It was John Donne, the poet, who once said, “Every death diminishes me because I am involved in humanity.”
The death of John Olulope Ajayi, the one I used to nomenclature “Egbon John”, did not diminish me. It reduced me. Ironically, it did not reduce me physically because my physique has not changed, but my inner strength has taken a hit. He died exactly 16 days ago, and I have just put my thoughts together because it is a personal loss.

John did not just stroll through this cosmic divide. He made sure he had an impact. He was never like that proverbial serpent that slalomed on the rock without an impact or trace. John did not walk along the trace created by destiny. He was a man who forced destiny to work in his favour.

The Yorubas have a saying that destiny or predestination has no remedy. In other words, you could hardly alter what has been predestined. I doubt if this applied to our John. If he had remained ensnared within the intellectually limiting confines of his hometown, I doubt if he would have reached the height he reached before the ultimate leveller, death, rang the final bell.

Going by his initial training, John would have been a teacher. Hey, this is no disrespect to that noble profession. Not at all. This piece is about the celebration of the power of sheer will and an incredible determination to break the barrier. It is not about denigrating any profession, not even the one that made other professions. I started as a teacher myself and served diligently at Ara-Ikole Community High School, Ara, Ikole Local Government of Ekiti State.

John’s life upbraided us not to trail the path of despondency. His life taught us to soldier on in the battle of life even when adversaries seemed to be closing in on us. As a journalist, many would even think John was in the wrong profession in his professional formative years. Things seemed not to be working. From THISDAY to TheNEWS/Tempo, down to THE COMET, John battled to force the hand of destiny. And from his sheer will, he passed that powerful message to destiny that he would not bite the dust. He did not.

When he stepped out of the treacherous confines of the newsroom and tried his untiring hands on media entrepreneurship, it was another battle. Anyone who is not naïve as far as publishing is concerned would know that it is always a shot into the dark. You hit the right and expected target; you may be made for life. You waste your investment bullet; you may be mired in debt for a long time to come, if not, albeit exaggeratively, for life.

MARKETING EDGE, John’s baby, changed the terrain in brand and marketing journalism. And to those who knew this Ekiti man, that was not surprising. John was not just a writer and reporter. He was a consummate marketer. John would not revel in leisurely walking through an open door of opportunity. He always relished the challenge of forcing (not breaking) open that door that was slammed on his professional face. He would push and push until the door was opened. And once that door became open, John would not give occupiers of the room any reason to shut that door again as long as they saw John by the doorstep.

John would give you reason to continually do business with him. He could be temperamental but sheepishly friendly. He embodied humanity and exemplified compassion. He invested in humanity and put so much faith in what good relationships could bring to the table. He brought that proverbial human face to business dealings. John understood the regimented ambience of a typical corporate environment. But he would also remind everyone around that they were all human beings before becoming office operators. Such was his incredible capacity to find a meeting point between officialdom and camaraderie.

John ensured MARKETING EDGE was not just a workplace for his employees. He ensured they were not with him just to earn a living. They were there to build life and learn about it. He gave them that feeling that they were not just corporate labourers but also emotional stakeholders. It was not a big organisation, but it was a functioning one. Anyone close to John would know that staff would close for the day but were already looking forward to the following day. The pull was not about the money they would make but the pleasure of being in the environment. And the architect of this was their boss.

John might have had a couple of professional skirmishes with some people. But none of those he had these with could say John was not a good man and a thoroughbred professional who wanted the best for the industry that made him whatever he was before he was ordered home by his Maker. I was once or twice a victim of John’s temperament, and I was privy to some of the issues he had with some industry players and friends. One of the things that gladdened my heart was an uncanny willingness on the part of John to make peace. He used this to charm and calm many of those people he had issues with, and that was the end.

As Donne, the poet, said, we were not diminished by John’s death. We feel worse than that. We were hit below the belt. Our profession was decimated by the death of this encyclopedia. As one of the pioneers of the brand and marketing genre of journalism, he was a bridge between stars of the receding galaxy and those of the current generation. If I wanted to dig into the past of the nation’s advertising and marketing industry during my early days at National Interest and later The Nation and THISDAY, all I needed to do was to find my way to John’s office. By the time I made my way out, I would have gained more than I craved for.
John never forgot where it all started: Ijan-Ekiti. He gave so much to his cradle.

He invested both resources and emotions in his hometown and contributed in no small measure to make many Ijan sons and daughters. In fact, sometimes, I jokingly referred to Marketing Edge office as a liaison office for Ijan people. In fact, John would not joke with his land of birth. He never forgot he was a sojourner in Lagos who was lucky to bestride that proverbial green pasture. But he was also aware that every sojourner had to return home at one point in time. When the reigning Onijan and his council decided to bestow on our oga the Asiwaju of Ijanland, I was not surprised. I remember I told my colleagues in Lagos, “Oga John deserves it and deserves even more.”

Yes, Oga John was also emotionally attached to Ekiti, his home state. He loved the state so much that he, unsolicitedly, turned himself into a de facto media strategist for former Governor Kayode Fayemi and our current Governor, Biodun Oyebanji, because he loved Ekiti. And during Ayo Fayose’s reign of terror between 2003 and 2006, Ekiti’s headache literally became John’s headache. “Ogbeni,” as he sometimes called me, “must we fold our arms and allow this young man to destabilise all the values Ekiti is known for?” John would ask.
Perhaps this Ekiti connection is one of the reasons our mutual friends and political colleagues thought we were blood relations. His office was my second office in Lagos, and my people know. And whenever I came around and Oga was around, I moved straight to his office, except I appealed to my darling brother to spare me some minutes to work in his editorial department.

One more thing: John was passionate about his church, Catholic. It was not only Ekiti and journalism that united us, as we found out during our early days of meeting that we were, indeed, living in the same area, Meiran, Lagos. It was there I knew the relationship between John and SS Joachim & Anne Catholic Church, Meiran, Lagos. Through John, I participated in many of the church activities. Immediately he got to his personal house at Journalists Estate, Arepo, his first known community was the Catholic Church of Transfiguration, Arepo. And anytime he was in Ekiti, even if he slept in a hotel in Ado Ekiti, John would wake up early and head to Ijan to attend St James’s Catholic Church Mission House. He had a special relationship with the Ijan church because it was the cradle of his civilisation. In fact, his admission letter to the College of Education he first attended, and later the University of Lagos, was sent to St James’.

As John returns to his Maker, I quote from the writings of one of my bosses:
Behold in the horizon;
It shines like the sun.
If memories are made of this,
Then it is worthy of a bliss.
That place where treasures are laid;
To that place shall your reward be paid.
Sleep well, Egbon John.
Akingbolu, a journalist, writes from Lagos.