UNILORIN: An ode to my J-school teachers

My mind wandered aimlessly in search of clarity as I wobbled across the University of Ilorin’s Mass Communication Departmental corridor that hot afternoon. Ambition collided with confusion, and fantasy gave way for epiphany. I had always wanted to practice journalism, and had imagined that I knew what I really wanted. Until that moment.

“You must define what you want to do and be sure it isn’t ‘Churnalism’,” Professor Lambe Kayode Mustapha said, head bent skywards. I was in his office and our conversations shifted in the direction of my post-varsity plan—–how I could harness the fire of journalism that burnt within me for societal good. After-school challenges loomed, and my mind was clouded by uncertainties. Before then, I had studied journalism for more than a decade, practiced on and off three campuses, freelanced for some fringe publications, garnered certificates and a few accolades, and felt I had my career path neatly defined.

“Churnalism won’t take you anywhere; only consequential journalism will…” Professor Mustapha quipped, deadpan. He flipped through the pages of one voluminous textbook, adjusted his chair, and looked towards my direction. It was as though the non-verbal cue was necessary for the message to sink in, for maximum effect.  But what exactly is “Churnalism” and why did he consider it important for his (mass communication) students to be clear about the direction of their craft quite early?

BBC journalist Waseem Zakir is widely credited with coining the term “Churnalism”—which essentially translates to the process of regurgitating press releases and syndicated reports, as against painstaking investigations and original research. Tony Harcup, journalism scholar and Emeritus Fellow of the University of Sheffield, referenced that in his 2004 book, Journalism: Principles and Practice.

The idea has its root in two words: a portmanteau of “churn” and “journalism”, the “churning out” of content from press releases and PR agencies.

“It’s affecting every newsroom in the country and reporters are becoming churnalists,” Zakir said of the craft. “You get copy coming in on the wires and reporters churn it out, processing stuff and maybe adding the odd local quote…”

But Zakir’s observation wasn’t peculiar to the British press anyway, and years later, “Churnalism” would take the center stage in global journalism discourse.  In retrospect, as I would come to realise, Professor Mustapha’s fear had its root in that ongoing conversation and how the local journalism ecosystem in Nigeria mirrored its ripple effects.

So what separated us right inside his office that hot afternoon was the gulf between the insight of experience on the one hand, and the innocence of the formative years, on the other hand.

Our formative years are always a blur, defined quite often by imperfections: misdirected energies, idealism fueled by sheer naivety, error-prone judgements, and foggy visions. What influences the ultimate trajectory of our lives, in some cases, is the intervention of the guardian, that teacher, whose haunting voice and illuminating presence provide clarity in moments of naivety.

I am blessed with too many of such teachers and on this page, I have written about some of them: Alhaji Liad Tella, who showed me how far I could fly on the wings of sentences; Professor Mahfouz Adedimeji, that model of a “teacher without borders” who exemplified excellence with dexterity of influence and character; Professor Lukmon Adesina Azeez, the disciplinarian in whose world of rigour-as-only-pathway-to-excellence our hands burnt like gold in a furnace; and Professor Saudat Abdulbaqi, who fired my imagination midway between the delicate borders of motherly love and unbent principles.

I have written, also, about those who came before them and sharpened my mind in the belly of hills in Eruwa: Messrs ‘Yinka Agoro, Rotimi Bolarinwa, the late Kunle Gbolagunte, Gbade Akinteye, Abiola Jesulowo, Patrick Akolade, ‘Wunmi Olajide, Ismail Adediran, Solomon Adedokun, among others. I remember, also, those who came after them in UNILAG: Ass. Prof. Suraj Adekunle Olunifesi; Professors Ismail Adegboyega Ibrahim and Adepoju Tejumaiye; Dr ‘Tayo Popoola, among others.

Professor Mustapha stands tall among this tribe of lecturers… no, teachers—–guardian angels whose words haunted like shadows. For one, our relationship transcended the walls of the classroom and with him, there were no boundaries and barriers. He was the quintessential teacher as guardian who cared not just about students’ academic performance, but about their survival struggles. He was an eternal source of inspiration. In effect, very few people believed in my abilities as he did and his words of encouragement were the elixir I needed to soldier on especially in the first few months of post-varsity life.

Like most of my lecturers in Ilorin, Professor Mustapha was an all-rounder who flowed easily across the entire gamut of Mass Communication, from print through broadcast and PR/Advertising. His dexterity shone brightest and I enjoyed him most in our finals, when he delved into the world of media effect theories and international communication—courses in which his versatility and panoramic views shaped our thoughts on global affairs and erased quite a few misconceptions about media effects.

Earlier in the year, the governing council of the University of Ilorin approved the promotion of both Drs Mustapha and Kehinde K. Kadiri to the rank of professor. The two scholars were promoted alongside 18 other lecturers.

Unlike Professor Mustapha, Professor Kadiri never took me in any course in my years in Ilorin. But her dexterity of influence could be felt more deeply in her practical sessions (on Photography and Photojournalism, for instance) and other humanitarian interventions.

Through the Grassroots Aid Initiative (TGAI), a non-profit organisation dedicated to improving the lives of people in rural communities across Nigeria, she hasn’t only impacted the lives of many people in rural areas across Nigeria, she has been able to teach students the noble essence of volunteerism and community interventions. As a development communications enthusiast and journalist, nothing excites me more about her works like the passion she pours into those interventions and the sheer number of people she has impacted through her efforts. It becomes more fascinating when you realise how she’s been able to drive the project not just as a communal outreach, but as learning and teaching platforms for some of her volunteer-students—thereby bridging that gap between the town and gown!

“Teachers are people who start things they never see finished, and for which they never get thanks until it is too late,” wrote Max Forman, whose words have haunted me since my formative years, firing that determination to always, always celebrate my teachers—both in the class and newsrooms—as I move along in this journey called life.

Today, I celebrate Professors Mustapha and Kadiri, for providing light in places where darkness loomed; for illuminating the minds of students whose pathways had no clear directions.