged the other items, including the traveler’s cheques he had purchased from the bank a day before. To his utter shock, the travellers cheques could not be found. He searched all the places. What a setback? He had planned to get to Idiroko borders before sunset to avoid being detected by the military guys at the various checkpoints. He had arranged with friends (Bryan and Sam), who would drive him to the border post at Idiroko. He ruminated over and over, suddenly as a last resort, he decided to sneak into Marina that early morning where the bank was located. Just as he opened the main door into the banking hall, the lady at the counter, who had attended to him the previous day, welcomed him with a broad smile “… Sir, you forgot your travellers cheques here” as she handed the TCs to him. He was speechless.

Please read the rest of the story in his book – Then Spoke the Thunder.

About three weeks ago, we spoke. He (uncle as l fondly called him) actually called and we talked extensively on political issues. His voice had become feeble but was still interested to go on with the conversation. I encouraged him to take a rest that afternoon. Due to the road accident he had years back, he had spinal cord issue. He had become bedridden.

The last of his messages to me was a day or two after the recent governorship elections, where some thugs in a particular state destroyed INEC ballot boxes. He felt pained that Nigeria had not attained the level of political sophistication he had envisioned. You could feel that sense of disappointment in his voice. He was passionate about everything Nigeria.

On my part, I am never tired of reading his 744 paged book titled, Then Spoke the Thunder, which he graciously sent to me from his London base, through one of his nieces. It was delivered to me on February 15, 2019. I remain eternally grateful to him. That book had become my companion on a long haulage trips. Each time l read the book, there was always something new to learn. That book had been my guide in this narrative.

Like a brilliant and unique writer he was, he had an independent mind and he was never ashamed to stand alone on an issue.

The same measure he loved Nigeria, so also he loved his immediate family. When Mike and Christian, his brothers, passed on at different times, l called to commiserate with him. I could feel the pains in his voice.

In fact, he held the view that the Nigerian government treated his eldest brother, Chief Anthony Eromosele Enahoro, unfairly.

For the records, Chief Anthony Enahoro moved a motion, in 1953, in the House of Representatives, calling on the British Government to grant Nigeria Independence forthwith. At the twilight of Chief Anthony Enahoro’s life, he was so disdainfully treated by the country he and others fought for its independence.

In honour of Mr Peter Enahoro, l will respectfully call on the Federal Government to please look at the possibility of returning his brother’s property on Victoria Island. That pain sadly went with him to the grave.

PeterPan never took friendship for granted. I often described myself as a “bushman”. I hardly do what most people cherished. Birthday celebration is one. I never fancied celebrating my birthdays. It simply never appealed to me. Last January, two days after my birthday, he sent me this message on my WhatsApp page. I was profoundly astonished despite his health challenges, yet he remembered me on that occasion.

From PeterPan on my birthday in January 2022:

“Hello Bernard. I’m not usually good at this as I either forget to look up the date or I lose where I’ve written it. Yours has stuck perhaps because I, too, lost my parents and so many siblings!

“Make a happy day of today, your Birthday. Use it as remembrance day of your family. –

Peter Enahoro.”

On another occasion, l sent him a viral video of Bishop Matthew Hassan Kukah of Sokoto Catholic Diocese in the midst of his Church members, playing musical instrument and dancing so gleefully. I know he had a Catholic background. So anything that will “light up his spirit,” l sent to him. About the Bishop’s video, he replied thus…

“Yeah, he’s a good one, although I must confess that as a Catholic, I wouldn’t have thought the day would come when I would see a Catholic Bishop playing a musical instrument and dancing in front of the altar. My instinct is a preference for the restraint of my cousin, Cardinal Anthony who banned such displays in all Lagos churches when he was In charge of Lagos diocese. The Catholic tradition is solemnity and quiet dignity in the House of God. – Peter Enahoro.”

I actually got close to him courtesy of Prof Tom Adaba, the pioneer Director-General of the National Broadcasting Commission.

This was what PeterPan said about Tom Adaba in his book…. “l first met Dr Tom Adaba when he was Director-General, l served as Chairman of the National Broadcasting Commission. What began as a mutual respect in a bureaucratic setting, quickly evolved into a close, personal relationship in which he has continued to hold himself ready to give brotherly support in my cause…”

Genuinely, my heart goes out to Alexander and Markus, his two wonderful sons and their mother. And to his childhood friend, they were like 5&6, the doyen of Nigerian pen confraternity, the unassuming and admirable egbon, Sam Amuka, the Publisher of the flourishing Vanguard Newspapers, l send you, Sir, my deepest commiseration. At a time like this, you will be reminiscing on so many “life-changing” exploits both of you undertook, especially in the mid-60s. You had to go with him to Ibadan to interview Lt Col Adekunle Fajuyi, the Military Governor of the old Western State. At other times, you and uncle Bryan had to hatch plans to drop him at Idiroko to escape the military hunt for him and such other remarkable exploits. Be comforted, Sir, and l hope Alex & Mark’ (his wonderful children) will share in this sentiment. Your friend and their dad, was an extraordinarily courageous man in his active days. That courage endeared him to many people across the globe. He had no guns but he had the skill of the pen in his hands and he made maximum use of it to the glory of mankind. He fought the Military and he became a threat to that institution. I feel deeply honoured to have had the rare privilege of meeting him. He impacted on me with several pieces of advice. I shall remain eternally grateful to him and Prof Aaze Thomas Adaba, OON, who created that pathway. Prof Tom Adaba, sir, l know this is certainly a trying moment. Each time l conveyed a message from PeterPan to you, your spirit lightened with radiant looks. And to so many others, including his extended families in Uromi, Edo State, my condolences.

May Abraham, our father in Faith, welcome his gentle soul into paradise. May he find peace and joy in the celestial realm. May Mother earth be friendly with his remains.

I shall sorely miss his unique voice.

Firebrand Peter Pan of the pen-profession, gloriously returns to his Creator.

Ad multos annos.

•Bernard Balogun (BenPino) writes from Wuse District of Abuja.

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